Weird bubble gum / fresh cut vetch nose that bleeds into the palate. Musty muslin curtains around the window of a cabin at the seaside. A very odd albatross, but not bad luck in the sailor's sense. Not bad, just unusual.
Other more traditional tasting notes as well. Stale caramel, grass sap, corn syrup. Sharp notes without water on palate. Goes to back of tongue and not front and turns creamy back there kind of like a great case of head cold with a bit of overactive salivary throat mucus. Just joking, how could that be nice? Well, without the sickness part, just the weird full tongued creaminess. And the classic head cold "head rush" in a good way.
Hey, Pilgrim, you ever write good poems with a head cold? I have, along with TS Elliot. Don't knock the "high" of being comfortably numb, as Pink Floyd once sang about.
This is not much at all like the old OB Scapa 16. Hint of oak. Quite pleasant really. I don't regret buying this bottle. I think it shall grow on me even more . . . as Indrid Cold says, "in time."
And, hey, buddy, try not to overlook the "high" of a whisky. The drug factor is seldom talked about and never the same, brand for brand, cask for cask. This one imparts a nice ethereal buzz best enjoyed alone, perhaps looking out the window into nature, the country, the ocean, etc.
A solitary dram of solidarity and comfort with not being afraid to enjoy drinking by oneself during these lock-down days of futuristic yore.