On a dark winter evening, Andrew, as usual, tasted one last barrel, on which one could be guessed, from afar, a few scriptures: the number “11”, on one hand, was obvious, while two initials were more difficult to decipher. Callum, impressed by the precision of his tasting, was watching him, and a touch of jealousy seized him.
The next morning, at dawn, Callum decided to take his destiny into his own hands: he had to stop dreaming about these bottles, he had to get closer to this warehouse and talk to its owner.
When Callum arrived, he opened his jacket and looked for a packet of chewing gum. He raised his head, replaced an unruly white wick and looked out to sea. On reflection, he preferred to preserve his palate from the menthol. He wouldn’t want to spoil the peated aromas of the distillery’s single cask for anything in the world. This was his only certainty at the beginning of his journey: he would be able to taste a new series of exclusive bottlings.
A variety of carefully selected ageing processes in the Signatory Vintage cellars. For the rest, everything else was still to be discovered: the invitation of his best enemy of failure. The laconic missive: ““It has disappeared. Join me as soon as you can in Port Askaig”… Callum sighed. The idea of yet another investigation preoccupied him.
He finally took a cigarette out of his back pocket. Breathed in the Scottish wind before lighting it. A cloud of grey mingled with the mist which finally revealed his game. The white fabrics disappeared, introducing the mysteries to come from the Isle of Islay.