So long anticipated. The whisky’s color is of antique gold, so exquisite that pouring it out of the bottle seems injurious. The aroma is sweet and creamy. Estery notes of honeydew, pear, and sun-ripened wild strawberries dance upward. The peat is discernible as thyme and red raspberry leaf. Beeswax candle reaches the back of the nose. Half an hour passes and I finally take a sip. On the palate this whisky is a wonder. Its oaken foundation is resinous and spice-driven, with clove and nutmeg coming to mind. Delicate notes of tropical fruit are found at the front—more honeydew, papaya, kumquat. Other notes come and go before a salty wave resets the senses: balsamic reduction, more thyme, spiced pear, and the gooey cinnamon at the center of a cinnamon roll? The finish is as complex as everything that has come before, intoxicating the throat and reaching back up to the tip of the tongue. Delightfully spicy and kippery, it is a finish that begs another start. But the glass is empty before I’ve appreciated all the layers this whisky contains. It is the most nuanced and complicated potion of a single malt I’ve ever tasted. With only a few pours left in the bottle, I will be just as mystified by the last as I was by the first.