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Of the numerous whisky-centric activities I had hoped to undertake, an ascent of Ben Rinnes was among them, although I held out little hope accomplishing it. The weather had been patchy throughout the week and I have noted a slight weakening of the inclination to stride up hills on the part of my parents in recent holidays. On Thursday night, however, it was resolved that my Dad and I would see how we felt about it the following morning.

Misty and damp was the answer as we parked in the steep den at the mountain’s foot. Cloud had been brushed from the shoulders of Ben Rinnes and its neighbour, Meikle Conval. We had left the A95 and the civilisation of Aberlour behind to scale the mass of mountain that presides over the whole of Speyside. In our cross-country car ride we had passed Benrinnes and Glenallachie distilleries, and many more have some proximate relationship to the hill.

It is a very steep climb indeed at first which takes you to the summit of Round Hill. This warmed us up nicely. However, as Allt-a-Bhainne sprang out of the glen to our left, and then gradually began to diminish in scale, the bulk of Ben Rinnes shifted and we were pitted against the bared chompers of a vicious Westerly wind. It was this that had been ripping the clouds over the mountain’s scalp like knots of wool over a fence post. The extent of the cloud was very defined, above which we could see nothing.

Glad of my waterproof trousers and hoodie I passed along the ridge line looking north and east to the Spey plain, defended somewhat from the chill which seemed to be bearing down on us from the region of The Glenlivet. I was reminded of my cycle to this distillery in April when the wind had been similarly ferocious.

There was no false nature about the summit: it was there, alright, and there is nowhere else on the path at which you might mistake the last of the 841 feet to be. It just takes a lot of bloody-mindedness to get there. The scarves of mist had lifted partially, and I could see the black craggy crown which comprises the summit. The path itself, however, took a most direct route to get there. My Dad urged me to just carry on; he would get there in his own time. Resisting as best I could the by now gale-force winds, I picked my way from blasted boulder to blasted boulder, finally breaking the summit where a bit of shelter was granted by the rocky spurs.

It was not a vista of total clarity – the cloud returned now and then – but when it parted even briefly the extent of the panorama was astonishing. To the north and west, there was the Spey at Knockando. Beyond that, I could even see to the Moray Firth and the coastline of Inverness-shire. Directly north, the trig-point promised me that that way, ornamented by the names of numerous distilleries, lay Elgin and the bold blue was the North Sea. In the foreground towered the bold brick chimney of Benrinnes distillery. Spluttering, my Dad trudged towards me to share in the achievement. A couple of photographs of each of us looking nonchalent taken, and some shortbread devoured, we descended, bemoaning in a good-humoured way (sort of) how the going down again was often more uncomfortable than the ascent.

We were due back in Aberlour for the Moray food festival, although before we engaged in eating the consensus was that there should be a drink to mark the occasion. Into the Mash Tun for a father-and-son thirst-quencher, then. My Aberlour a’bunadh congratulated me appropriately.

A damn fine way to cap off a damn fine walk.

Do not miss this shop if you are anywhere near north east Scotland. It is relatively accessible (between May and November!) and contains malts and people unlike any others.

Re-visit Glen Garioch: check; dine at Sandy’s: check – I had been very efficient in my completion of whisky-related objectives so far on my Scotch Odyssey plenary, and with the previous night’s Speyside Platter still handsomely fueling my faculties, we made the journey into the Cairngorms to Tomintoul for my third mission.

As far as whisky emporia which I encountered over the course of my tour, none could match the Drury’s Whisky Castle. For the two days I enjoyed Tomintoul as my base camp, I spent a good deal of time in the shop and not nearly enough money. Mike and Cathy are passionate, generous, and often outspoken, but in the main fabulous ambassadors for whisky – although I don’t expect The Macallan or The Glenlivet to be employing Mike as sales director any time soon, but more of that later.

A sample of the varied bottlings to be found here.

Where else could I have gone to purchase a most significant bottle? Who else could more instructively and entertainingly me guide me through the plethora of independent expressions available inside? Mike was my man for Mortlach.

He did not at first understand why I should be so determined to limit myself within the biodiverse jungle of his shop to one species of distillery alone. I had to explain that Mortlach was a special place for me, producing a special dram appreciated by special people. He grabbed a 12-year-old Provenance from the phalanx of sample bottles behind the till and tipped some into the bulbous Whisky Castle tumblers, which worked well for the tasting. I sensed conifer branches and burnt toffee, with plenty of phenolic character. Rich oak and sweet barley sugar emerged, too, along with a little shortbread. It was a clean nose, leading into a big, sulphury palate which filled the mouth with sweetness and a hint of peat smoke. A worthy start, but it hadn’t the guts at 46% ABV that I was really seeking.

This was a thoroughly pleasant way of spending a Thursday morning. I mean afternoon...

Mike’s next suggestion was a Douglas Laing of the same age as the Provenance. At 50% ABV it was approaching the heady heights of raw whisky and certainly propounded plenty of oaky flavours on the nose: vanilla, new oak and a dry sweetness, extra rounded stewed fruit notes appearing after a time with greener fruits behind them. Toffee was present in the mouth, as well as more oak. Chewy and fruity, this reminded me quite a lot more of the 16-year-old official expression, one of my very favourites.

As I was nosing, scribbling and pondering, people were continually being sucked through the door. Whisky drinkers are chatty people – even at 11AM – and what was as a harmless remark on the part of one couple that they had visited The Glenlivet the previous day caught Mike’s attention. Yes, he said, The Glenlivet was a nice place to visit, it wasn’t really very good. He had plenty of malts which could kick the standard bottlings into touch.

‘I’d like to see you prove that,’ was the retort, and while he poured me further Mortlachs, he attended to these new customers and, I rather fancy, he did.

It is Mike’s policy to slyly rub you up the wrong way: juxtaposing your apprehension of the industry with that of his. His experience informs what can come across as incendiary – even sacrilegious – remarks about the state of the industry at present, and such disappointment is derived from his knowledge of better, more exciting days of flavour and distinction; these, he says, are behind us. His argument is that single malt whisky in its readily available, big-brand form, is dull. Not bad, he says, just consistent; uniform. He hurls his invective on chill-filtration and 40% ABV bottlings, claiming it sucks the life out of a once idiosyncratic spirit. He takes issue with the scale of the industry, too, bemoaning the lack of really good wood and this is where the Macallan comes in. The husband of the couple, when asked by Mike what he normally drank so that a suitable challenger could be selected, nominated the Speyside megastar. Mike argued that their wood management, whilst extensive and sophisticated, was dealing fundamentally with a threatened, finite resource and the resulting whisky was not a patch on that being bottled fifteen or twenty years ago. The Fine Oak range was a prime example of how the paucity of good Sherry casks was afflicting the X-factor of the output of distinguished malts today.

With the aid of a single cask 18-year-old Longmorn, the lack of protest from his patrons would suggest that he had made his point.

Meanwhile I had been savouring an Adelphi which Mike had put in front of me which, in his opinion, was a Mortlach. Technically, it proceeded under the rubric solely of ‘Breath of Speyside’ but his suspicion was that it was Dufftownian in origin. Single cask, cask strength (57.9% ABV): this was what I was here for. On the nose, sweet and powerful oak flavours dominated with plenty of toffee and a resinous character. Smooth and chocolatey, its dark richness put me in mind of dunnage warehouses – an instant hit for any whisky. Lightly charred notes came forward, with thick vanilla. Barley sweetness, like with the Provenance, appeared, too, with caramel shortbread. The palate was epically enthralling, evocative of the majestic Flora and Fauna bottling so rich, dark and fruity was it. The presence of more chocolate and toffee made this just the decadent example of Speyside I am particularly partial to.

The A D Rattray 16-year-old could not quite measure up to this delightfully rich mystery dram. Whilst being deeper and fuller, with more resinous dark fruits, it was a little too musty for my liking – very drying indeed. Caramel toffee and orange teased the nose, with some honey and rich barley. Those phenolic notes appeared on the palate with more fruit and vanilla. Nuts and sugar presented an authentic Mortlach experience.

It had to be the rich, sweet, oaky power of the Adelphi, though. Its spirited dynamic exhibition of the best of Sherry cask maturation ensured I would be taking this back home to Northumberland.

Requiring a walk to clear the old head of whisky vapour, my Dad and I wandered in the Glenlivet Estate, the same route we took, in fact, the day immediately prior to stumbling into the eponymous distillery. The weather, just as it had been three years ago, was as delicious as the malts I had been quaffing, and as the track took us beyond the tree line we could appreciate the rugged isolation of the Cairngorms and Tomintoul tucked within them. Scanning the valley bottom, I found the road which I had agonisingly toiled along only five months earlier: blizzard-blasted and hamstrung. All that came after had its steel, optimism and endeavour rooted in that day. My reward then had been an hour in The Whisky Castle, with a super meal at the Clockhouse Restaurant. It was there that we reconvened with my Mother and Aunt for another extraordinary feast.

Okay, okay… so I haven’t managed to meet my targets for blogging consistency. I’m sorry. It has been rather a long time since I posted up my recommendations for two new whisky-related videos and a recount of my birthday on Speyside – the event itself even more utterly entombed in the past. With regards to whisky in my new home, however, I didn’t have to wait long for my first taste – pardon the pun – of the St Andrews University Quaich Society.

On October 7th Antonia Bruce of independent bottlers Adelphi Distillery, made the trip from Edinburgh to the Scores Hotel, St Andrews to conduct a tasting of some of her company’s products and in so doing, educate lots of keen whisky-drinking students. Oh, we were keen…

This proved a popular tasting, as walk-ups outstripped the number of seats available. Upon entering the hotel, whisky was an almost physical presence in the air, the exhalations of the five glasses each taster had before them wafting from the function room into the lobby.

For all they don’t distil their own drams now, in 1826 Adelphi was the name of a bonafide distillery in Glasgow making malt and grain spirit. Messrs A. Walker & Co. assumed control in the 1880s, pumping additional investment into the plant. More than 500,000 gallons of new make flowed from the four pot and single Coffey still on an annual basis from 1886, although this mighty industrial force would sadly fall into neglect. DCL-owned following purchase in 1902, the distillery was to be found abandoned by 1907. The final nail in its coffin may have been the lack of any in their washbacks for one of the nine within the distillery collapsed, initiating the same behaviour in its fellows. The resulting tsunami of wash drowned livestock and, tragically, a man just leaving the pub.

In 1993 the Adelphi name was restored to be associated once more with whisky activity by Jamie – great-grandson of Archibald Walker. His attention to detail has been adopted by the present owners, too: Keith Falconer and Donald Houston. Both are near neighbours in Argyllshire, the local topography providing the inspiration for the epithets of their more anonymous malt whisky expressions.

Antonia guided us deftly and amusingly through the selection of malts, beginning with a Macallan. Distilled in 1996 and left within a sherry butt for thirteen years, this was a fine introduction to the Adelphi ethos: no chill-filtration, no colouring and cask strength. Never having tasted a single cask Macallan before, I was anxious to dip my nose in. When I did I met with a classic Speysider: rich, nutty and full. There was a creaminess, offset by a dash of orange zest. Marzipan, rich oak and a bold maltiness confirmed this as the malt from Easter Elchies. The wood leapt out on the palate, too: sherried and charred with plenty of dark chocolate. This was a bold expression. As Antonia had stated, Adelphi will tend to plump for the ‘strong style’ when buying casks. A good call!

In the course of their cask selections last year, they came some from an Islay distillery which they unanimously believed to be rather splendid. The resulting vatting of five of these European oak casks has spawned Liddesdale (a nod to somewhere near Ardnamurchan) and Adelphi’s third ‘limited edition’. This one came in at 46% ABV, and Antonia warned that it may prove divisive. I liked it a great deal. Despite reduction, it had maintained the feel on the nose of a rawer whisky and rawer, in my book, is much much better. To prove that this was an 18-year-old, our hostess proceeded to violently shake the bottle about. We were urged to inspect the ‘beading’ and right enough there was a quantity of foam on the surface of the whisky. This died down after a period and apparently the more leisurely a whisky does this, the older and/or stronger in terms of alcoholic content your dram will be. I have witnessed Mike at The Whisky Castle do this, too, and I still can’t understand why it is completely necessary.

This one had aromas of lanolin and bracken, with a damp, fragrant peatiness emerging. Overall, it had a very fibrous and viscous nose. Heavily-sherried with spicy peatiness on the palate, a slight seaweediness was hinted at, too. Subsequent sips unearthed vanilla.

I was not entirely won over by the Bowmore which was next on the list. An 8-year-old at 60%, I recognised some of the sandiness, exotic soapiness and moss-laden peat of the Legend expression but I was always overwhelmed on first nosing by a very aggressive – too aggressive for my idea of Bowmore – phenolic character which put me in mind of stables in the winter. Water brought out toffee and fudge notes, with some heady tobacco in the mix. The phenols mutated into crisp sweet peatiness with a hint of Indian spice when I swallowed some and familiar Bowmore maritime smoothness asserted itself on the finish.

Our final two drams were a pair of masked mystery men. Proceeding under the nomme-de-guerre of Fascadale, the first was a 10-year-old ‘from the Scottish islands’. Antonia could not be more specific, and her reasons revealed more of how independent bottlers operate in tandem with distilleries and brokers. Distilleries exchange casks amongst themselves quite frequently: this is old news for anyone who has toured a dunnage warehouse and found casks maturing very far from their place of birth. However, some must be held not merely for precautionary purposes, or even for the ultimate aim of blending by the parent company, but kept as literal liquid assets to be passed on to independent bottlers or brokers, or on to yet another distillery. However, with whisky which has been circulated in such a manner, very often the distilleries whose product it is would rather the public did not know of its precise origins. It is in the interest of independent bottlers to comply with their wishes, or else their own supplies would soon dry up. Distilleries are anxious to put across a particular house style, whether their malt portfolios are expansive or select. A single cask or limited vatting may have a character entirely at odds with this carefully composed and maintained house style and the last thing they want is for independent expressions to confuse their consumers. This is why we have the Fascadale and Breath Of the Isles instead of [--------].

To the Fascadale, then, and here there was a very intriguing freshness, a bubbly, clean fruitiness, principally bananas, peaches and grapes. This general voluptuous sweetness was offset by pepper (:-0), raw, ripe, sugary barley and thin worts. Other tasters described it as ‘the inside of a horse jacket.’ I couldn’t quite divine what they meant. The palate was dry and thick with an intensity of soft sweet peatiness. Richly biscuity, to boot, notes of charred cask and smoke came through, also.

The Breath Of The Isles was a stunner, as far as I was concerned. 14-years-old and 59% ABV it had real presence in the glass, exuding richly peaty aromas with bran, toast, Bourbon and hot sand. It was, to my mind, like standing on the beach beneath the kiln, with acres of air blowing about you. It possessed a very satisfying palate, too, with peatiness and biscuit flavours again, in addition to a seaweedy maltiness. Chocolate ice cream appeared on the syrupy finish. This was a little more recognisably from… wherever it was from, in comparison to the Fascadale.

Having purchased a bottle from Adelphi while in Speyside – a story I wish to bring you soon – I was intrigued by what this tasting would provide. With a price range of between £37 (the Fascadale) and £65 (The Macallan), these were not bargain basement offerings and all were astonishingly distinct. The quality – for all I didn’t care for the style and delivery of the Bowmore – was indisputable: Adelphi only acquire 4% of the casks they are offered and such high standards was reflected in the bottlings on show. I see from their website that they have a Longmorn, a Glen Garioch and a Caol Ila due for imminent release. Even with my 10% discount at Luvians bottle shop, one of the additional perks of joining the Quaich Society, I don’t think these are destined to pass my lips any time soon.

Gratitude is owed in no small part to Domino, president and master tactician of the Quaich Society and the rest of her committee team; the Scores Hotel for hosting the tasting with additional apologies for the many days of airing the function room must have required, and of course Antonia, without whom it would have been nothing more than forty students and a few loaves of bread.

Two whisky companies that are presently trying to make the public aware of the history and skills behind their products, as well as shepherd them towards their nearest good wine and spirits grocer, are William Grant & Sons and William Teacher Co. Both have new videos plugged into their websites and they are, in my opinion, worth a look.

Grant’s is pre-eminent in the blended whisky market, and they have an impressive range of products on offer within the blended sector, too: Grant’s Ale Cask, for instance.

Teacher’s hasn’t the ubiquity, and perhaps this is why their video is longer. They do emphasise their high malt content, however – 45% of your bottle of Teacher’s will be composed of some 35-38 single malts from all over Scotland as well as at least two or three single grains. The principal malt, as it has been for some time, is the very unique Ardmore.

When telling you about promotional films, I feel I ought to do it in pairs for a sense of balance. In addition, I have mentioned these two due to the strong educational element within them. I confess my knowledge of blending is shockingly limited, and perhaps this is because I allowed myself to be abducted into the “malts are better” militia when I first became interested in whisky. Thankfully, a little knowledge has come my way and I now know better. You don’t need to cycle round Scotland, however, to learn more about the variety of whisky whose global success made space for our favourite single malt distilleries, hitherto the work horses of blended brands, to express themselves. Someone quoted to me that for every customer who purchases a bottle of single malt, eleven others will buy a blended whisky. We are talking big business, and I applaud companies who are seeking to introduce further information into the blended sector: whisky scholarship having been appropriated largely by the single malts.

The Teacher’s video focuses on the company’s history, the whisky-making process and the variety of ways in which people can and do drink whisky. It isn’t heavy-handed, and Robert Hicks is a personable companion throughout. As an aside, in the UK I know that certain outlets stocked bottles of Teacher’s with an Ardmore Traditional Cask miniature included, introducing the blended whisky and one of the key malt components of it. Yes, 55% of the content of the bottle is grain whisky, and Ardmore comprises only a portion of the remaining 45% but still, I think that this is a nifty idea.

Grant’s offers a masterclass in the techniques employed to better evaluate whichever whisky you have in front of you. You may have heard it all before, but there are certain details that it is always worth bearing in mind when tasting your dram. It is the first in a series of short films from the owners of Glenfiddich and Balvenie, and these may well become the subjects of future videos.

Get some knowledge in you!

This pagoda could just be glimpsed from Braehead Terrace over the three days I stayed there. For me, Mortlach shall always recall Dufftown, and particularly Sandy at 'A Taste of Speyside'.

Without a shadow of a doubt, it was a good birthday. While certain social pressures preside over turning 21-years-of-age, and may lead to some degree of short-term memory loss next September, the location and the company which my birthday of 2010 embraced were sufficiently distinctive to preserve them in my mind, hopefully forever.

In the style of one who is especially hard to please (although I’m not, really), my gift to myself comprised a return to Dufftown. With my parents driving, of course. I had booked the family (my aunt – saviour of the Odyssey’s first week – had joined us) into ‘A Taste of Speyside’ for dinner, and we chugged into Dufftown, past the gargantuan Glenfiddich on the left and the symbolic still neck on the right, tickled by weak sunshine. A box of Northumbrian goodies sat beside me on the back seat - my Hamper of Limitless Gratitude.

Within said hamper (it was a cardboard box, in truth, although it had once been appropriated by the Doddington Dairy, makers of superb ice cream) were Piperfield Pork bacon, a selection of homemade preserves and an array of products from the Northumbrian Cheese Co. Northumbria’s are distinctive cheeses, and some of the loveliest I have ever tasted. I had hoped these would appeal to Sandy’s passionate interest in local produce, and whilst the topic of many of our conversations in April had been whisky-flavoured, he could acquire plenty of this himself. It would – as indeed it had for us – require quite a commute to purloin these note-worthy, delicious items (Piperfield supply Heston Blumenthal at ‘The Fat Duck’).

One of my very favourite restaurants, as I may have mentioned. Whisky might have brought you to Dufftown - this eaterie will bring you back.

Our dinner was not as alchemical or psychedelic as one might find in Bray, but just as lauded. Having nipped down the hill to Mortlach for the purposes of yet more distillery photography – I had neglected to capture its eclectic visage when I was last in the area, and indeed my comparative lack of pictorial variety preserved on my SD card is one of my bigger regrets of the tour - I hiked back along Fife Street, passed the Co-op where I had purchased so many highly-calorific morsels to the Clock Tower and Balvenie Street.

Ducking through the front door of No. 10 to witness Sandy holding court before my relatives was tremendous. I had hoped to introduce The Mother to him, but he came to appreciate what I had alluded to in April of his own accord. My dear Mum has enroled herself in an exclusion diet to mitigate symptoms of early-onset osteo-arthritis in the right elbow, an important joint for a chef. Sandy’s menu is fabulously rich in places, celebrating the apparent unpretentiousness of natural Scottish ingredients. The consequences of indulging in flour and dairy my mother agonised over extensively. “I can’t have potatoes, either,” said Mum. “Well don’t have them,” replied Sandy.

Following my Gordon & MacPhail Linkwood 15-year-old (not my wisest choice as an aperitif but they hadn’t any Tomintoul 14-year-old) I had the Cullen Skink – a creamy, potato-laden fish soup – to start, and then the Speyside Platter which amalgamated many of the finest foods from the Spey valley and the Moray coast. As it turned out, they hadn’t any of the rabbit casserole on this occasion, either. Both were extraordinarily delicious: the Skink pure comfort food and the Platter an insight into the diveristy of produce from the area. Smoked salmon, chicken liver paté, smoked venison, herring, oatcakes and cheeses – my designs on rounding off my meal with the cranahan cheesecake had to be redrafted! I haven’t any photos, by the way, because each course vanished too quickly.

As a digestif I indulged in the 21-year-old PortWood from the distillery whose namesake is the street I was dining on. This was wonderfully spicy and rich, with marzipan sweetness and creaminess. The oaking was assertive but deliciously so and the tannic fruitiness mingled with the textures of the crème brûlée I had managed to despatch. Once again, superlative Scottish hospitality had put the world to rights.

So unexpected and plentiful had Sandy’s support and generosity been at the time I first encountered him - a juncture of huge significance and precariousness - that to dine in his restaurant under entirely different circumstances and yet to discover him unchanged, baffled me no end. This man had made self-belief possible at a time when I had lost my way, badly. What I now accredit as my most treasured achievement to date had at one stage been in serious, ignominious jeopardy. Circumstance and despondency had coalesced on the morning of April 27th, but the potentially debilitating and restricting legacy of each had been banished by a simple demonstration of humanity. A change of mentality was desperately required, and duly arrived as a surprise side dish at ‘A Taste of Speyside’. The man himself, of course, continually dismisses his own pivotal role. Be assured, Sandy, it was not ”nothing.”

For the account of my first encounter with the folk at ‘A Taste of Speyside’, please view my original blog post, typed on his computer. For further information about the restaurant, please visit Dufftown’s website. You can also “add them” on Facebook.

I apologise profusely for my absence from this little digital outpost of Scotch and Scotland. However, I have recently moved to Scotland and it has commandeered a great deal of my time!

I’m adjusting to university life, slowly but surely. Up here the emphasis is principally on making our own fun, and there are more societies and sports clubs than you can shake a valinch at. I’m especially excited about our Quaich (Whisky) Society. Events seem to occur on a regular basis and attract influential people within the industry, armed with their very best drams to win over us impoverished students. I shall of course relate these to you all.

After much fret and pet, I have managed to regain some sort of hold on who I am, what makes me tick, and fortunately whisky is still firmly ensconced in the vanguard of this list. Therefore, I am making time to devote to this site, those who happen to stumble across it every so often, and to the disparate agglomeration of prejudice, romance and curiosity that consitute my own relationship to this ancient and venerable drink. I aim to concentrate my output into twice-weekly torrents, providing me with ample opportunity to pass on that which those within the industry are kindly making me aware and update my own progress as I navigate the world of whisky.

First up, then, are a couple of snippets from Isle of Jura. To mark the distillery’s approaching bi-centennial, they have launched the Jura Pub Quiz. For the participation of honorary ‘Diurachs’ only – those who sign up to the inner workings of the Jura website as on-going disciples of the dram from the Inner Hebrides (it sounds ever so slightly Pagan, does it not?) – this is a year-long examination of Jura enthusiasts’ knowledge of all things relating to the island and the whisky made there. I regret that I am only forwarding this now, with three questions having already been posed and answered. However, for those who have not been participating from its inception and therefore can have no claim on the Jura 1974, first-prize for those Diurachs with the maximum number of correct answers at the conclusion of the 12-month quiz cycle, it is still possible to win a bottle from the standard range by submitting your answers on a weekly basis.

I am also rather out of step with regards to the next correspondence from the folk at Jura. During the recent Jura Music Festival (24th-26th of September) Elvis was in attendance. I should say that Elvis is the distillery cat and for the three-day festival provided a cat’s-eye view of the performers, punters and island. With a billing that included many of Scotland’s best traditional and folk musicians, such as Session A9, Mary Ann Kennedy, piper Fred Morrison and Brigada Mercy; a setting as astonishing as Jura’s, and a preview tasting of the new Boutique Barrel, which will shortly become a distillery-exclusive release of only 493 bottles, this must have been an excurison to treasure for all who attended.

I cannot find any pictures from Elvis’s “cat cam” on the website just yet, but there are some photos on the Jura Festival website. As for pictures of the star feline photographer himself, I couldn’t omit this glorious head-shot.

I didn't have the opportunity to make Elvis's acquaintance when I visited in May. This was a pity because I had a good rapport with distillery cats.