The last official Convalmore remains one of my top whiskies. Here is a different meditation on age. There’s soft leather, coal smoke, and polished brass. The distillery’s waxiness is a spent candle in a deserted chapel, the harvest festival fruits wrinkling on the altar. Amazingly, in the mouth a shaft of honeyed sunlight comes through to transform the scene into one of life. Everything glows, the wax returns, and then, with the smoke increasing, the light fades. Old, and fascinating.