Lark and Tasmanian Whisky.

It's great having friends who get to jet around the globe because occasionally, knowing my love of exotic booze, they'll end up bringing something back for me from their travels. As is the case with this little beaut. Walking around near the sea front in Hobart in Tasmania my friend Nick and my sister Kelly managed to walk past the door to the Lark Distillery. Not shy of a drink or two and despite they seemed to be closing they managed  to sample a few of the distillery wares including some malt and some of their rum. So I was both very grateful and lucky (and very excited) when they gave us a  bottle of Lark Single Malt. Obviously the only thing to do was to crack it open immediately and proceed to share it's contents with those good travellers.

Obtaining anything from that part of the world from a supplier in the U.K. is near to impossible (although I'm sure the Whisky Exchange or Master of Malt probably has bottles around £100 mark). So I knew this would be a very special treat.

William Lark is considered the godfather of Antipodean distilling. The Lark distillery was set up in 1992 and is family owned and operated. The story (related from the guy in the distillery shop) goes that he and a friend were playing golf and drinking whisky when the penny-drop moment occurred that they had all the raw materials there themselves to make their own whisky. Water, amazing barley (the field next to them on the golf course), peat in the highlands and the right conditions for maturation.

William has since helped set up and advise other distilleries in the area to create a little micro-distilling scene (for want of a better word) in Tasmania. I believe there are at least five Tasmanian distilleries: Lark (Hobart), Nant (Bothwell), Hellyers Road (Burnie), Tasmanian / Sullivan's Cove (Cambridge) and Small Concern (Ulvertone). Furthermore, Bill has also been involved in a project to set up a distillery in Kingsbarns in Fife. Scotland.

Nick also had brought back a rum which we greatly enjoyed. It was unlike any other rum I've had. I've tried Bundaberg, another Oz rum, and that's very un-rum like. This was equally so and also very unlike Bundy too. The sweetness that you expect from most Caribbean rums starts but then fades quickly to an almost medicinal, dare-i-say almost Laphroaig style peatiness and bitter conclusion. I really enjoyed it but not sure what the others felt - they did say that the samples at the distillery were different to the ones they bought back. Fortunately we didn't smash in all of the Single Malt and so I had a little left to re-taste and give a bit more consideration to.

The single malt comes in a wide, thin, flask type 500ml bottle and looks the part with a large golden embossed distillery stamp on the bottle.

Cask 128. Bourbon aged.
58% ABV.
Hand signed by William Lark.

As soon as you smell this you know it's different. It's hard to pin it down exactly, yes it noses like whisky but all the usual reference points seem to be hanging back. It's unique. You can pick up the sweet barley, the sweet malt from the off. There's a fresh floral edge combined with something else you just can't hit. There's cereal notes, drying haystacks, dusty roads. You can smell the sunshine in a glass. It's that herby, savoury, wild flower aroma that seems to bind everything together that is elusive. You can smell the cask, there's a glance of vanilla and a chunk of spicy oak. There's a headiness as well, almost musk-like. A waft of old timers, heavy perfume.

There's something very clean and fresh, something that reminds of a clear, cold mountain stream. Fresh mountain air. Mountain forest. A faint of pine. Now pencil shavings, pencil lead, graphite. Rock. Then fresh linen. Freshly washed clothes. I think you get the picture on that theme. There could be a hint of the sea, not the brine and salt of Scotland but something more sheltered and placid. As it opens those rolling gentle waves seem to become slightly more defined.

It's creamy on the tongue, coating the mouth. There's a buttery, cream, milk vibe going on. A slant on a biscuit theme - cream crackers. With a dairy-lee wedge. The spice kicks in late on and then it really makes a break for it. Intense and intensive. Searing and soaring, like a huge sustaining power chord increasing. Like a Pacific wave rolling in. Like a surfer catching a wave, It breaks and the spice dissipates. Melts. The mouth-coating oiliness flooding the tongue in it's wake. An oaky wood bitterness that rises in tandem. A slight granular edge as it fractures. Like sand.

Make no bones about it, this is a singularly unique whisky. And like all good whisky (all good drinks in fact) it speaks of it's place of origin. If Japanese whisky reminds me of calm, collectedness, zen, harmony, balance and purity. If Sweden's Mackmyra reminds me of form and function, of totality of good design. Then Lark pictures a drink that takes it's call from nature, the raw materials it's formed from. The air, the land and the water.