jaw@aurora.UUCP (James A. Woods) (10/21/86)
# "Don't water the whisky" -- S. Clay Wilson, amongst others
# "Whisky, wah, wah, she breathed" -- Vivian Stanshall, "Big Shot"
R. Innis of Edinburgh (csrdi@its63b.ed.ac.uk) has provoked a wealth
of memories with his mention of Caol Ila. I'll add immediately that this
jewel of a distillery resides in a most scenic location, on Islay just across
the channel from the Isle of Jura (a ten minute ferryboat ride to standing
stone country). The mash tuns and copper stills look right out through
floor-to-ceiling picture glass onto the water. When I was there last year,
they were in the midst of winding down their season, whisky-making, like
silicon chip production, being the boom/bust phenomenon that it is.
Tours, as for other operating distilleries on Islay (Bowmore, Laphroaig,
and Lagavulin -- Ardbeg and Port Ellen are shut down) can be arranged with
advance contact.
Mind you that although the older bottlings of Caol Ila (from Cadenhead
of Aberdeen or G. MacPhail of Elgin) show Caol Ila to be reminiscent of
Laphroaig in terms of peat content, the output won't be for long. The blasted
powers-that-be have unfortunately decided, a couple of years back, to opt
for a lighter dram, so, ten years hence, the Caol Ila you drink will be
an entirely different animal. The "original formula" is rather scarce
in any quantity (try Milroy's in London). However, the stuff is blended
into Old Rarity, if you so care.
Now, I didn't expect so soon to post a 2nd edition to my notes to
net.wines (circa 1984) on unblended malts, so I'll save most details
for later. [aside: from the standpoint of travel alone (ahh, the little town
of Stein on the Isle of Skye; the lobster by moonlight, the mists of Dunvegen
castle ... from the spareness of the Orkneys to the lush lochs near Pitlochry
and the salmon glutted rivers Tay and Spey...), Scotland may be just your
cup of tea.]
As for the sheer hedonism of malt whisky appreciation (witness the
multi-faceted magnificence of Lagavulin, the chocolate essence of James
Morrison's Bowmore, the curiosity of Edradour, Scotland's smallest, the
rhubarb note in Dallas Dhu, the smokiness of Bell's Blair Athol, the
intriguing history of Josie's Well at Glenlivet, the clarity of the waters
at Glenmorangie, the butterscotch of a Pulteney or ripe ecstasy of a 1953
Talisker, the cultish capriciousness of a vintage Mortlach or the knitted
nicety of 45-year Pride of Strathspey -- hell, most all of 'em are good),
you will nearly faint at the flavors of some of the best, and many indeed
claim that fine cognac is dull in comparison.
I must rest now, but will say this in rhapsody -- if the backwards
administration of "my ain countrie" ever detains me in its anti-drug crusade
whilst in the clutches of the succor of a bottle of 104 proof Glenfarclas
(ditto 15-year Laphroaig), I would gladly serve time in gaol with a grin
upon my countenance, and reserve a scowl for the taxman who discovers the
the value of the "psychic capital gains" contained within my hoard.
-- James A. Woods (ames!jaw, or jaw@ames-aurora.arpa)