The last of the late-great HP's. I just love this bottle. It's got four score brilliance in spades. The key for me lies in the balance of smoke, power, and sweetness, like a woman who sings while she makes love, but softly, in one's ear, almost like a whisper, like a breathy exhalation of what could have been consumation. When a far northern island whisky gets this good, it could pass for a reincarnated ghostly Viking queen with a gloaming broad sword at her side that matches metal and mist in a display of fecund ferocity.
Here is my full review. After I wrote it, I sprang for a bottle at auction. Well, my friends and I did together. Spring, sprang, sprung . . . verse.