Hammer of the Gods - Highland Park Thor

Against the mountainous backdrop, behind the din of thunder and curtain of lightning, stands a figure. At first it is hard to discern whether it is man or beast, but a red beard grizzled with blood, and a stoic stature of a warrior mark this being human if in form only. The wind howls and the storm rages as this giant begins to swing a mighty warhammer about his ironclad head, laughing with a mania that strikes fear in even the most veteran of soldiers. He slowly advances, each footfall carefully planted, centre of gravity low. Then as the hammer reaches the apex of its whirl, it pauses in suspended animation as lightning forks around it, before it comes crashing towards you. Hammer-time. You have just met Thor.

Zeus, Poseidon, Jupiter, Mars, Anubis, Osiris are all deitic names that conjure up instant images of godly figures. The branding of these gods is so proficient that even after hundreds, if not thousands, of years after the demise of the societies that spawned them we all still know the myths that created them. For all of these gods and goddesses, none has such a violent and manic portrayal as the Viking god, Thor; the scourge of giants and mountains. This lusty berserker of a god with his faithful hammer, Mjolnir , is renowned in both myth and film as being something of a boozy mad man, the kind of guy who would bop a foe on the head before asking pertinent questions. Furthermore, his legend is so prevalent, that we even have a weekday named after him and now, a whisky...

What I like about Highland Park is that they are great at tying stories in with their whisky. The Earl Magnus series of the last few years was a romp through Orcadian history. The initial release was the Earl Magnus bottling that detailed the history of the Earl of the Orkney islands. Next came the Saint Magnus bottling that referenced Magnus' canonisation. Finally there was the Earl Haakon bottling (complete with black packaging) that told of Magnus' Viking cousin who murdered him for control of the Orkneys. All of this gives a whisky a bit more drama and character that I think makes drinking the damned stuff a lot more interesting. Highland Park's latest series is that of Valhalla. There will be four releases, each defined by a Viking god (I'm guessing Odin and Loki will turn up in the mix). I have to say, that expense aside, I am quite excited. The Thor bottle (blue, chipped-effect glass) is entombed in a wooden longship design case that lends a Nordic majesty to this rather fine dram. So let us raise our flagons of mead with a hearty roar and salute Thor - the god of war (Rhyme; thor-oughly intended).

Highland Park Thor
52.1% - 16 Years Old
Nose: Fruity red apples, orange, blackberry and a whiff of smoke. Then the is pepper and warm spice, notably nutmeg and cinnamon. With time green apple, fruit-loaf and orange zest become apparent.
Palate: Initially masses of smoke and pepper then red fruit and stewed citrus notes. With water the palate becomes sweeter particularly on the tip of the tongue. More smoke and brine arrives later with a sherbert quality to boot.
Finish: A beach bonfire, ashy, almost abrasive. Next there is boiled sweets and a bit more brine.
Overall: The Orcadian landscape in a glass. Thor has been well represented. For me the nose and palate were so different that it really intrigued me. Truly phenomenal stuff!

Of Whirlpools and Vikings - Ardbeg Corryvreckan

The whirlpool at Corryvreckan

Well once again it seems the economy is turning its back on us. Having gorged itself on sub-prime mortgages it fancies a more continental treat and is pulling its emaciated frame towards the Eurozone like a thirsty man towards a mirage in the desert. It smacks its lips, revealing teeth as jagged as the peaks and troughs in a chart in the FT. It bears more claws than all the backbenchers in parliament and its sight is as blurred as any fiscal strategy seen this quarter. What treat will this monster fancy? A Bassatt's Double Dip or a QE Gobstopper? Who knows? But I can tell you that you could be worse off, you could be a viking called Breacan.

Techno Viking

Breacan was the kind of chap that would do stupid, life endangering things to impress the fairer, and let's face it - compared to Breacan, more intelligent sex. Breacan being a hopeless romantic fell in love with the beautiful daughter of the Lord of the Isles but he knew like any boy in a teen flick that she could never love him. So he decided to show off his bravery and sailing prowess in one foul stroke. So one day he sailed out to the mighty, churning whirlpool ominously named the Corryvreckan. He pledged to stay three whole days within its surf. So in he went and in he tossed the first of three anchors to hold him in place. An entire day passed until the rope could no longer take the strain and snapped. With not a moment to lose Breacan threw in the second anchor and another day passed before it too gave in and the third and final anchor was deployed. Then as this foolhardy viking approached his deadline with the wind ruffling his mane of hair, the final anchor broke free and Breacan was swept down into the eye of the whirlpool never to be seen again.

So although the economy may be tumbling down to a watery demise like Breacan at least you're not the one swallowing water like there's no tomorrow. There is however a whisky from the guys at Ardbeg, aptly named the Corryvreckan, that could make financially hard times more bearable. This whisky is a tidal force of smoke and flavour surfing down the gullet on some cask staves lashed together. Definitely a dram for stormy times.

Ardbeg Corryvreckan
57.1% - No Age Statement
Nose: Peat and pepper battle this one out using sugar and vanilla as shields.
Palate: Masses of smoke rising from a fiery bed of red peppers and chilis with peaty water lapping the edges.
Finish: A charcoal pit in a peat bog. One to make you cough.
Overall: Very peaty, a stormy malt that would appeal to peat-lovers out there. I'd argue the Uigeadail or the Supernova have more structure. However this dram has more teeth. Here's to Breacan, slainte!