I am foregoing the usual format for this piece to bring to you a very personal story from our Minneapolis Member Ambassador, Kevin Dutcher.

When Kevin first told me of his experience in Islay, I asked if he would be willing to share it with you. He agreed and, as mentioned, it is very personal and embodies the pure magic that may be found over a shared dram with people who care about whisky and so much more.

Pour a dram and welcome Kevin in for a wee while…

“What the hell is this?!?”

I’m sure I was not the first person to use that phrase to describe my initial taste of peated scotch. In my case, it was my younger brother Leland’s favorite, Laphroaig 10. He swore by it, and I swore at him for letting me ingest it.

As much as I did not enjoy that first sip of Islay whisky, it stuck with me, it haunted me. As I kept wondering what I’d tasted, I finally sought out a bottle. You know where this is headed, of course, dear reader. One day while tentatively sipping it, I had an epiphany. The clouds parted, and something deep inside of me resonated with the liquid in my glass. It was a life-changing and pocketbook-depleting experience. Soon I was curious about Laphroaig’s neighbors, and then the curiosity/infection spread to the mainland. In short order I was up to my ears in the magical elixir.

Eventually I returned the favor and introduced my mono-distillery loving brother to the wonders that I’d discovered. Evenings during his visits to my home in Minnesota would be filled with delicious drams and wonderful music. Side by sides were the orders of the nights, and he soon discovered another distillery that trumped even his adored Laphroaig – Bruichladdich. He enjoyed Laddie and loved Port Charlotte, but Octomore took his taste buds to a new and happier place than they’d yet explored. In May 2023, he declared that his favorite whisky was Octomore 07.3. I brought some along when I visited him in Los Angeles that August. As we drank, we talked about how we needed to visit Islay and drink it from the casks.

Later that year I saw the 07.3 for sale and asked him if he wanted it (he’d never owned a bottle). He jumped at the chance, and I had it shipped to him. On December 8, 2023, he messaged me that it had finally arrived. He sent me a photo of the bottle on the kitchen counter, along with the message, “Thanks so much for organizing this and letting me know!! Super happy today!!” He then set off on a bike ride, planning to open the bottle that evening. Tragically, the bottle was to remain unopened - he was stuck by a car and killed.

When we arrived in L.A. for his memorial service, his young adult sons had already gathered. I asked if they’d toasted him yet, and they said that they had wanted to wait until I was there - they were whisky novices and found his scotch collection intimidating. I introduced them to some delicious Bowmore (SMWS 3.315), Laphroaig and Port Charlotte, and after they had earned their peat credentials by thoroughly enjoying those, we moved on to an Octomore (14.1). To my surprise, though this was their collective first exposure to these whiskys, there was no need to acclimate them to the smoky goodness, they absolutely loved them. Their exuberance planted the seed of an idea. If Leland and I couldn’t go to Islay together, I would instead take his three sons and my son on a pilgrimage. We would travel, eat and drink together, reminisce and share stories, and make new memories while honoring the life of this beloved man.

On June 7, 2025, we all met in Glasgow, and a drive and ferry trip later, we arrived at Port Askaig, from whence we headed to our home for the week – Pier House, just down the road from the Bruichladdich distillery. We had breathtaking weather for our five-hour Uisge tour at Laphroaig. We enjoyed wonderful tastings at Caol Ila, Bunnahabhain, Bowmore and Lagavulin, and visited Kilchoman and Ardbeg as well.

Then it was time to tour and taste some Bruichladdich. I had written to the folks there and explained the reason behind our visit. They wrote back saying that they were sorry to hear about my brother and said they wanted to share "something special from their cupboard" with us after our tour. I was touched and looked forward to what I assumed would be a shared dram and a toast.
It was another gorgeous day on Wednesday, June 11, as we strolled up the road to the distillery. Our engaging tour guide Ruby led us through the distillery and into the dank warehouse, where we savored freshly drawn nectar of the Gods while nestled among casks whose contents beckoned like sirens. So many times during the week, I thought how much my dear brother would have enjoyed being there and sitting in the Laddie warehouse with the whisky and the people that he loved so, I could feel him there with us.

When we finished the tour, we walked into the gift shop. A man approached and asked if I was Kevin. As I acknowledged that I was, he said that Mary McGregor, their private client manager, wanted to talk to me. She greeted me warmly and said that she had a special “wee dram” that she wanted to share with me and the boys on the beach. We headed across the street to the seaside.

Standing in the sand, she talked about the water as part of the Atlantic Ocean and how it is one with all the waters of all the oceans. She had brought along six glasses, one for each of us and one for Leland. She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle, and my jaw dropped and my heart leapt when I saw it - Octomore 7.3. (Typing this a year later still gives me goosebumps.) She poured a hefty dram into Leland‘s glass, filled our glasses and then read a poem that she had written. It was about visiting Islay, being welcomed into its loving community, leaving a piece of your heart there, and finding peace. It could not have been more perfect.

When she finished, she raised Leland's glass to the sky and then emptied it into the sea. At her instruction, we poured a little of each of ours into the sea as well, and then we raised our glasses and drank to our sweet brother/father/uncle. We stood there awhile, listening to the sea and thinking of him. My youngest nephew stood there alone, looking at the sea. His brothers came and put their arms around him. They held each other and looked out to sea, thinking of and missing their precious papa.

Watching them from the bench where we’d sat to rest, Mary and I started talking about Octomore. She mentioned that the barley for the spirit was grown up the road at Octomore Farm. She asked if we wanted to meet the man who grows it, James Brown. While I demurred, she cut me off with, “Well, I’m just gonna give him a call.” Five minutes later, the Godfather of Soil himself stepped out of a truck whose plates read “Oc2more”. He was charming, self-effacing, and genuinely funny. As we chatted, my son mentioned that he was an opera singer. Mary asked him to sing something, and with the waves lapping gently behind him he sang a stunning aria. When he finished, we stood there in silence. In that setting, it felt like a hymn.

When I planned the trip, I had hoped it would go well, that we would be able to bond and talk of Leland, to collectively grieve and celebrate him. The beautiful ceremony on the beach – the bottle, the poem, the obvious love and thought put into it all – was such an unexpected and extraordinarily kind and generous gift to us all from Mary, James, and the good folks at Bruichladdich, for which we will always be grateful. It elevated the trip beyond my hopes, giving us all memories, an experience and a holiday that we will carry with us forever.

Thank you so much, Kevin, for sharing your special experience with all of us.

Cheers to Leland, you and the boys!