The Whisky Guy Blog

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Well, I’ve been absent so long you may think my heart has stopped working. Fortunately, it’s still beating strong and has propelled me across Europe in the month-plus since my last post. I haven’t been slacking with my passion for alcohol. On the contrary, I’ve branched beyond whisky to explore drinks that are rather unique to their countries of origin. In the next couple of weeks, I will go into detail about those drink experiences. For now, I have a few musings about alcohol around the world.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am unexpectedly reminded that throughout the world alcohol has an important place in society. Certainly, we can wiggle our fingers at people who have a drinking problem or hang our heads in disappointment when we make our own alcohol-hazed decisions. These individual decisions, for better or worse, distract from the important role alcohol plays in society and the collective identity.

Alcohol is often an extension of a local way of life: the fermented apple juice that becomes calvados in orchards of northern France; weaker beer that better served the industrializing working class around their heavy machines in Pilzen, Czech Republic and became the light-bodied Pilsner; and plum palinca from Transylvania, Romania that reveals the region’s long political and cultural connection with neighboring Hungary. People drink these regional alcohols as much out of pride and tradition as they do to forget the rough times in life. Poles have their grass-infused vodka that has stood the test of time and the push and pull of neighboring powers like Germany and Russia. It’s a touchstone that binds them through the dark and helps them to celebrate the light.

It’s not surprising that America, of all places, had a “successful” temperance movement. The country is a veritable baby in this deeply historic world of ours. America didn’t have an alcohol tradition beyond that of what people brought from their individual countries. And when some of those immigrant groups, such as the Puritans, brought with them not a national drink, but a religious disdain for something they didn’t understand or couldn’t tolerate, then they had as great a chance to charge the national current as the whisky producers did in Scotland.

I guess they forgot to read their own book:

Proverbs 31

6 Give beer to those who are perishing,
wine to those who are in anguish;

7 let them drink and forget their poverty
and remember their misery no more.

Let me get this out of the way: Caol Ila has the best location for a distillery I’ve ever seen.  Are there others I’ve yet to see that could be better? Perhaps.  If something can top Caol Ila, I look forward to it.  Let me also get this out of the way: Caol Ila’s actual distillery benefits greatly from the location.

The view from Caol Ila is unbeatable.

The distillery is tucked at the base of imposing cliffs with a waterfall funneling its way through the forested cliff face.  As impressive as that is, the other side of the distillery is breathtaking. Without the fast rushing waters of the Sound of Islay on its front door and the majestic Paps of Jura towering across the way, the distillery would be little more than an industrial spirits production facility.  That’s not a very romantic description, though appropriate.  What makes the entire experience romantic is looking past the massive stills and through the enormous windows to see a sailboat slipping through the Sound.

Caol Ila is deceptive in another way as well.  Like its Islay cousin Lagavulin, Caol Ila’s barley is malted with a 35ppm peat level.  The finished product lacks the huge punch of Lagavulin and instead offers a passionate kiss of peatiness that follows the sweet caress the spirit delivers.

Two factors contribute significantly to Caol Ila’s sweet spirit.  The first is clear wort that comes off the mash tun, which has a three wash cycle.  The second factor is the extremely long fermentation in the distillery’s larch washbacks.  Caol Ila has a 110 hour fermentation process, which is double the length of fermentation for numerous distilleries.  The longer fermentation allows the yeast to suck every last ounce of sugar out of the wort and gives a nice contrast to the peatiness imparted by the barley.

That sweet and smoky flavor profile also has strong hints of the sea, which is also a bit of a game of smoke and mirrors.  The distillery only has room for 7,000 casks on-site, and most of those are older stocks.  All new spirit is shipped to the mainland to be casked.  So, let those arguments about whether or not salty sea air influences the flavor of whisky continue.  Personally, I think it does, but I can also taste the sea in Caol Ila.  Who knows: with all those years on the Pacific Ocean in L.A., maybe I’m the one who is infused with sea salt.

The bulk of Caol Ila’s 2.3 million liters produced each year goes toward Diageo’s Johnnie Walker blends.   The remaining goes toward its core range of 12 and 18 year old expressions, as well as some of the limited bottlings, such as an 8-year-old unpeated edition, un-aged cask strength, 12-year-old Distiller’s edition matured in a Muscatel cask for six months and a 25-year-old limited edition.

Looking down upon Caol Ila from the village above.

My cottage was located 20 minutes from Caol Ila, through fields and across burns.  I would often walk past the distillery to spend time sitting along the rocky shore, downwind of the distillery, soaking in the rich barley aromas.  Caol Ila produces a massive amount of whisky and its distillery is built for that purpose.  For me, though, the whisky evokes memories of seals playing along the shore, a wealth of seabirds splashing in the waves and a smoky-sweet liquid crossing my lips as I enjoyed a rare sunny day on Islay in winter.  Caol Ila is essentially my friendly neighborhood distillery.  I encourage you to give it a try and maybe the dram will take you there, too.

A year ago, in my life as a media strategist, I sometimes would have so much going on that I’d have up to ten meetings a day scheduled.  I’d be a slave to my schedule, running from location to location, turning the previous meeting’s line of thinking off and trying to start up the right mental information for the next meeting.  Add to it the clogged Los Angeles freeway traffic that made getting anywhere a nearly impossible task…well, there was stress.

The past few months here on Islay has been stress free thanks to no traffic problems and no meetings… except for one a couple of weeks ago.   I am so out of touch with having to be at a certain place at a certain time, that when it neared the time for me to catch a bus to Lagavulin, I was still sitting in my cottage doing some writing.  Thankfully, I noticed the clock and sprinted to the bus stop in time to catch the bus for the 45 minute ride.  Unfortunately, my lapse in timeliness meant I went without eating lunch, which is never good for getting through the afternoon, let alone touring a distillery and tasting whisky.

The spirit loved the world over all passes through here.

Lagavulin means, “hollow by the mill” and fortunately for me, before I reached the mill house the growl in my hollow stomach was filled with some oatcakes and cheese courtesy of Kirsten and Ruth, two of the distillery’s tour guides.  I shouldn’t have been surprised by their generosity.  As I found out later from Distillery Manager Peter Campbell, lending a hand to those in need is something Lagavulin does proudly and does well.  More on that later.

There are hundreds of whiskies from around the world, but only a handful grab your attention by the mere mention of their name.  Lagavulin is one of those whiskies.  Whisky lovers the world over know about Lagavulin’s meaty peatiness that reaches into the cockles and envelopes them with a smile.  Iodine and saltiness take the drinker immediately to the wilds of Islay and layers of fruitiness and spice make them want to stay.

The remains of the medieval Dunyvaig Castle jut into the sea next to Lagavulin, reminding visitors this site has been important for more than just whisky for centuries.  The hollow is so well protected that between the downfall of the castle and the legitimate launching of Lagavulin, as many as ten illicit stills utilized the site.  Now, there is just Lagavulin, which has legally stood on these shores since 1816.

The giant stills at Lagavulin produce 1.3 millions liters of whisky each year.

The distillery goes through some 120te’s of malted barley a week in its 24/7 operation that yields 2.4 million liters of whisky each year.  Aside from approximately 10 percent which is set aside for blending, Lagavulin’s main bottling purpose is single malts.  The 54-hour fermentation creates a balanced sweet and slightly spicy wash the peeks through the robust peatiness brought on through the earlier malting.  This basic character is found throughout Lagavulin’s range of bottlings, but is perhaps most prevalent in the 12-year-old cask strength.

The 16-year-old is the standard by which most of the world knows Lagavulin. According to Campbell, who took over as distillery manager in November, his goal is to make sure that each bottle maintains the same consistency consumers know and love. 

“To me, this is my dream job.  Lagavulin is my favorite whisky and in my opinion, one of the best whiskies in Diageo,” Campbell said.  “I’m proud to produce one of the best whiskies on Islay.”

Campbell came over to Lagavulin from running the Port Ellen Maltings just up the road from the distillery.  The 35ppm peat level of the optic barley is infused at the maltings, and serves as the genealogical root to what ends up in the bottle years down the road.  Appropriately, Campbell’s own family background is also rooted on Islay and since coming to the island in 2000, he’s  embraced the community his forbearers called home.  

While Lagavulin the drink gives Islay’s spirit to the entire world, Lagavulin the distillery and its staff are well-known for having a giving spirit that benefits Islay.  They hold a number of fundraising events throughout the year where much of the proceeds go to local organizations.  Their bravest event is the annual Lagavulin Leap which lets loads of locals launch themselves off the distillery pier in the middle of winter in return for financial pledges.  Those who survive (and they all do) are treated to a dram or five to get the blood flowing again after being in the frigid winter sea.  Both Peter and Kirsten have participated in the event, though they are coy about whether either of them will ever do it again.  I don’t blame them.  That water is COLD.

Lagavulin sits along a stretch of road that puts in smack in the middle of Ardbeg and Laphroaig.   The distillery doesn’t have Ardbeg’s café, and it doesn’t have Laphroaig’s floor maltings, but it’s still well-worth an extended stop if you have the chance.  I won’t guarantee the staff will feed you if you’ve forgotten to eat lunch, but they’ll certainly provide you with an enthusiastic tour of the historic grounds and some fantastic drams.  You definitely won’t leave feeling hollow.