There’s more than one kind of “Grand Cru” in Bordeaux, and they’re not all created equally. Here, Charlie Geoghegan breaks it down.

Pick up a bottle of Bordeaux and find the phrase “Grand Cru” staring back at you, and you might reasonably think you’re in for something special. The cream of the crop. You could well be right about that – but you could also be wrong. 

These two little words mark a rare way in which Bordeaux is actually more complicated than its stroppy cousin Burgundy. A Grand Cru there is assuredly the best of the best: Montrachet, Richebourg, Chambertin, that kind of thing. It’s hard to go wrong, and even the less-well-regarded Grands Crus are, well, Grands Crus. They’re almost literally the one percent. 

Things aren’t so clear-cut in Bordeaux, where the term is slightly slippier. Grand Cru means something different in Bordeaux than it does in Burgundy, you see. But it also means something different from one part of Bordeaux to another. 

That Grand Cru Claret in your hand? Look carefully, because it might be a profound vintage from a top-tier estate, or it might be a bog-standard bottle of something better left on the shelf. Then again, some of Bordeaux’s greatest labels won’t bear any mention whatsoever of the phrase. How do you make sense of that, then? 

What is a Grand Cru in Bordeaux? 

Most of the time, when people talk about Grands Crus in Bordeaux, they mean the top five percent or so of producers. The sort of estates that sell their wines En Primeur. The top 250 or so château in a region with over 5,000. 

There is a distinction to make, however, and it relates to classifications. The phrase “Grands Crus Classés”, often translated as “Classified Growths”, is used to refer specifically to those châteaux that feature in Bordeaux’s key classifications. 

Classifying wines is something of a local pastime here, and over the centuries there have been a plethora of different attempts to organise the region’s wines neatly into one little box or another. Some have stood the test of time, others have fallen by the wayside and others still never really caught on. The late Dewey Markham Jr’s excellent 1855: A History of the Bordeaux Classification documents many of these attempts – and is well worth tracking down. 

Today, there are three classifications that are pertinent to the Grand Cru discussion: the 1855 classification of the Médoc and Sauternes; the St Emilion classification, introduced in 1955 and subject to regular revisions; and the Graves classification, which has been in effect in its current form since 1959.  

You may be familiar with the Cru Bourgeois classification, and you may have heard of the Crus Artisans. Both are worth digging into, though they sit outside and beyond the big three – and the featured producers are not considered Classified Growths. 

Bordeaux classifications in a nutshell 

You don’t need to know these classifications inside-out to appreciate Bordeaux, but a little refresher might help.

The 1855 classification

This one covers the red wines of the Médoc (plus one outlier from Graves) and the sweet whites of Sauternes. The Médoc list is broken into five tiers, from First Growths to Fifth Growths, and covers 61 châteaux. Sauternes is simpler, with three tiers: Château d’Yquem alone occupies the top level as Premier Cru Supérieur (“Superior First Growth”, but generally considered on par with the Médoc’s First Growths), followed by First Growths and Second Growths. There are 27 Classified Growths in Sauternes. With the notable exception of Château Mouton Rothschild’s promotion to First Growth in 1973, the classification has remained largely the same since 1855. These wines will typically say something like Grand Cru Classé en 1855 on the label.

The St Emilion classification

Something of a moveable feast, this one has regular revisions, theoretically once every 10 years. Its current incarnation is from 2022 and contains three levels. In descending order, the terms you’ll see on the label are: Premier Grand Cru Classé A; Premier Grand Cu Classe B; and Grand Cru Classé. There are 85 estates included. (More on this in a moment.) 

The Graves classification

This classification operates a little differently in that the estates are classified for either their red wine, their white wine or both. (Take this with a pinch of salt, though: Château Haut-Brion is classified only for its red wine, though its white wine routinely commands an even higher price.) It in theory covers the entire sub-region of Graves, but all 16 estates are located specifically within Pessac-Léognan. These will probably say Cru Classé de Graves on the label.

The classifications combined

A cereal-packet calculation puts the roster of Classified Growths at 188 estates throughout the Médoc, Sauternes, Graves and St Emilion (Château Haut-Brion features in both the 1855 and Graves classifications so is counted twice above).  

These estates are among the most prestigious in the world, though it’s important to note that this group, for various reasons, also excludes some of the region’s greatest names. So when considering the Grands Crus of Bordeaux, it’s necessary to widen the definition a little bit. 

Not all Grands Crus are classified 

Confusingly, some of Bordeaux’s undisputed greats don’t belong to any classification at all.  

This is most evident in Pomerol. This small pocket of farmland north-west of St Emilion isn’t much to look at, but don’t be fooled: this is the dark-blue bit on Bordeaux’s Monopoly board, and almost every square metre of vineyard land here belongs to an estate of note. You can’t throw a lump of blue clay without hitting something prestigious: Petrus, Le Pin, Château L’Evangile, Château La Conseillante, the list goes on. Not a classification in sight, but nobody would deny these estates their place among Bordeaux’s best.

See also the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux. This is the body that organises the annual En Primeur tasting week, a string of events in France and the sort of lengthy world tours that’d give Taylor Swift or Bruce Springsteen a run for their money.  

Its 130-plus members include châteaux from each of the three major classifications (though not all Classified Growths are members). But it doesn’t stop there. Pomerol, as you might expect, is well represented. The union also includes non-classified châteaux from the Médoc and Graves, like Château Angludet and Château Les Carmes Haut-Brion. These are among the most impressive producers in Bordeaux today. They, and others like them, make a strong argument that the classifications aren’t infallible. 

And then there’s St Emilion. In the leadup to the most recent iteration of the St Emilion classification, some high-ranking estates decided not to apply for reclassification. Notably this included three of the four châteaux at the top tier: Ausone, Cheval Blanc and Angélus. Château La Gaffelière, previously sitting at the next level down, also left the classification. They may no longer be part of an official ranking, but these properties are no less prestigious than they were beforehand.  

While we’re on the subject of St Emilion, actually… 

When is a Grand Cru not a Grand Cru? 

We need to talk about St Emilion. Or rather, the phrase “St Emilion Grand Cru”. These words, in isolation, refer to an appellation rather than a classification.  

When you see St Emilion Grand Cru on a label, it simply means that the wine has been made within a defined geographic area according to certain criteria. It’s not inherently telling you that it is part of a classification; that it’s a high-quality wine; or that it’s a higher-quality wine than one that doesn’t have this label.

The St Emilion Grand Cru appellation has around 5,400 hectares of vines. That’s bigger than the entire Haut-Médoc and almost 10 times the surface area of Burgundy’s Grands Crus combined. The nature of those estates varies widely, understandably enough – as does their level of ambition, their resources and, ultimately, the quality of their wine. As a category, St Emilion Grand Cru includes everything from Château Ausone to own-brand supermarket wine; you really do need something a little more to go on. 

It’s worth noting that there’s a separate appellation called just “St Emilion”. It covers the same geographic area as St Emilion Grand Cru, though it has slightly different requirements relating to things like maximum permitted yield and minimum permitted alcohol-by-volume. Essentially, the St Emilion rules allow you to make a little bit more wine from grapes that don’t have to be quite so ripe. Having said that, St Emilion is not intrinsically lower in quality than St Emilion Grand Cru. 

To be a Classified Growth in St Emilion, you need to make your wine using the St Emilion Grand Cru appellation. But crucially, not all wineries in the St Emilion Grand Cru appellation are Classified Growths. 

Making sense of Bordeaux’s Grands Crus 

So you’re in a shop and you’ve picked up that bottle. Not every Bordeaux that says Grand Cru is going to set the world on fire, though equally there are plenty of bottles that don’t say Grand Cru that are really special. How do you sort the wheat from the chaff?  

Most Classified Growths will proudly tell you of their status right there on the label, for a start. Those that opt not to make a song-and-dance of it are probably famous enough without it: Châteaux like Palmer and Léoville Las Cases come to mind.  

Then there’s Pomerol. Not every single estate there makes great wine, though as a rule of thumb it’s difficult to find bad Pomerol. Keep an eye out, too, for those non-classified estates that punch above their weight. And when it comes to St Emilion, remember that “Grand Cru” alone isn’t a guarantee of quality.  

In all cases: it pays to explore your own tastes and understand what you like. You may get just as much pleasure, if not more, from a Fifth Growth than a First Growth. And if you’re not a fan of Merlot, it doesn’t matter how highly ranked a particular St Emilion is – it’s probably not going to be your cup of tea. 

In Bordeaux, Grand Cru can be a useful term, though it’s not the be-all-and-end-all. And ultimately, we’re talking about a small minority of wines from a big, diverse region. The Grands Crus play a very important role, though they don’t exist in a vacuum. Enjoy your Grands Crus as part of a well-balanced Bordeaux diet. 

Explore our range of Bordeaux Grand Crus to lay down. 

It’s a chill, grey day in Germany’s Rheingau region, and winemaker Eva Fricke is holding court. Hanging onto her every word – and eagerly eyeing the wines awaiting us in the corner of the room – are wine-lovers from across the globe. 

We’re here to try something quite special, with flavours dating back 100 years: Eva’s new Eltville Collection. 

“Why does Eva Fricke need a new wine?” 

It’s the question Eva posed to us, as we sat together in a historic German Schloss, nestled in the heart of the small town of Eltville. The site could hardly have been more appropriate, given what we were to be introduced to.  

Those who have been lucky enough to sample Eva’s wines already may not have thought this was a question worth asking. Eva’s wines are nothing short of remarkable: vibrant and pure, with slicing acidity and an intensity of fruit that lasts long beyond the final drop. No one who has tasted them would object to another feather in her winemaking cap. 

The question of “why a new wine” is evidently one she’s asked herself, throughout the process of creating the Eltville Collection. But, over the course of the evening, it becomes clear exactly why the ambitious new project is not only necessary – but destined to be a success. 

Domaine Schloss Eltz  

In 2019, Eva Fricke took over two hectares of land that had once been part of Domaine Schloss Eltz, planted with decades-old vines. The domaine ceased operating in the 1970s, but its wines remain sought-after by collectors to this day.  

The wines of this historic estate were grown on the banks of the Rhine. High-quality and internationally renowned, they were counted amongst the Rheingau’s most important for decades. Apprentices from across Germany flocked to Schloss Eltz, clamouring to learn from these masters of sweet and noble wines.  

It is here – after the potential of the vineyards was realised, after lying dormant for years – that the Eltville Collection wines were born.  

The power of sustainability  

When first taking over the site, expectations were mixed. “It looked like a mass-production vineyard,” Eva says; biodiversity had been stripped away, there was a significant monoculture that was proving damaging to the vines there. “It took three to five years to show its full potential.”  

Eva is committed to working sustainably. Her own estate is organically certified, and she has been utilising biodynamic applications for two years. This same ethos was employed in the Schloss Eltz site – and the results were quite astounding.  

“The more natural your farming is, the more naturally you can work in the cellar and the easier it is to taste the terroir and the grapes,” Eva says.  Year by year, the wines began to express more of their site: more texture, more aroma, more vivacity. It was more than Eva had hoped for, she recounts – and it became clear that this was a standalone project she wanted to highlight, not something to blend into another of her wines. 

A sense of history 

More surprises were to come. After taking over the site, Eva discovered that the soils in Schloss Eltz were some of the most unique in Germany.  

In the 1950s, “restructuring” programmes initiated by the government (known as Flurbereinigung) meant that many vineyards were refilled with new soils, transported from elsewhere in the country.  

This small site was one of the very few to escape. Soils here are those that originally characterised the region, rich in shells and chalk, having once been riverbeds. These, Eva says, add a different kind of texture and minerality to the Eltville Collection that are reminiscent of the world’s finest white Burgundies, or historic Mosel wines.  

The discovery of these original soils also meant Eva found herself uniquely positioned to create something quite special – wines that embody what Rheingau Riesling used to be. 

The natural taste of Riesling  

“I take the soil, I take the grape, and I try to make the most out of it. I try to preserve history,” Eva says. This preservation is important; Germany has undergone many changes in its winemaking. The biggest changes came in the 1970s, when focus moved to the production of cheaper Riesling and white wine brands: Blue Nun, Black Tower and the like. 

The vines planted during these years were those that could produce greater volumes of wine – often at the expense of concentration and flavour. As Eva describes, the vine clones of 100 years ago made remarkably different wine: more mineral and more aromatic, with concentrated favours of rose petal and lychee alongside Riesling’s classic stone fruit, lime and blossom. They were behind the wines that propelled Rheingau to its initial reputation of “aristocratic distinction”.  

These older clones are the ones Eva chose to plant in the historic soils of Schloss Eltz, dating back to around 1900 – each taken from the Krone vineyard at her original domaine.  

This is a true heritage project, and, when we come to taste the Eltville Collection, it’s clear that these are unlike any Rieslings we’ve tasted before. There’s a profound depth here, alongside remarkably expressive yellow stone fruit like quince that tastes – in Eva’s words – “like fruit used to, before industrialised farming”.  

The future of Eltville 

The Eltville Collection has history at its heart: not only the history of its vineyard, but that of the Rheinghau, and Riesling itself. What Eva has done here is create something wholly unique: a snapshot into the past, of winemaking gone by.  

But she’s not resting on these laurels. “I believe this work is very important,” she says, “for me, and the people who come after me.” 

Eva is on a mission to preserve the historic jewel she has uncovered, by ensuring it’s set up for the future. In collaboration with Hochschule Geisenheim University, she has embarked on an agroforestry project in Schloss Eltz.  

“Rheingau used to be full of trees,” Eva says, “and I thought we need to bring that back.” Trees not only offer shade in Rheingau’s increasingly hot summers, but also have the capacity to soak up excess water. As the flooding in Germany’s damp 2022 vintage proved, this can be a lifeline for vineyards. 

“We need a change, and we need to start trying new things,” Eva says. The Eltville Collection is certainly unlike anything we’ve seen before. And, with Eva’s sustainable measures and careful precision coaxing more radiance, texture and aroma out of these heritage wines every year, the future of Rheingau’s history certainly looks bright.  

To find out more about the Eltville Collection, exclusively available through us from Friday 14th February, head to our website here.

A peated dram is the favoured choice for many whisky-lovers. But what is peat, and how does it get into whisky? Barbara Drew MW digs in to find out.

In the sometimes gloomy depths of winter, there are treats aplenty. Evenings spent close to the radiator, with a good book. Hot chocolate after a brisk walk in the cold air. And a smoky, iodine-tinged dram of peated whisky, at the end of the night. But what sets apart peated whiskies from their more common, unpeated counterparts? And how, exactly, are they made?

What is peat?

Peat is partly decomposed organic matter, formed in the damp, acidic conditions of bogs and fenland. It takes thousands of years to form, at the rate of just one millimetre per year. Because peat is organic though, it burns quite well and has been used for decades as a fuel source, when trees aren’t available.

It’s found in the aforementioned peat bogs, enormous areas of (often) wind-blasted heath, desolate and damp. It’s cut in the summer and laid out in bricks to dry. If you walk through the wilds of Scotland you’ll often come across such cuttings – some legal, some less so – in the summer months. A huge 20% of Scotland’s land area consists of peat bog.

How is it used in whisky?

Peat can be used in the malting process in whisky production (though it is optional). Once the barley has been malted (tricked into germinating with heat and water), the barley is then dried in a kiln. If this kiln is fuelled with peat, it adds a rich, smoky flavour to the malted barley. This smoky flavour follows the barley throughout the entire distillation process, eventually ending up in the finished whisky.

The intensity of the peat flavour varies depending on how much peat is used; and only a tiny amount is needed to leave its signature smoky kick. Peat level is measured in parts per million (ppm) of phenols, and even the smokiest whiskies may only have 50ppm – a tiny amount. Others may have just one or two ppm – just enough for a faint whisper of bonfire on the finish.

Scotland, and particularly the island of Islay, is often associated with peated whiskies. There is no monopoly on this style however; far from it. In fact when the Japanese whisky industry launched in the 1920s, modelled very closely on the Scotch industry, peat was just one of the many aspects borrowed from Scotland. Many classic Japanese whiskies now have the tiniest hint of peat to them, amongst them the Yamazaki.

As whisky production has expanded around the globe, peated (alongside unpeated) styles have taken off in regions as diverse as Sweden, Tasmania and India. Some new-wave US whiskies also use peat to add complexity and a smoky kick. But is all that about to change?

Sustainability

Due to how long it takes to form, peat is increasingly viewed as a finite resource. The truth is that anything is sustainable if it is used at a pace at which it can be replenished, and the amount of peat used in whisky production is slight indeed (and represents less than one percent of all peat use across all industries). Nevertheless, distilleries are increasingly looking to the protection and preservation of these landscapes as part of their overall sustainability approach.

In 2023, the Scotch Whisky Association launched its Commitment to Responsible Peat Use (CRPU) to promote responsible extraction, efficient use of peat during malting, and restoration of peatlands. With over 80% of Scotland’s peatlands degraded, the Scottish government has committed £250m to restore 250,000 hectares by 2030. And by creating the CRPU, the industry has taken its first collective step towards sustainable peatland management.

Of course, this is limited to Scotland for now and better control over third-party suppliers of peat is required. But this topic is moving up the agenda and distilleries around the world are now reviewing their peat use to ensure they are only using it when necessary, and maximising the peat they do use.

This doesn’t mean that your favourite smoky whisky is on the endangered list. But it does mean these products should be truly savoured; we’re unlikely to see the market flooded with a huge number of peaty styles in the future.

Three to try

Berry Bros. & Rudd Classic Islay, Single Malt Scotch Whisky (45.3%)

A great introduction to peaty flavours, this has a lovely gentle but persistent smokiness on the nose. The palate has a soft, creamy texture, with notes of orchard fruit and honey, offset by hints of kippers and iodine. A classic taste of Islay.

Westland, Peated, Single Malt Whiskey, USA (46%)

Peat is not just found in Scotch whisky and this bottle beautifully illustrates how this smoky flavour can enhance bottlings from around the world. This is a blend of five different types of malted barley, some unpeated and some which have been peated. The result is a balanced whiskey, with soot, orange peel and ginger alongside cocoa and spice flavours.

2013 Bruichladdich, Port Charlotte, Heavily Peated, PMC:01, Islay, Single Malt Scotch Whisky (54.5%)

This does what it says on the tin and is delightfully smoky and intense. Finished in Pomerol wine casks, there is a light red-fruit flavour underlying this whisky though. The Port Charlotte bottlings have plenty of peat flavour but are always beautifully balanced nonetheless. This is a treat for fans of a smokier dram.

Last autumn, we had the great fortune of visiting Campbeltown – the remote fishing town on the west coast of Scotland, and once the whisky capital of the world. With storm clouds gathering overhead, we sought refuge in the three remaining distilleries, delving deeper into the town’s fascinating history of decline and resurgence. Photo credit: Glengyle Distillery.

Campbeltown. The mere mention of the name will light up the eyes of the most passionate whisky collectors. Its spirits are highly coveted, revered and cherished – if you are lucky enough to get your hands on a bottle.  

But behind the whisky, this is a thoroughly unassuming town. It is located at the far end of the Kintyre Peninsula, overlooking the Firth of Clyde. There is only one road into Campbeltown, stretching down the length of the peninsula, overlooking the sea lapping the shore. The Northern Irish coast looms on the horizon, almost within touching distance.  

Around 4,600 people live here, and there are three working distilleries: Glen Scotia, Glengyle and Springbank. Here, the hotels and pubs have a faded air, as if you’ve slipped back in time. Red leather and tartan, proper but unfussy. Ghost signs remain legible on the side of buildings. Fishing boats are moored in the harbour. There are hints of a colourful past everywhere you look, because this was once the whisky capital of the world. 

* 

Records tell us that at the turn of the 19th century, Campbeltown had 31 distilleries. This figure would grow to 37 throughout the 1800s. Two major industries blossomed here: whisky and herring. Picture a bustling hub of rolling barrels, fishing boats pulling into shore amid the market calls of the fishmongers. Distillery workers in their flat caps, the stench of fish curing in the sun. Smoke billowing from the pagoda chimneys.  

These appear to have been times of prosperity, abundance and industry. Turning the clock a little further back, there were reputed to have been 31 illegal stills operating in the town by the end of the 18th century. Distillers no doubt found resourceful and canny ways of hiding their spirit from “the exciseman” – the bogeyman of the 1700s. Then, in 1823, the Excise Act made it easier for distilleries to become licensed, and a legitimate whisky industry began to bloom. It may seem like one of Scotland’s most isolated outposts now, but in the era of the steamship, it was primely located between the rest of Scotland and Ireland, with an easy route south too.  

We are told all this by our guide, Aly Anaut, who is showing us around town on a drizzly grey Wednesday. Aly is an animated guide with a clear passion for whisky, which has brought him here from Cusco, Peru, with his family.  

As we walk, Aly points out the dark red and black bricks that the buildings are built from. These came from all over the world, brought in on steamships as ballast. We turn a corner, and he draws our attention to the shape of the windows in residential flats, speaking to their former lives as distilleries. Even the Tesco in town is an old distillery.  

He tells us how the town’s whisky used to be nicknamed “stinky fish” hinting at the casks’ former lives. A little further north, the Duke of Argyll’s castle in Inveraray was built with funds earned from selling the loch water to the town’s whisky-makers. These are small, almost incidental, details, but each one is a brushstroke building a larger picture of a thriving past.  

* 

Our first stop is Springbank, the oldest remaining distillery in town, dating back to 1828. Its whiskies are among the world’s most desirable. They’re released by ballot, so it’s luck of the draw if you will get one. Even when we arrive at 8 o’clock in the morning, there is already a long queue of tourists forming outside.  

Springbank has an old-school production philosophy, retaining a malt floor for the entirety of their barley. The barley is raked and turned manually at regular intervals. This is the traditional way of converting the starch into sugars, but is a labour-intensive and backbreaking process. Less traditional are the fairy-lights strung along the walls of the malt room, casting a golden glow over the grain. The pillars are painted in vivid hues: pillarbox red, mustard, forest green, violet and gold. It’s charmingly quaint, as far as traditional distilleries go; apparently, the local mice are keen on the ambience too. 

Craig, our distillery guide, tells us that 110 people work here, many of them graduates from Herriot-Watt University. A deliberate effort is made to keep the old skills alive (a particular interpretation of “sustainability” that seems to chime with many distilleries). Everyone here is local: after the NHS and the government, Springbank is the biggest employer in the area. The distillery has always been driven by a desire to bring employment to the area – a legacy of its late owner, Hedley G. Wright.  

When Wright passed away in August 2023, he had been part of the Scotch whisky industry for over six decades. It wasn’t just about making whisky; it was just as much about creating employment and security for the families of Campbeltown. He is spoken of in warm, reverent tones, and it’s already clear his legacy will be upheld with pride here.  

Springbank produces three key expressions: Longrow and Hazelburn (named after historical distilleries), and the eponymous Springbank. Simplicity and tradition are paramount in their whisky-making approach. Analogue technology fills the distillery, from the postbox-red Porteus mills that grind the grain, to a cast-iron Victorian mash tun in which the grain is steeped. What they refer to as “the computer” is an old-fashioned tablet hanging on a pillar.  

Springbank backs onto the second of Campbeltown’s surviving distilleries: Glengyle. The history of Glengyle echoes that of many of the town’s other distilleries. It opened in 1872, then closed in 1925. Almost 80 years later, it was brought back to life by Hedley Wright, and it remains under the same ownership as Springbank. Glengyle produces a whisky called Kilkerran, which is also named after another historical distillery. 

As we move between the two distilleries, rain falls in sheets on the corrugated iron roofing, and the wind howls. The smell of sweet cereal and fruity spirit lingers in the air. Talk turns to the future. Planning permission has just been granted for another three distilleries. Business is booming in Campbeltown.  

“The more the merrier,” says Craig. “It’ll attract more people to the town.” With people come more hotels, more golf courses. In this way, the whisky trade is deeply entwined with tourism and other industries – which, for now, is a welcome development in the town.  

The conversation turns to more immediate challenges. There’s rough weather ahead: landslides on the roads, cancelled ferries. In a town as remote as this, these are big – but not uncommon – considerations. The possibilities of being stranded are very real. When the tourists come, they will no doubt brave these storms, but how will the locals fare? Time will tell. 

We warm up with a tasting of a couple of drams, starting with the 23-year-old Hazelburn. It’s drawn straight from the cask and released into our glasses, and it enlivens us with notes of sweet toffee, red apple, melon, vanilla and sweet wood.  

Then we move onto the Springbank 32-year-old. It’s always a privilege to taste something that’s been maturing in a cask for this long. As you might expect, it has a beautiful integration of flavours, softened with time. Golden apples, pear, sweet wood and vanilla. Chamomile, peach, toffee and elderflower. Each sip offers so much, lingering on the tongue as our time at Springbank reaches its end.  

* 

Next, we visit Glen Scotia, the last of the three remaining distilleries. Since it started making whisky in 1832, it has changed hands many times, and it closed twice in its chequered history: the first time in 1930, with its owner Duncan McCallum sadly taking his own life; the second time in 1984. The distillery in its present iteration has been running since 1999 under the ownership of the Loch Lomond Distillery Group, based up the road towards Glasgow.  

Master Distiller Iain Macallister has been here for 17 years, coming from a background in engineering. He brings a scientific and experimental approach to the process, while paying homage to Campbeltown’s heritage. “The process is simple,” Iain tells us, “but there’s so much complexity built into that simplicity.” 

The whiskies here are made in a classic style, with a subtly sweet and saline character, and a certain delicacy about them. They produce a range of age-statement expressions, but their most remarkable bottling is the Victoriana. This is inspired by a more robust Victorian style of whisky, full of rich spiced fruit, cinnamon and nuts, with a hint of subtle smoke. 

We’re standing in the old warehouse where the barrels are kept, wrapped in warm layers with a glass of whisky in hand. It is easy to imagine what it must have felt like here in the 1800s. Little has changed, apart from the installation of electrical lights. Grey stone walls reach high above us, covered in centuries’ worth of black mould – which isn’t as undesirable as it sounds. Iain tells us the fungus creates a layer of insulation, adding a certain character and richness to the liquid as it matures in the casks. Such a unique patina is only gained with time.  

Iain draws some whisky out of a barrel and pours it into our outstretched glasses. We are tasting a first-fill Bourbon cask from 1991. The liquid has a beautifully mellow character, with notes of cinnamon, vanilla, sweet wood spice and caramel, all woven together like silk. 

After this, we taste a Guyana rum cask from 2003. It’s brimming with tropical fruits, with a gentle coil of peat smoke. Pineapple, mango and juicy apples, with a flash of coastal brine. It is warming, soothing and invigorating at once. 

* 

Above us, the rain beats harder. The wind whistles an ominous tune through the wooden beams. The storm has arrived. We were meant to be visiting Lochranza and Lagg distilleries on the Isle of Arran, but our ferry has been cancelled. So instead, we leave Glen Scotia behind us and begin the long journey back to Glasgow, hoping for a smooth passage.  

We drive carefully up the long, lonely road that extends along the flank of the peninsula, watching the sea crash against the rocks and the wind drag the waves askew. The sky is the same colour as the distillery walls, thick and furious.  

Campbeltown has been shaped by its history, but it has also been shaped by its landscape. The whisky, for all its smoothness and richness, still contains a little of this character. Something hard, weathered and timeless; capable of enduring all manner of storms, and returning from what seems like the end.  

If you are lucky to taste a dram from Campbeltown, dig under the surface and you might find it.