If you want to know what Earth looked like a million years ago, go to Tasmania. This island—the size of West Virginia—juts into the Southern Ocean beneath Australia, forming the continent’s southernmost state. It’s a wild, miserable place, kind of like Scotland, which is why the British began distilling whiskey when they arrived in 1803. This lasted for around thirty years before being killed off by a Victorian era prohibitionist named Governor John Franklin. As his wife Jane famously said, “I would prefer barley be fed to pigs than it be used to turn men into swine.”
Fast forward to March 2014, and a Tasmanian distillery named Sullivans Cove won the World Whisky Awards in London for the best single malt. According to competition judge Joseph Cassidy, the tipple has a “campfire smoke that enriches the malt and wood. A match made in heaven with a smooth buttery feel.” Whatever that means, it sounds good, which really begs the question of how the hell has a place no one’s heard of done this?
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Malt whiskey is made from water and barley. The barley seeds are soaked in water until they germinate, and then they’re dried to kill the seedlings. In Scotland they burn peat to dry the grain, which is made of chunks of decomposed swamp bed, which imparts that smoky Laphroaig flavor. That smoked, dried grain is then known as malt, and that gets fermented, distilled, and aged in oak barrels to produce whiskey.
Tasmania has all of these things; soft water, a climate for grains, extensive peat bogs, plus varying temperatures to force the spirit in and out of wooden barrels.
In other words, it was only legality that was holding them back. And that changed in 1992 with a guy named Bill Lark.
One day, Bill was out trout fishing with his dad. They were having a drink when Bill asked why no one was making Tasmanian whiskey. After a few calls it turned out the state had a version of Governor Franklin’s anti-whiskey law still in place. But Tasmania didn’t have much going for it except wood chips and history tours, the government was happy to adapt and Bill got the first distillery license.
“I would prefer barley be fed to pigs than it be used to turn men into swine.”
Since then, nine separate distilleries have opened, with another three to come online by next year. The state tourism authority have started promoting whiskey tours down the east coast, and in the words of Mark Nicholson from Lark Distillery “We’re now the Scotland of the Southern Hemisphere.”
“I don’t know about that,” says Douglas Stone, who runs ForWhiskeyLovers.com in New York. “I’d be lying if I said it’s made a big impact on the US market, although I do know Lark.” He goes on to explain that Lark’s appearance on the US scene is indicative of a broader change in the luxury market. “Fifty years it was a sign of wealth to go into a store a buy stuff from a big brand. These days, everyone wants small batch and organic. Luxury is considered going into a house and seeing Lark from Tasmania. It shows that you’re educated, not just rich, and that’s really causing a resonance for small batch artisanal spirits.”
Back in Tasmania, Mark explains that entering the US market has also been a challenge. “It’s taken us about three years to get there, mostly because of their trade barriers, and especially for alcohol. Canada is also tough for similar reasons. Every country has their legal quirks and it’s just about getting that foot in the door.” And for Mark, that’ll probably shift now that Tasmania has taken the world’s biggest award that he’s keen to co-claim. “Bill Lark actually helped Sullivans Cove to get set up,” he proudly explains, “So we feel like it’s a win for us too.”
So what exactly does Tasmanian whiskey taste like? According to the British whiskey expert, Jim Murray “something majestic is happening.” Last year’s edition of Jim Murray’s Whisky Bible described Sullivans Cove drop “a staggering achievement” and went on to praise it as “unquestionably one of the world whiskies of the year.”
New York critic Doug Stone hasn’t tried Sullivan’s, but he has tasted Lark and says it’s “phenomenal.” He describes Lark “as a classic highland scotch whisky; clean, sweet and vanilla, with not a lot of smoke. If I had to guess, I’d say the Tasmanians are following the Scottish recipe pretty closely.”
And indeed they are. As Mark confirms, the Scots and the Tasmanians do work closely. “While a few countries have been dismissive of us, Scotland couldn’t have been more supportive. They’ve really lent their knowledge and helped us to get to where we are.”
He doesn’t say as much, but that’s something Scotland might someday regret.