Kilkerran 16yo 2024
Official Bottling | 46% ABV
Promise
Indulge me in a little catharsis. It’s much needed.
I recently said goodbye to someone very close, someone who spent their life dealing with addiction. Rather than fight it; they seemed to almost embrace it, falling for its promise of escape, perhaps a little too often. If life is difficult and we feel unsure of the future or which step to take next, it’s sometimes appealing to hide.
For me, this loss has been a too-close-for-comfort forced reflection into considering my own relationship with a thing that can, all too easily, become so addictive. I shouldn’t apologise that, for a few sentences at least, these words will seem a little heavy. Don't worry, it’ll lighten up.
It doesn’t help that, despite being expected for some time, the loss and reflection I speak of comes at a time of extreme intensity in our lives as a family: work, health, the immediate needs of others who are close to us. Things can find a way of happening all at once. It’s remarkable that, more often than not, we find ways to take them all on, in the hope we can rest a little later.
But worse, it also comes at a time when the world around us seems - without a hint of histrionic claim or panicked exaggeration - more precarious than I ever remember. It would seem that, hell bent on our almost tribal stances, we have become skilled at using any metric to measure the human condition only to solely focus on the point of maximum contrast. This, apparently to expose the ‘wrongs’ of others and reassure ourselves about the things we’re certain we have ‘right’.
Perhaps you feel it a little too? I hope not, but I need to be honest; I do and, with everything else that’s come along in recent weeks, I feel the need to lean upon the thing I use to escape; the thing that feeds optimism and positivity in my life. I need an injection of pragmatism and perspective. Aye, I’ll just out and say it: I need whisky.
But maybe not in the way that seems immediately obvious.
I feel the draw. I need the comfort and I suspect that, as it has in the past, it might offer me the bright light of respite. It just might be powerful enough to fortify my faith in humanity once more, and my own belief that I somehow have the power and wisdom to navigate the difficult times, for the sake of myself and those who rely upon me.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so ambiguous about the nature of these personal difficulties but, if there’s one thing I’ve come to realise, while we may go through things in isolation, we rarely go through them alone.
We may not always be aware, but those all around us are going through some challenge of their own, almost at every moment. Yet, through strength, skill, confidence, diplomacy - or perhaps masking - they’re getting through in ways that work for them. So, if that’s you, I hope my ambiguity will help you apply your own scenarios as I pose a question that’s difficult to overstate the importance of asking: what role whisky is taking in your life, right now?
I hold in my hand a bottle of golden, flickering light. An unremarkable label doesn’t detract from the alluring overall aesthetic, but it isn’t winning any branding awards. To me though, it is beautiful in its reassuring honesty. I’m not a fan of boxes and tubes and I’m therefore grateful that the only thing that stands between me and the promise within, is a black foil tear-strip.
As I hold it in the daylight the heft of the glass is remarkable in its perfection: round, fat and balanced, with ridges and curves, all in the right places. A lovely, instantly recognisable identity is conveyed from any distance: Scotch Whisky.
I start to pick at the foil, ‘tis all part of the ceremony of a new bottle. I’m soothed.
Details are scant, but everything we need is there, with very little marketer’s flourish. It’s fully natural and - should we feel the need - there’s a dot matrix batch designation on the back, albeit impossible to read without some magnification assistance. That said, I know what batch it is because this is Kilkerran’s 16 year old, they all sell out with each release. Besides, with everything else taken care of, it’s a reassuring sensory delight. It’s really only the secondary - or more distant - markets where a more visible batch designation would be particularly beneficial.
However, on the whole, as a package, it is exactly the comfort I’m after. I pop the cork and glug a small pour into a fresh glass. Blissful, happy sounds.
I place it on a shelf alongside its siblings and find further comfort. Nothing shares quite like a glass of interesting new malt. An immediate ability to compare it to last year’s release and its younger 12 year old appeals in my week ahead. Something I’m fortunate to be able to do with a visiting whisky pal, or two, or more.
I take a step back and marvel at the sheer accumulation of glowing amber beaming from every corner of the whisky pit; an endless selection of opportunity for contemplation; teleportation to anywhere. Infinite possibilities for almost any flight of exploration, based on any theme or whim I might think of. More sharing.
I swirl and nose for the first time and start to consider the people in my life who I’ll share these potential moments with: here in the pit, online, or out there in the bigger, wider whiskyverse. A world of whisky which brims fuller each time with more beautiful whisky folk - from every walk of life and every corner - all besotted with the wonder of what can be discovered in a glass of distilled grain. We all pop our eyes nosing a good whisky, right?
I think of my fellow writers here - each and every one of them a considered and polite individual - who share their experiences each day, sometimes through a letterbox-view of their own lives and challenges. The review, scores and tasting notes - as serious as they may seem at times - are mere tendrils of pleasure afforded by whisky and everyone applies as much care as they do fun, but they do more. They share stories, life changing events, experiences and thoughts inspired by, and connected to, their own individual and shared exploration. They share knowledge, they share depth, as if whisky demands it.
They do it for you and, like today, they do it for themselves.
I think of the people I’ll meet in the days ahead over the coming festival weekend here in Glasgow; a dizzying, concentrated, hedonistic and all-too-transient whisky fray where everyone’s challenge is to try to be as present as possible, mindful of a precious few hours where so much fun is on offer. I think of the smiles and handshakes to introduce new friendships, and the hugs to reaffirm those a little older. I think of the possibilities of good people coming together without a care of the inconceivable divisions we choose to find in a world filled with far too many negative distractions.
And I realise that, for now, I need whisky not for the alcohol, or the mere possession of it, I need it for the promise of everything it represents to me today. Long ago, whisky transcended itself. It has become so much bigger than a drink. I need it for the positivity, the possibility. I need it for the people it has brought to my side.
And in a week where so much focus was centred around loss and death, writing about it makes me feel grateful to have, and to be alive.
Review
Kilkerran 16yo, 2024 release, 70% ex-bourbon, 20% ex-sherry, 10% ex-rum, 46% ABV
£70 / £75 and still available here and there.
There are older expressions these days from Glengyle distillery, but they’re like hen’s teeth. Depending on where you are in the world this, their oldest core range, might be just as difficult for you to acquire. Worse, you may be asked to pay far too much.
I paid £75 and it was available everywhere for ages. Even now, many weeks after its release, it’s still available in one or two places locally in the UK for RRP. No doubt, it will appear on auction to those who take advantage of the international shipping options and I predict they won’t be far from suggested retail. The only challenge you’ll have is trying to decipher which batch. Let me help you there. Forget the minutiae; all of ‘em are great.
We’ve reviewed each annual release here since 2021 on Dramface, and it’s a pleasure to share the latest with you.
Nose
Fresh, floral, a little coastal and tropical.
The tropical fruit nature is beautifully distracting, trying to articulate the closest fruit is a challenge but you’ll get the drift: pineapple, lychee and starfruit. There’s a floral lick - like lillies and Turkish delight. Sweetness too, some Scottish tablet and fudge. A little bread pudding, salt and a wisp of damp dunnage.
Palate
Elegance.
There’s an immediate betrayal of Campbelltown in there, you know the tell, but it’s delicate. All the lightness and brightness from the nose arrives but with a richness and a leathery depth. Some crisp orchard fruits appear with the waves of tropical, there’s a saltiness but it too is light. The sweetness, perhaps amped by a little more rum cask influence this year, is more creamy than cloying, it is a lovely balance. It develops a lick of that dunnage note to express its maturity, before fading to salt, soft white pepper and the softest smoke on the finish. With a few drops of water it sparkles a little at first before a few drops more quells and kills the delicate vibrance. This one’s best neat.
The Dregs
There’s a hint of insecurity over the branding on the back label of this; it talks, yet again, about why it’s not called Glengyle. Ditch that, it’s not necessary and everyone knows the real reason. Glengyle is the distillery, but someone else owns the brand. This is simply Kilkerran, it is beautiful in name and presentation and I place it ahead of Springbank in its consistency. The fact that it’s available(ish) and affordable(ish) only adds to the wonder. Is it really still a secret, anywhere?
This, for me, is simply the best contemporary 16 year old you can hunt.
Tav gave last year’s a 9/10, declaring it the best he’s had. That one was a little richer with more sherry cask themes in the mix (60%) and, while an absolute treat, I’d score it an 8 today.
This one leaves me perplexed on scoring. Flipping the sherry cask ratio towards (my favoured) ex-bourbon, it’s so remarkably different from last year and, for me, their best yet. But the score has to remain the same. You could argue it deserves to be pushed to a 9; especially if, for £75, a wee glass makes me gush as this does, but the 19 year old Warehouse Release and the 20 year made me melt. Those were solid 9s.
Placed against bolder whiskies, the subtle beauty and balance of this might struggle, but on its own or with contemporaries of a similar style, it will sing. It’s an 8, but you need to know - depending on other factors - it’s also a 7, a 9 or, with the right pal, with the right words of support, at the right moment, a 10.
I’m feeling a helluva lot better. Thank you for your catharsis.
Score: 8/10
Tried this? Share your thoughts in the comments below. WMc