Whisky of the Week: One Cask at a Time ‘Ledaig 1993’

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On the Hebridean Isle of Mull, the most northerly town is Tobermory. It’s a stormy sort of place, known for its classic maritime climate, windy winters and year-round rain. And the whisky produced at the Tobermory distillery tends to reflect this. The whiskymakers may draw soft water from the island’s hills, but what emerges is tougher stuff — deeply peaty, suffused with smoke and strong enough to sate a sailor as he returns to his harbour-side home.

Except this whisky isn’t like that. A 1993 Ledaig — the peated malt of the Tobermory distillery — it’s a bottling discovered by those purveyors of rare finds and hidden gems, One Cask at a Time. And, matured for 30 years in a single cask, this malt has mellowed; swapping out its usual Hebridean peat and briny punch for something a little subtler.

But this is why One Cask at Time is such an interesting proposition. The bottler is highly selective — offering seven single cask malts representing some of the best distilleries across Scotland, divided into three horology-themed series: Chronograph, Pendulum, and Grandfather. Each cask is a singular snapshot of a distillery, often showcasing familiar, established characteristics, but also throwing up surprises.

Because a single cask, says the bottler, can take its own path. And this one — part of the Grandfather collection and limited to just 74 bottles — sets the smoke aside, having grown quieter and more delicate during its three decades in oak. Bottled at cask strength and non-chill filtered, here’s the Gentleman’s Journal verdict on One Cask at a Time’s ‘Grandfather Ledaig 1993’…

On the eyes: When Ledaig whiskies reach a ripe old age like this, they tend to be dark. The 18-Year-Old, for example, finished in premium Spanish sherry casks, is a deep amber — bordering on a reddish-brown. But this? It’s almost double the age, but half as coppery. Hold it up to the light, and you’ll get every bright inch of that pale gold hue; a fresh straw-ish colour. There’s no added colouring, naturally, and swilling it around the glass reveals slow-forming legs, which belie the expression’s 42.3% ABV — relatively low for a cask-strength bottling.

On the nose: This’ll change. An initial sniff will give you that salty sea spray, reminiscent of Tobermory itself. But let it breathe for a beat — take another nose — and it’ll have evolved. But that’s a good thing, and it’s fitting for a whisky so removed from its distillery’s established character to have a slight identity crisis of its own. Plus, this also allows for more aromas to come through. Always light and fresh, expect a carousel of scents from fresh strawberries to cut grass, and if you can wait even longer, a hint of plain butter biscuits.

On the palate: This is where that pale colour and lightness of aroma pays off. The first thing you’ll notice is a distinct lack of peat; in a blind tasting, you’d be hard-pressed to deduce this was a Ledaig. What you do get, however, is a gentle sweetness with light woody undertones and a touch of soft, dulce de leche-style caramel. And that’s not the only honeyed quality here. Among the whisky’s other candied characteristics, there’s a drizzle of golden syrup and a couple of squares of chocolate in the mix, all swirled together with a waxy, flax-y mouthfeel.

On the finish: As with the nose, the longer you leave it, the more you’ll discover. Initially, the finish is smooth, with lingering hints of oak and a touch of hay — echoing that light-bodied colour. But then, a couple of the nosing notes recur, including the sharp green sweetness of cut grass and those plump, rich strawberries. Then it’s back to brown sugar, this time seasoned with some lesser-known autumnal baking spices, like clove and cassia bark. A grind of black pepper later, and we’re almost out — but not before a final whisper of lemon, or perhaps its more aromatic cousin, yuzu, brings us sharply, yet smoothly home.