Stranahan’s Strides Into American West Mythology

Posted on August 7, 2012 by Rob

One of my favorite Clint Eastwood Westerns is “The Outlaw Josey Wales.”

Clint plays an outcast who, despite his best intentions to journey through life alone, keeps collecting an odd assortment of fellow travelers. The growing crew eventually arrives at a dusty, desolate town in Texas, and Josey steps into the local saloon for a drink. He asks for a whiskey, eliciting laughter from the four patrons in the establishment. Josey asks why they find the question so amusing.

“First the silver run out, then the people run out, then the whiskey run out…” a man explains lamentably.

Josey walks out and silently returns with two cases of whiskey he’d recently “liberated” from some murderous bandits. The bar erupts with joy.

The scene is a classic example of the mythology of the American west: the rugged individual does things his way and in the process helps the masses.

Jump ahead from the 19th Century to the 21st Century and that same pioneer spirit can be found in an industrial section of Denver, Colorado. Just off the freeway is an unassuming building that would be ignored by most passersby if it weren’t for the signage sprawled across the exterior: Stranahan’s Whiskey Distillery.

Stranahan’s is less than a decade old, yet it is a member of the old guard when it comes to U.S. craft whiskey distilleries. The distillery may be the first ever (legal) distillery in Colorado as far as anyone can tell, and several others have followed in its wake. The name comes from original co-owner George Stranahan (who sold the distillery last year to Proximo Beverage Corporation).

The name is perfect for the distillery, as it conjures an image of the classic American west (“I hear old man Stranahan has one of them there whiskey-making stills in his back barn…”) The name is identified with an individual, but more important than that, the name is possessive, meaning it declares the whiskey is made by someone who is accountable for its quality. The name says the maker is willingly sharing it with you, the drinker. Stranahan’s stays true to the Old West code that says a man is only as good as his name.

These days Stranahan’s head distiller has a last name that may seem better suited for a motorcycle manufacturer, sauerkraut mogul or German intelligence agency director, but Rob Dietrich’s look, demeanor and attitude is that of a modern Josey Wales. He doesn’t wear the cowboy’s dusty beard or ride a horse. Instead, he sports mutton chop sideburns and drives a rough and tumble 1930s Dodge truck that once purportedly belonged to John Wayne.

Stranahan’s Head Distiller Rob Dietrich and the distillery’s 1938 Dodge whiskey truck.

The whiskey Dietrich conceives and nurtures is a straight whiskey made with Rocky Mountain barley and Rocky Mountain water. It’s a distinctively American West whiskey that is crafted in small quantities (45 barrels a week) and, for the time being, only sold in Colorado as the warehouses slowly accumulate enough spirit to consistently sell in other parts of the country.

Why then, am I writing about a whiskey that can’t possibly be purchased by the majority of my readers? Stranahan’s whiskey is very good, no doubt about it, with aromas of hearty fruits, deep flowers and distinct oak. The whiskey deserves, and one day will have, a wider audience. The attraction of this story, however, is not about what Stranahan’s produces, but is about why the distillery produces.

Stranahan’s did not arise from carefully plotted marketplace research, corporate expansion plans or tasty tipple trends. The distillery was created from the passion of those who saw a niche for their dreams in the whisky fabric. Virtually no one employed by the distillery at the beginning and through to today have had any prior distillery experience. What they do have, in the words of Dietrich, is the motivation, mentality and innovation to contribute to the Stranahan’s vision. One look at the stills – a combination of pot and column stills – shows that these people want to make their product to their tastes – and they have faith other people will find those tastes appealing.

Whiskey is the most individualistic of drinks, with unique characteristics found in spirits inhabiting each cask from Colorado to Caol Ila. Stranahan’s may have started out as ruggedly independent as Josey Wales himself, but it has collected plenty of followers along the way, inspired other innovators to craft distinct whiskies, and delivered on the American vision that as long as you set your gaze on your own path, you’ll continue riding through to a new day with new possibilities.

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Bruichladdich: All Good Things…

Posted on July 22, 2012 by Rob

There’s a certain kind of sadness at the end of every story. Even stories with the happiest of endings –   the Dark Lord’s impossible defeat, the princess stirred from an unnaturally deep slumber by the lips of her true love, or the pig winning the sheepdog competition – leave one feeling a bit melancholy when the final page is turned. We’ve spent time, invested emotion and in our own way joined the journey of these stories. Sequels may follow, new stories with the same characters can be told, but nothing will ever return us to that first wild ride.Bruichladdich

A whisky story is coming to a close with the sale of the independent tiger of a distillery known as Bruichladdich. The distillery will be fine. In fact, according to Mark Gillespie’s latest WhiskyCast, there will be more Bruichladdich to go around thanks to increased production expected by new owner, the French spirits group, Remy Cointreau.

With this sale, Bruichladdich’s visionary investors win. The distillery’s long-devoted employees win. Whisky drinkers win. This is truly a happy ending from many standpoints.

I still have a pang of wistfulness.

Some whisky commentators worry about the impact a large owner will have on a distillery known for its aggressively independent approach to making and marketing its spirit. Will they fall into step with industry associations? Will the flavor profiles be affected? Will the distillery’s quirky bottlings continue? (How many distilleries can whip out a bottling in a matter of days that takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to an orphaned yellow submarine?)

Good questions, but those concerns don’t really matter to me. Fifteen years ago, whisky enthusiasts would have practically sold their souls if the devil himself had offered to reopen the then-shuttered distillery – even if the angels’ share would have headed the other direction.

Instead, a group of Islay industry mainstays and UK whisky aficionados took a hell of a chance on opening a distillery at a time when the sales growth of single malts was not yet on its meteoric rise. Their decision was the start of a new story for Bruichladdich. The chapters that followed the re-launch in 2000 are filled with risks and rewards, pitfalls and praise, ACE’d malts and earned medals. And, for a short time in 2009, a whisky writer from Los Angeles who lent his American accent to a few passages of the saga.

Bruichladdich gift shop manager Mary McGregor and a certain Whisky Guy from Los Angeles.

My personal Bruichladdich tale will be published later this year and in its own way will be a sidebar to the main story. The experience was only made possible due to the total independence of Bruichladdich. I can’t imagine a corporate-run distillery inviting an untrained person into their workforce with the sole safety advice being, “Don’t get your hand lodged between the wall and a cask you’re rolling. You’ll likely lose a few fingers.”

No; my experience was the result of a particular moment in time of the Bruichladdich story – a time when the unabashed audacity of running an independent distillery hurtled whisky, workers and one writer down relentless rapids of innovation. Perhaps Remy Cointreau will bring new and unexpected actions that will excite and delight (and maybe raised ceilings to the Port Charlotte warehouses? My head is still dented from those low beams). But, that will be their story. The next book in the Bruichladdich series. The story written by Mark Reynier, Jim McEwan, Duncan McGillivray and others is now complete, though many of these same characters will return for the next tale.

The beauty of a story comes in those first steps out the door when a person decides to participate in an adventure without having a clue to the outcome or an idea of how they will survive. In the case of the people behind the Bruichladdich revival, it was more of a leap than a step, a leap that brought us Jim McEwan’s enthusiasm, Mary McGregor’s smile, Budgie’s banter and Mark’s moxie. It was a decision that gave us amazing whisky and showed off the talents of dozens of native Ileachs.

And so, with a mixture of mirth and melancholy, I raise a toast to the conclusion of one Bruichladdich story and to the beginning of a new one. Thank you for letting all of us take these journeys with you.

The end.

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Boozers, Broken Hearts and Beautiful Women

Posted on July 9, 2012 by Rob

What is in a name? For Shakespeare, a rose was a rose no matter what name arose.

The image the word whiskey evokes has evolved mightily since the Prohibition.

For ol’ Will, Four Roses would still be a whiskey by any other name.  But, that word, whiskey, has shifted its meaning to people through the years. At one time, the very mention of it was a thorny issue, evoking images of illicit stills and immoral alcoholics. I had an experience the other day which shows the pendulum has gone the complete opposite direction.

Whiskey Blue. The name sounds mysterious. Like a secret speakeasy password in the days of prohibition. But, alas, it is the name (or variations on the name) of a series of high-end lounges in some of the nicer hotels in large cities throughout the U.S. The décor is design, the clientele chic, and the atmosphere is A-list. I had stopped into the LA version of Whiskey Blue for an event. I was pre-occupied with the pretty people and polite conversations for the first part of my visit when a thought snapped me out of the moment: where was all the whiskey?

If one is audacious enough to use whiskey in a bar name then certainly the establishment will overflow with the golden elixir, won’t it? Not necessarily. The bar had a decent selection of whiskies, but nothing in terms of quality or quantity that would differentiate it from other upscale lounges as a whiskey bar. So, if whiskey isn’t the point of a bar that uses Whiskey in its name then why call it “Whiskey Blue”?

I bought my first bottle of whiskey when I was in college (of legal age). The whiskey was Jim Beam and I don’t recall why I chose that particular brand aside from having heard of the name. However, I knew exactly what drove me to buy the whiskey – a broken heart. Such is the way of young romance. I was depressed, lonely and had no idea how to handle the situation. But, I knew that Bogart would drink whiskey in his darkest moments. I’d seen an episode of Magnum P.I. when I was a kid where the flashy detective exchanged his standard stout for a bottle of whiskey when a woman left him broken and alone.

My knowledge of whiskey at that point was non-existent and my knowledge of women even less. But, I knew drinking a whiskey in that moment connected me with other people who had been in that same heartbroken position (even if they were fictional). The very act of embracing that word “whiskey” was a short-cut to relating to a shared human experience and an early lesson in manhood. It wasn’t the physical whiskey that did this – it was all that the word represented which took me down that path.

Today, whiskey is no longer primarily associated with boozers or broken hearts. The word has developed a certain cachet among those who consider themselves trendsetters. Whiskey isn’t limited to something that sad men seek when they want to dive into their feelings – it’s something that beautiful women seek when they’re out on the town, dressed stunningly and desiring a unique and complex cocktail — though it may only contain the smallest drops of whiskey.

My original intention when I sat down to write this was to criticize Whiskey Blue for misappropriating a word they don’t understand. But, just as uisge beatha evolves and changes over time as it interacts with the surrounding environment, so too do the images and lifestyles the word whiskey evokes. And, so too does my understanding of the use of the word. If whiskey, the water of life, can serve as a metaphor for life, then the word can be applied to more than just the liquid. The word needs to attach itself to the current moment, the cultural zeitgeist and allow new generations to share common connections with each other through the conduit of “whiskey,” even if it means they don’t actually drink it.

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Does Whisky Roll With Rocks?

Posted on June 25, 2012 by Rob

Today, a 340-ton boulder hovered some ten feet above me. Yes, ABOVE.

Between a rock and a hard place.

The Los Angeles County Museum of Art unveiled its latest outdoor artwork, Michael Heizer’s “Levitated Mass,” which hangs heavily above an open air subterranean walkway. The artwork opened after months of anticipation. Thousands of visitors streamed to the museum to see a sculpture that basically is a really, really big rock.

People have been fascinated by the magnitude of rocks for millennia. Even on an island as small as Islay, one drives by ancient standing stones on the way to several distilleries and more monoliths lurk in the hills beyond view. From Stonehenge to Easter Island, Egyptian pyramids to Mayan temples, there is something in the power of rock that captivates our imagination.

A rock of a different sort hangs above the whisky world – ice. That wonderful example of a liquid turning into a solid. A very, very cold solid. The issue of whisky on the rocks is a complicated one that sometimes turns into an argument that has the fervor of a Celtic-Rangers match or a Packers-Bears game. Even that middle-ground solution – whisky stones – has both supporters and detractors. The stones chill whisky without the melt-off of ice, but are they good for the whisky?

Though, I don’t want to get into a big argument, lecture or soapbox about the role of ice in whisky, I certainly have my preferences.

I’ve tried ice in single malts a couple of times and it makes me feel like I’m kissing a cousin. There is something so inherently wrong with that action that I cringe and my face curdles. Even a single ice cube seems to strangle all the wonderful flavors and aromas that are trying to express themselves as they warm to room or hand temperature.

I’m happy to put ice cubes in blended Scotches. As they tend to be “greatest hits” of single malts with the filler of grain alcohol, I feel I don’t lose many of those high notes when ice is added. (There are exceptions. The day I put ice in my Campbeltown Loch 25-year-old is the day someone must cut me off completely).

Ice in Irish whiskey does nothing for me. The general sweetness is diluted and disappears on my palate. Ice cubes in American whiskies tend to hold up well, especially in strong bourbon like Wild Turkey 101, which Michael Jackson told me is something he liked to do when the weather turned too hot for neat whiskey.

Bourbons and blends tend to play well with other liquids, as do some Irish and single malts, so of course adding ice to cocktails does not take away from the whisky, as the whisky has already been altered. Beside, some cocktails require precise measurements of ice density and predictive melt rates in order to maintain the mixological integrity of the drink (I say facetiously – not a fan of the term “mixology” and the airs that come with it. Make a drink, make it well, and people will know you’re a great bartender. No need to add an –ology to situation).

All that being said, I rarely judge anyone’s choices when it comes to putting ice in whisky – though if you put a cube in Highland Park 18 I will slap you down. Repeatedly.

The thing that matters most to me is that, straight up or on the rocks, people find a reason to return to the common connection of enjoying whisky. Just as people have gathered around rocks for eons to share stories, celebrate, worship, mourn or give thanks, so too should we all continue to gather together around the water of life – rocks or not.

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The Work in Writing and Whisky

Posted on June 20, 2012 by Rob

I was reading a post by writing guru Jeff Goins the other day which talked about the work that goes into blogging and writing. Not the inspiration, the idea, the enthusiasm or the attempt at fame, fortune and love from all, but the work. The work is what happens when you feel you have nothing to say and even worse, that no one is listening even if you do have something to say. The work is what separates someone who wants to be heard from someone who wants to be listened to.

My friend Matt Forbeck knows all about the work. He’s a very successful writer who decided to challenge himself by writing 12 novels in 12 months in 2012. It’s not enough that he’s the father of five (four of them quads) or that he’s highly sought after in the science fiction and fantasy realm. That’s a lot of writing to commit to, and there are plenty of days when he’s exhausted, sick or doesn’t have the muse, but he puts in the work. The work is what gets him from the inspiration that starts a story to the exaltation that comes upon completing a story.

When it comes to writing and whisky, the work is what will eventually separate those bloggers who are dabbling in something that intrigues them from people who want to be part of the “whisky fabric” as Johanne McInnis calls it. Seeing a drop in readership or a lack of response to one’s writing is a challenge to many bloggers. Many will pack it in and call it the end of an interesting experiment. I view such obstacles as an opportunity to see how committed I am to the work of writing. And, more importantly, how committed I am to myself. As I’ve stated in a few blogs, I believe one must first write to speak to one’s own heart. The moment that connection is lost, there’s no reason to keep at it.

This week, I am exploring the use of whisky storytelling as a way to introduce novices to the world of whisky and as a way to show new threads to those of us already in the whisky fabric. My last post shared a tale of how James Bond himself turned into Dr. No when I tried to share Macallan 18 with him. Today, I’m telling the story of a whisky obstacle, in fact, the biggest whisky obstacle of all – a complete revulsion to the drink.

*

Karl is five years older than me and lives in the yellow ranch house on the other side of the street. It is sandwiched between the red ranch house and the brown ranch house, which is directly opposite our white ranch house. For the past two summers, Karl has been my best friend, despite him being in his early teens. He is my Army partner on many important missions, like launching smoke bombs at the old plastics manufacturing plant that lay in the nearby woods or sneaking up on the ever-sleeping security guard at the local history museum and firing caps at him. After one of these missions, we return to Karl’s house for our usual round of lemonade. His older brother Kirk – the ever-mischievous Kirk – is in the kitchen when we walk through the back screen door. Kirk takes one good look at us, fully dressed in our military garb with our little guns and starts laughing in a way that makes me feel less gallant than I’d been a few moments earlier.

“Whoa!” he says, holding his hands up. “Is this a stick-up?”

Karl throws a plastic hand grenade at Kirk, hitting him in the head. The two tussle for a minute, laughing the entire time.

“I need to pee,” Karl says to no one in particular. He points to me and speaks to Kirk as he heads to the bathroom, “Get Robby a drink, will you?”

“Shuuuuure,” Kirk responds with a grin. “So, what’ll it be GI Joe?”

“Lemonade,” I squeak.

“Nah, you’ve been out fighting all day, right?”

I nod.

“You need a man’s drink.”

I am horrified at the prospect of having a man’s drink. All I can think of is coffee. I hate coffee. It must be 90 degrees outside. Please God, don’t let him give me coffee! Kirk quickly eases my fear.

“Nah, it’s nothing bad. It’s like coke, but from a bottle, not a can. I’ll even give you some ice, O.K.?”

Ice is the magic word.

“Yes, please!”

He reaches into a cabinet above the sink and pulls out a huge bottle with a white label. The liquid inside is brown.

“See, just like coke!” he assures me.

This brown elixir of men is poured over ice in a small glass. Kirk hands me the glass.

“Here you go soldier! Drink up!”

I greedily oblige at the same moment Karl re-enters the room. Though he is ten-feet away, the spray of whiskey from my mouth hits him with enough velocity that he doesn’t have time to cover his eyes.

*

That was my first introduction into the world of whiskey, that manliest of manly drinks. Not an auspicious occasion, I’d say. But, one that stuck with me. I wonder what Karl and Kirk would think if they could see me now as a whisky writer. Like a writing obstacle, if I would have focused on this bad experience I would have never explored a new and fascinating world. But, I did overcome the challenge and eventually put in the work to make me the whisky aficionado I am today. Well, my liver put in the work…

 

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My Macallan 18 Leaves 007 Shaken, Not Stirred

Posted on June 18, 2012 by Rob

“What’s your favorite whisky?”

If I were given a dram for every time I am asked this question, everything I type for the rest of my life will look like this: asbjklfhkdsfds,

When people hear you’re a whisky aficionado that’s the first thing to come out of their mouths, even if they know nothing about whisky…especially if they know nothing about whisky. I don’t look negatively upon that question. It’s a way for people to engage, interact and associate with a subject matter they find unusual and intriguing.

In all honesty I answer that my favorite whisky is any whisky I’m drinking when I’m having a particularly interesting or enjoyable moment. It could be a Glenfarclas 21; it could be a Jim Beam and Sprite. Of course, if the question is being asked by a woman whose legs are longer than those of a Macallan 1946, I end that explanation by saying, “And it happens to be the whisky I’m drinking right now.”

A far more interesting question than asking about a favorite whisky is to ask, “Can you tell me your favorite whisky story?”

Now, THAT is a question.

Whisky, as I discussed last week, is ripe for storytelling. I enjoy beer, I love wine and there are plenty of other spirits I imbibe. However, the best stories tend to involve whisky. Perhaps it’s the communal, yet contemplative, nature of the drink that allows for situations which will evolve into great stories. Beer requires too many dashes to the bathroom during the course of an evening for a really good story to take place. Wine…the pacing isn’t right. You’re either drinking it too quickly or too slowly for it to contribute to a good story. Wine can make for a great evening, but a really great yarn? Too much time spent refilling the glass and opening new bottles. Vodka could give whisky a run for its storytelling money – if you survive the evening. Odds are the vodka or the Eastern European smugglers you steal it from will do you in before the night is through. (OK, actually that IS a great story, but I’ll save it for another time).

This week, my posts will focus on different types of whisky stories. The good. The bad. The ugly. And then there’s this one, which has components of all three:

*

The Good: It happened a few years ago at the House of Blues in Hollywood and just goes to show what is possible when you have unlimited Macallan 18. Yes, unlimited. And free. I was at HOB for a pre-Grammy VIP concert event featuring a number of famous acts (Sting, Mary J. Blige, The Counting Crows, Jewel, and more) and plenty of other celebrities. I was neither a famous act nor a celebrity. I just happened to know someone who knew someone who could provide me with an all-access pass and instruct the VIP lounge bartender to open up the bar’s only bottle of Macallan 18 and give me and my friend all we wanted.

The Bad: A few hours into the evening The VIP Lounge was nearly as empty as the bottle of Macallan 18. Almost everyone had streamed out to see Elton John’s set. I was in the room with a dozen other people and found myself sitting near one Mr. Pierce Brosnan. He was a childhood hero from his “Remington Steele” days and later as James Bond. I’d seen him earlier in the evening and my friend pleaded with me not to speak with him so as to

My luck has been nothing but good when it comes to whisky stories thank to Mr. Brosnan. Pierce Brosnan.

not make a fool of myself (the odds of which increased with the more Scotch I imbibed). I still had that in mind as I sat near Mr. Brosnan, so I thought the best thing for me to do was to move away from him and go to the VIP bar, which was completely empty – not even a bartender in sight. There, I could hide out alone. And the bar top could help me stand straight. After a minute, I heard someone walk up next to me and turned to see it was Pierce. He had come looking for a drink, not realizing the bartender had stepped away. I had a dilemma. I was warned by my friend not to open my mouth. On the other hand, we were the only two at the bar and we were about two feet from each other. It seemed almost more awkward to not talk with him.

The Ugly: Unfortunately, I opened my mouth. And I couldn’t shut up. I turned to him, completely uninvited, and blathered on about staying in the same Irish castle where he and his wife were married, indeed staying in the same room (the castle staff made a point about letting me know this). Knowing he is Irish, I then started rambling on about Ireland. Then I moved on to rambling about whisk(e)y and thanking God for those Irish monks. I saw he was getting uneasy with my rambling, so I decided to move into James Bond-like action: “Do you want a drink? I can get you a drink. Here, have some of mine.” I reached over the bar counter and grabbed an empty glass. As I was about to pour him a share of my remaining Macallan 18, he interrupted me, grabbed my hand, shook it firmly, looked me straight in the eyes and said, in the most polite blow-off imaginable, “Good luck. Good luck,” and walked away.

“But, it’s Macallan 18!” I lamented as he increased his speed to a slight trot.

*

Whisky is made for storytelling. The next time someone asks you what your favorite whisky is, try shifting the conversation to a whisky tale. I know people are amazed when they hear us share details of the whisky world and the whisky making process, but every once in a while it’s good to shake up that amazement with a good ol’ fashioned yarn.

Thanks for reading and if you feel so inspired, feel free to share your own whisky story in the comments.

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Letting Go of Your Words

Posted on June 15, 2012 by Rob

This week, I’ve examined the role of the whisky writer/blogger in the online universe. The first piece talked about storytelling and preserving history. The second piece was about passion and connections. I’m ending the series by looking at what drives a person to put himself out there in the first place, sending his words dashing about the world as he eagerly waits at home wondering who sees what he wrote. What compels him? What are his goals? I could think of no better way to pursue this discussion than by talking to a “her” instead of to a “him.”

If Monday’s interviewee, Mark Gillespie, is the whisky writing equivalent of a Highland Park 25, and Wednesday’s interviewee, Gal Granov is the equivalent of a Lagavulin 16, then “Whisky Lassie” Johanne McInnis is a Mackmyra 1st Edition. Like that wonderful Swedish whisky, Johanne is new to the game, comes from an unexpected source, and has a subtlety and depth usually reserved for those that are long-matured in the ways of the whisky world.

Her blog, The Perfect Whisky Match, is a playful but earnest site that she launched in March with her partner in whisky and life, Graham MacKenney. The two put to page whatever crosses their mind regarding whisky, from recommendations to tangential thoughts about life that are sparked by whisky. Though the site is done as a couple, Johanne’s point of view is decidedly hers, examining the whisky world from a woman’s point of view. And like any good whisky, that point of view has matured in the three months she’s been writing thanks to outside influences.

“My opinion, going in, was almost a defensive one…I felt I needed to prove I belonged in the whisky world,” she says. “I came to realize there are men in the whisky industry, there are women in the industry, but as for a difference, there’s a gender difference and that’s about it.

“[Women] are just as eager and just as smart and just as much whisky geeks as the rest.”

I asked Johanne what specifically drove her to start writing about whisky. After all, she has a nice whisky club in her home town of Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada; she and Graham talk about whisky for hours on walks with their dogs; what about her interest in whisky made her want to put her name and her thoughts “out there?”

Johanne talks about the “whisky fabric” – a layer in the whisky world where writers, reviewers, distillers and everyone else associated with the industry meet and interact. She felt there was a niche in that fabric for her voice, as a woman, as a Canadian and as someone who was passionate about whisky. Still, there is a tremendous difference between identifying an opening and then stepping through it to see what happens. Johanne took that leap, unsure of what to expect. And what she found was her place in that whisky fabric.

“When we first started, we would get excited about one reader,” she says. “Now that connections have been made, I don’t care as much about the quantity [of readers]. It’s about quality.”

Like Gal Granov in Israel, Johanne has expanded her whisky knowledge through the connections she’s made with like-minded people around the world; people with their own perspectives on whisky who are excited to hear her thoughts and eager to share their own. In this sense, her writing has taken her on a journey she never anticipated.

And that brings me back to my original thought for this piece: what compels a person to write or blog about whisky, or anything for that matter, and what is the goal? Is it money? Is it readership? Is it adoration? Free whisky? Johnnie Walker lapel pins?

As each of my pieces have shown this week, the place writing, or blogging, must start to have any value is within oneself. Mark Gillespie is a whisky industry icon because he wanted to share stories about the whisky world that excites him so. Gal Granov has moved from the fringes of the whisky world to the center because he wanted his passion for whisky to be heard. Johanne McInnis is sailing strongly into the whisky sea because she saw a room for her voice.

Each of them has garnered unexpected rewards from following their hearts and sharing the thoughts and stories that first appeal to their own interests. They don’t just state facts. They tap into shared human experiences and feelings with their stories and blogs.

I learned, years ago, that to be a successful writer you have to let your words and thoughts go freely into the world, as if they were children who had now moved out of the house. They take on a life of their own, they interact with others in a way you have no control over, they may inspire others, they may annoy others, but you cannot cling to those words once you press “send.” You just have to hope they do well, and that whatever happens with them reflects well upon the way you created them.

Does this approach mean there’s fortune as a writer? Better to play the lottery if that’s your goal. Does it guarantee fame? Quick: name the top ten bestselling writers of 1971. Fame is fleeting. Does it even assure a writer of a large readership? I don’t know. I do know that by writing first for yourself, you’ll at least never doubt your honesty and intentions. And if that approach resonates deeply within even one person, you are much better off than spewing meaningless words for the masses to glance at and forget. I’d rather encounter a single unicorn in a forest than 10,000 cows in a muddy field.

Next week, I will step away from the writing focus of my recent posts and will have some fun sharing stories about whisky.

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Passion Connects Peat-Loving People

Posted on June 13, 2012 by Rob

Yesterday, I was following a Twitter discussion about the nature of blogs, building readership and standing out in a crowded blogosphere. My input to the discussion was none of that matters if, you as a communicator, are not first writing for yourself. Personal passion is conveyed in writing.

Passion in blogging takes a number of forms. Passion can be found in the words one writes, but can also be found in the connections one makes. I lived on an island of whisky when I made Islay my home a couple of years ago, but Gal Granov was on a whisky island of another sort when he started blogging. Gal lives in Israel, which a few years ago, when he first began enjoying single malts, had him essentially marooned from the whisky world. His passion persevered and today he has 1,500 Twitter followers landing on the shores of his whisky blog, Whisky Israel.

In his words, Gal is now, “swimming in a little puddle but causing very big waves” when it comes to whisky blogging. It’s true. I’ve followed his blog for a long time and have seen his connections grow to encompass the world. Where once he was practically alone, hunting down a precious narrow and highly expensive whisky selection in Israel, he now shares the finest drams imaginable during online tasting sessions with fellow connoisseurs in dozens of countries.

Gal had something to say about whisky and he wanted to be HEARD. And there is a huge difference when it comes to writing between wanting to be heard and simply wanting to be listened to and admired. Wanting to be heard comes from so deep inside you have no choice but to stomp your foot and say, “Hey! I am going to speak!” Gal did that with his blog. He needed the whisky world to know one of their own was on an island and was ready to get off to join the party, especially if that party involved peaty liquid from another certain island.

“A whole new world was unraveling before my eyes. It was fascinating to get to know,” he says. “I was writing and sharing information and [with blogging] had the ability to be ‘there.’ It’s one of the most important factors to sustain a blog – to talk with people about your experiences.”

He brings up a very important issue regarding writing, blogging and storytelling: What is the ultimate goal? For Gal, it is to share his passion, not only to be heard but to also gain more knowledge about whisky through an exchange of information with like-minded people. As a result, he has built a devoted following and discovered something he finds even more rewarding.

“I have made good friends,” Gal says.

Other writers and bloggers have their own reasons and intentions for putting themselves out into the online world. For some, like me, the goal is to share a passion and to tell a story. For others, it is to have as many people pay attention to them as possible. I will explore that in my next piece.

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Myths, Malts and Storytelling

Posted on June 11, 2012 by Rob

“The goal of life is rapture. Art is the way we experience it.”

This quote from American mythologist and writer Joseph Campbell seems an appropriate way to continue week two of my examination of whisky and writing as partners in creativity. Campbell had an encyclopedic knowledge of eons of myths and legends from dozens of cultures around the world. He saw every joy, fear, aspiration and struggle inherent to an individual’s life captured in stories that started around hearth fires thousands of years ago.

As far as I know, Mark Gillespie doesn’t wrap himself in animal furs and huddle with fellow tribesmen after a long day of hunting. But, Mark carries on the long tradition of whisky storytelling that began hundreds of years ago as clan members gathered around an early “uisge beatha” still to warm their hands and throats. The founder and keeper of the magnificent WhiskyCast podcast website may seem like an odd choice to profile in a piece about writing, but what is writing except the recording of stories and expression of visions? Mark just happens to do it closer to 160kb per second than 60 words per minute.

Mark is a longtime TV and radio journalist who united his passion for whisky with a then-new technology called podcasting in 2005. Since then, Mark has recorded more than 370 episodes of WhiskyCast. He is an advocate for and archivist of all things whisky.

In several posts last week I examined what I saw as the difference between most writing and most blogging. The former creatively takes readers into a world, an idea or a perspective that they might not otherwise experience. The latter is more frequently than not an expression of fact or opinion. Mark ploughs the ground between these two worlds. A WhiskyCast episode will likely contain breaking news in the whisky industry and tasting notes for Mark’s latest tried tipples, but frequently the podcasts also share true stories and tall tales from whisky insiders and old timers that capture the human drama and delight beneath the dram. In other words, he’s continuing Campbell’s journey as chronicler and storyteller.

“When you are sitting around drinking a glass of whisky you’re drinking history that goes back 500 years,” Mark says. “At my very heart, I’m a storyteller by trade. [With WhiskyCast] I want other [whisky] people to be able to tell their stories… [Listeners] want that connection.”

I wanted Mark to kick-off this week’s series of interviews because, like me, he was involved the whisky world long before the explosion of whisky blogs and tweets. I re-launched my whisky writing last week by saying the main reason I’d stayed away from it for so long was that I wasn’t sure where I fit within this influx of internet information. Mark, too, finds the whisky wide web to be flooded and admits that if he started his podcast today, he’d struggle to find listeners in the cyberspace cacophony. And, he feels, we’ve not seen the peak.

“We’re in the stage right now with whisky where the wine world was in the 1970s,” he observes, noting that wine was a hidden behind a shroud of mystery until unveiled to larger audiences by writers and connoisseurs as the decade progressed.

These days, the awareness of the magic of malts is rapidly expanding and will likely result in even more blogs, tweets, opinions and observations. Mark knows he was at the right place at the right time with the right approach to establish his strong presence in the online whisky world (which he has since parlayed into a writing gig for Whisky Magazine as a contributing editor). But, being present does not equate to sustainability. Mark works daily, fueled by his passion for the mythos of whisky, to ensure he has a story, a very good story, to tell each week. In fact, he’s not skipped a week of WhiskyCast since it started, not even the week of his father’s death.

“Passion is great, but you also have to have something to say,” Mark says. “You need to give people a reason to come back for more. [I think] you’ll start to see a shakeout in the blogosphere of people who don’t have anything to say.”

WhiskyCast is not in any jeopardy of being purged as a voice of whisky, nor is it just a product of “now.” Mark intends to donate his extensive archives to institutions that will forever preserve his snapshot of late 20th and early 21st Century whisky making. In this sense, despite a platform that would be totally unfamiliar to previous generations of storytellers, Mark is perpetuating a tradition rooted in humanity’s collective unconscious.

Myths of the world are startlingly similar, whether they are creation stories, harvest songs or quest poems. The rapturous beauty of those tales comes from generations of long-forgotten storytellers who told these myths through their own eyes and in the voices of their own cultures. I may never be able to describe the story of whisky the way Mark does. Another writer may never see the same cultural, social and literary connections within the world of whisky that I do. And Mark and I may never share the same perspective of any one of a hundred other whisky writers.

But, we are all drawn to that same campfire. All are sipping from that same crude still. Sharing our sagas and telling our tales as the wood sizzles and sparks its way into the timeless night sky.

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Showdown: Writing vs. Blogging vs. Tweeting

Posted on June 8, 2012 by Rob

Question(s): Does blogging about whisky, or anything for that matter, count as “writing”? Does “writing” about whisky and putting it into a blog count as “blogging”? And where does Twitter fit in to all of this?

I mentioned in a recent post that I basically backed away from writing about whisky a couple of years ago because I saw a saturation of the subject in blogs and social media. In my mind, there was a shift from the kind of writing I do – a creative non-fiction approach – to a straight forward, “This is what I think” approach set forth by a lot of bloggers.

I’d tie my whisky writing into cultural, social and literary references, whereas bloggers would say, “This is what I like.” They, for the most part, weren’t using writing as a creative art form. They used words as a way to describe, well, “This is what I think and like.” Time and effort wasn’t put into crafting sentences which embraced words in an evocative and provocative dance with the English language.

While the information and opinions provided by blogs were informative and sometimes interesting, I didn’t see blogs as really fitting into the realm of writing. So many of the millions of blogs out there , whether commenting upon whisky, politics, celebrity or “Man in Belgium changes his name to ‘Muffler’ and marries his car,” seemed to say, “Hey! Look at this thing that I found interesting!” and not much more. This approach was taking to an even further extreme with the word limits of Twitter.

Then I had a revelation, for me, at least. Maybe the problem wasn’t that blogs didn’t fit into world of “Writing” (make sure to read that word with a posh, nasally accent). Maybe the problem was that Writing didn’t fit into the world wide web of blogs. Not an issue of the new kid not being up to par with the wise man, but a problem of the old guy not being able to fit into the sleek, fast world of the young dude.

Finally, before the cranky old man took complete control over my mind, I realized that, ultimately, it’s all about communication and connection. Certainly, I think writing as a creative craft elevates information and opinion to a level that invites readers to challenge and expand their own thoughts and beliefs. However, I also now believe that blogging, or even tweeting, is a way to quickly connect people with a shared passion in a manner that is not as readily available with more involved and lengthy traditional writing.

I don’t know who, if anyone, will share their comments about this post. But, I know that if a person in Finland gets really excited about a new whisky and tweets her thoughts, someone from Scotland will immediately respond with his own tweet. And Canada… And the U.S…  And South Africa… And Israel… And Sweden… And the U.K… And…

Ultimately, we’re all trying to share our thoughts, ideas, opinions and beliefs as best we can, and hope our efforts connect with people. Some of us are just more long-winded than others.

Next week, I’ll examine the relationship of writing, whisky and communication through interviews with three whisky bloggers who have different approaches to sharing their passion.

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