As we crossed from Perthshire into the Scottish Highlands, I stood on the edge of a whisky-filled abyss. The Spirit of Speyside whisky festival loomed before me – five solid days of whisky-splashed hikes, tours, rambles, quizes, and tastings around Scotland’s Speyside whisky region. I’d filled my calendar with a slate of events several months prior, and here I was in the area of Scotland with the highest concentration of distilleries.
And I don’t believe in spitting. Somewhere Mickey Mantle shook his head in reproach.
I write this post on Monday night just north of Speyside proper. The festival – for me – has come to an end and the previous five days are little more than a scattering of mental images viewed through the bottom of a Glencairn glass. The notes I made and discussions I recorded on my iPhone have proven inane, unintelligible, hilarious, epiphanic, tear-jerking, and joyous. And I’m just talking about the list of drams I tasted.
What follows is a metered selection of some of the darker moments in whisky tasting notes history, straight from my moleskine. Just a taste to whet your appetite for proper articles on all my machinations at the Spirit of Speyside whisky festival. Read more...
South of the town of Forres, off in the hilly woodlands between the Moray coast and Speyside, I stroll amidst the moody Tullochwood. The last fingers of daylight lance the path, and large, black slugs ooze in the soft mosses. The twilight becomes corporeal as it descends beneath the canopy, given shape by the infinitesimal floating pollens and insects. There is no breeze, no random gusts, just a humid bubble of green air like the breath of the forest before exhalation. Tree shadows splice the forest into bands of heat and chill. A rumpled meadow is shot through with ferns just breaking the surface.
Old forests are alien and welcome. I clamber over mounds and deeper into shadow thinking of Tullochwood like a sibling or parent separated from me at birth. Read more...
Craigellachie. The heart of Speyside. This tiny town straddles the River Spey in the center of the whisky Bermuda triangle. Macallan and Dewar’s are a stones-throw away. Aberlour is a short jaunt to the west. Go north and you’ll find Glen Grant and Glenrothes. Choose the southern path and there, in Dufftown, stand Balvenie, Glenfiddich, and Mortlach. I could go on.
It makes sense, then, that one of the best whisky selections in the world hides here in the center, in Craigellachie (pron. creg-EL-ah-key): The Quaich Bar. It’s the kind of place that inspires one to create a series of blog posts dedicated to Scotland’s greatest whisky bars. Thus is born Malt Mansions. I’m excited to share these places with you not only because of their inspirational dedication to Scotland’s national drink… Read more...
The wind lathes off the surface of the world. The sea bellows as it hammers the earth. Fine particles of sand and sea mist swirl up and grind down the craggy guardians in Cullen Bay. They lean away from the rampaging North Sea winds like pedestrians pulling up their coat collars in the weather. The clouds agitate and froth, reach down with ethereal fingers as if to lend a helping hand. This is a lonely part of the world. I sit in the packed sand, the cold, powdered bodies of yesteryear’s pillars, and look over the surf.
I’m drawn to the places where natural worlds collide… Read more...
Peering out my open window above The Mash Tun and across an emerald park glowing in the sun, the rippling band of the River Spey slides past Aberlour. The Spey pulses through the heart of Scotland’s whisky country, its pure waters the lifeblood of salmon and distillers alike. A welcome breeze chatters in the trees and rings against the cables of the pedestrian suspension bridge to the north. Fishermen work the beats up and down the river and tiny, black mayflies swarm in the shade. My footsteps crackle on the gravel path before I find a seat on the soft riverbank and inhale the aromas of sunlit grass and water. My pulse slows. I am repeating the past again, when my brother and I sat in the same spot two years earlier. Read more...
A hunter, oft-stubbled and bleary-eyed, driven by an insatiable hunger for exploration and experience - and perhaps a chance to thin the herd of caffeinated and alcoholic beverages. From the highlands and islands to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Borders, I explore Scotland with a pen in hand and a fire in the belly (which could be partly from the whisky). 
