10/27/2024
A sad nostalgic memory: it was somewhere in the late 80s that I came across Talisker Whisky for the first time and was convinced that the gods had come to dance in my mouth. I'd never tasting anything like this before and was so enamored that I wrote a fan-boy letter to "Mr. Talisker" (what did I know?) and sent it to the address on the back label (the importer).
To my surprise, a month later I received a reply in a textured envelope with the "Classic Malts" logo on it. In the letter, the Distillery Manager (I think it was Ian MacDonald, but could be wrong) wrote back inviting me to the Isle of Skye and visit the home of Talisker.
In 1998, Amy, Rose and I took our first trip to Scotland, specifically to visit Talisker. Little did I know we would fall in love with the whole island, but that's another story. We pulled into the Talisker parking lot late in the afternoon and the guard was skeptical we'd be allowed in. Having never been to a distillery before, I didn't know what to expect, but we found a small door and I knocked on it a few times before a lady answered it. "Wha'dya'want?", she glowered at us. "Uhh...well...can we come in and...look around?", I asked and she caught my young daughter's eye. "Ay, ya' want a tour? Well, alright, come in, but don't touch nothin'" (Whisky tourism had yet to become a thing).
As we looked around and took in for the first time the spectacle of whisky being made, we came across a group of German tourists (because there's always German tourists at distilleries), and we all walked around, excited to see, hear and smell the process. At the end, we were led into the gift shop and a dram was poured for us (except for Rose, she was only 9). I fished the reply letter out of my pocket and asked the guide if the man who wrote it still worked here. "Oh sure", she said, "he's our distillery manager", and she snatched the letter from my hands and walked out. I was sure I offended her and the German's skulked away from me.
A few minutes later, an older man bounces in, waving the letter asking "which one of you's Mr. Robinson?" I raised my hand and he replies, "well, lad, what took ya' so long ta' get here". I'm pretty sure this was the same man I wrote to long before. "So, ya love Talisker, do ye'" he asked. "Well, ya' aint' tasted nothin' yet". The Germans crowded around me again.
With that, he leads us all out of the shop, glasses in hand, down a path and into my very first whisky warehouse, and if you've been to one, you know the smell: it stays with you forever. He's talking and laughing and pointing and then comes upon a cask that's been taken off the rack. He picks up a long wooden hammer and starts banging on it until the "cork" pops out of the top. Then takes a long copper pipe (valinch) dips it in, pours the liquid into our glasses and over our hands, laughing, telling us "don't waste it, rub it in" as he tells us stories of the past and we stood in awe with the smell of Talisker all over us. Even Rose got to rub her hands a little with it. The Germans were delighted.
That was the day I knew that someday, somehow, I would be linked with whisky. The rest is (personal) history.
So yeah, it's sad to read something like this....
Talisker Distillery could be demolished to build a new facility after owner Diageo filed a proposal of application notice.
