Trøllabundin

The first morning after the equinox I awoke in my tent to a cool morning, the air full of moisture. I suspected this was the new norm for the festival, being so close to the lake at the new campground. I thought of the balance between elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. There seems to be a progression of their states - Earth is the most stable and heavy; Water flows and moves easier, but is still bound by gravity; Air moves quickly and freely, and Fire is the most chaotic and unpredictable. Fire is the quickest to bring about transformation, yet in its realm there is only a fine line to cross into destruction.

On the first night of festival, after the planned music for the evening ended, the night's breath seemed to hold for a space before turning. Echoing the shift of equinox, things were balanced in the moment, but we all knew that moment was fleeting. These are times between. Threshold times. Magic times.

It was in this moment that one of the women there, who I had yet to meet, picked up her simple round frame drum, and began to sing a song. She beat an urgent and steady rhythm while slowly moving around the fire. Passion filled her being as she sang the words in a language I had never heard. At one point she paused to tell us what the lyrics of the song meant.

"This song is about a woman who falls in love with a wizard. And this wizard lights a fire in her soul. And now the wizard has gone and left her...but the fire remains."

This image, alongside the visceral resonance of the melody she sang, sent shivers through me. I watched, captivated, as she continued with the different parts of the song. Lyrics dissolved to melody which then transmuted into primal and powerful sounds. 

Several people came to her by the next day and she decided to offer an impromptu workshop on the song. From what I understood, it is a song originally recorded by Eivør. Yet there is a suggestion that it is much, much older. It is a song sung to the fire, and clearly - as whenever you are working with the flames - it is not something you do lightly.

So if you so dare, and you feel a fiery movement in your soul, and you have a fiery dram in your glass...light a match in the darkness, and listen to Trøllabundin:

When she finished singing, everyone listening cheered and hollered. We were all moved, and it set the night off in a fantastic fashion. Starting a night with a song like that is bound to make it memorable. Among many of the awesome things that happened, was the meeting of many whiskies.

A friend of mine at the festival had recently begun to attempt his hand at crafting single malts. He had mentioned this to me weeks before the festival and told me of several lads, in fact, who would be coming along for the trip. Knowing they would be there lessened the sting of not having Talisker Storm with me. At least I'd meet some new fellas, and maybe have some fun with them.

Of course, all of these lads were way too young, and none were from Scotland, but they were all single malts. My friend tried six different recipes, and labelled them all to keep track. I was humbly delighted to see my image on one of the labels, in honor of my journey. He turned out to be one of my favorites.

The first night as folks danced around the fire, we shared and tasted the spirits we had with us. My friend poured samples of his crew and many people partook in the meeting. But there was music and song and passion all around, so it was hard to keep any organized sense of which we liked the best.

Also, I was quite impressed with several of these lads, and yet my friend did not believe the worth of his new endeavor. So we planned a blind tasting for the next day, where we would take the Irishman single malt that I had brought, and mix it in with the six new lads from his crew. I was determined to convince him that he must continue distilling this whisky. If they were making such an impression at a mere several months old, I could only imagine what a few years would do.

The weather was perfect. The cool wet morning had ripened into a gentle breeze that danced in and out of the wonderfully warm first day of autumn. Around dinner time, my friend and I (and his flock of fellows) gathered around my picnic table for the tasting. We tried to keep everything as objective as possible. The cups were lined up and we proceeded down the line, sipping each, and sharing our perceptions as we went.

I recognized a few of the lads from the night before. Two were considerably sweeter than the rest and of those, one had a little more complexity to him.  Two others had the earthy peat flavor - one considerably more gentle than the other.  Most of them I got along just splendidly with. There were a couple, perhaps, that I wasn't that interested in for anything long term; but none I would mind dancing around the fire with.

Something that was common with all of these lads was that adding water actually made them less appealing. I chalked that up to their young age. They were simply too young yet to develop the layers and depth that adding the water releases.

When we finished tasting them all and grouping them into categories we revealed which was which. To be honest, tasting and comparing seven different whiskies at once is a little much. I actually lost track of a few and in some ways their personalities blended in to one another.

The important thing, however, is that my friend realized that his favorite of the seven was one of his own. This means, he will keep pursuing this craft. I'm excited to meet some of these lads again, when they have a little more time in the world. Good things come to those who wait, or so I hear.

The process of experimentation is an interesting and thrilling one. There are so many unknowns, so much potential, and yet no matter how much time you spend and how much work you put in - an experiment is never guaranteed to yield good results. There is a fine line there, as well, between something going so right and so wrong. Just like a fire's line between transformation and destruction. In fact, it seems there is an inherent component of destruction, and of failure - within the nobler goals of creation and discovery.

In order to tread into these fires, one must be brave, determined, and unafraid of failure. And perhaps just a little bit mad.  It is a magical alchemy, the realm of wizards...and too the realm of love. Abandon all certainty, ye who dare to fall in love. For you may find yourself left alone, spellbound by the fire burning in your soul.

Mabon Part I - Nothing Else Matters

The night air shifts before the signs of Autumn are noticeable during the day. While the days can still be hot and full of force like any other time in the summer, the evenings grow cooler and longer. The night knows what is coming...and pays heed to the turning of the seasons.

The Mabon Autumn equinox festival is one of the two times I have during the year to escape to the woods and frolic among friends, fire, and faerie. It is always a mixed gathering of old friends, past lovers, and friends yet to be. I was very much looking forward to this much needed reprieve, and I was excited to bring a brand new bottle of Talisker Storm with me to share. Only, when I went to the store, he was not there.

The woman behind the counter told me they weren't expecting him to return; she called around for me to the other places, but to no avail...  He had gone off, without a word, and with no indication of when I could see him again. All this so soon after I finally admitted my true feelings, proclaiming him to be my perfect Scotch. I was a bit taken aback, and surely disappointed, but life has trained me to take things like this in stride. The journey continues, indeed...

So instead of my beloved, I took with me two of the lads that had been hanging around for a bit - the Irishman and Wasmund's. Not Scotches, but single malts from Ireland and Virginia. Another friend was also bringing a group of boys he wanted me to meet, so I knew there was fun in store. Even without Talisker Storm.

On the first evening, an impromptu gathering assembled around my picnic table. Friends and whisky lovers with cups and mugs of all sizes, and with them the gentlemen of various styles from many parts of the world. We laughed and chatted as the sun set over the lake, bringing a close to the equinox day. In conversation, someone mentioned the band Iron Horse. Classic rock and metal songs done in the style of bluegrass.  And why not? Who says certain combinations shouldn't be? I'm beginning to think that attitude simply denotes a lack of creativity...

So I checked out this version of one of my favorite Metallica songs. It was different, for sure, but it suited me. When you're riding the chaos, it seems the unexpected becomes the norm in life.

These thresholds are for crossing. 

If your dearest beloved has left or disappointed you, then find another and pour a dram. Listen to the song and sip slowly, tasting the unfamiliar flavors with an open mind for a different view. Listen to the familiar song in a new way, and forever trust in who you are... for Nothing Else Matters.

Among the offerings to try from friends were Crown Royal Caramel and a new dark and mysterious Highland Park who I had never heard of - Einar. He is from the warrior series that this distillery has released, to honor the viking history of their island. I was excited to meet him.

I only had a short time with him, with all that was going on, but I found him very interesting. He was sweet and pleasant overall, at times with a note of powdered sugar! But he had an edge as well once he opened up - spicy and powerful. He was no Talisker, for sure, but that one was no where to be found. I'd say Einar is one of the best Highland Parks I've had, and I would love to spend more time with him soon.


As the dark night stretched a farewell caress over her dearest day, the waxing moon rose in the sky. The music was starting down at the pavilion, and the fire was calling us to play...

This festival marked a new chapter for us. The campground these folks used to gather at, some for over fifteen years, had closed; the group and this new campground were strangers to each other, and so in many ways this was like a first date.  We could not have near as big fires as in the old place, but there was a great big beautiful lake, which was never a part of our festivals before. Some good, some sad. Such is the way of life, growth, and change.

The most important piece though, of course, is the community. The history of stories and shared experiences weave a thread through all of the festivals, in all of the places, and gathers with it pieces of each of our lives in the mix. The faces are the same, and some of the tents and rituals, so it wasn't that everything was unfamiliar. The two sides melded, like night and day do at sunset, into a beautiful expression of paradox - both, yet neither.

The duet that played that first night was lovely, singing songs of just the right style and energy. There was a vibe of giddiness as we hesitantly explored our new festival home. Happy, joyful, but just a bit cautious.

Surprisingly, we all seemed to find ourselves comfortably settling in. The night became alive with music and passion, singing and dancing. Things were not the same, but they weren't entirely different either. The new always has seeds of the old, and the old lends and informs the new, and the new learns and renews the old. These are the cycles, like those of nature that we gather to honor.

I think of wooden whisky barrels as they flavor the spirit, and then in turn are seasoned themselves; the flavors meld with each batch, so there bits of every cycle that came before. The wood flavors the whisky, the whisky flavors the wood, and again and again, as the seasons turn.

And this was only the first night...