Heartwood Uncaged: A Conversation with Tim Duckett on Whisky, Rebellion, and Tasmanian Alchemy.

If most whisky brands are orchestras, Heartwood is punk jazz in a barrel - improvisational, defiant, and unrepeatable. Born out of Tim Duckett’s refusal to play by Scotland’s rulebook, Heartwood Malt Whisky doesn’t so much participate in the whisky industry as it disrupts it from an old shed in Tasmania, where barrels slumber to the sound of their own strange music.

Duckett - a former environmental consultant turned whisky anarchist - began Heartwood not with a distillery, but with an idea: that brilliance can come from curation, not control. Rather than distilling, he sources new-make spirit from across Australia and New Zealand (more than twenty distilleries and counting), ageing each in a riot of barrels that once held port, muscat, sherry, or even stout. The result? Bottlings that are both alchemy and accident, swagger and science.

Heartwood x Sidney Nolan… not real yet, but a whisky dream worth imagining

There are no corporate release schedules here, no “limited editions” with a wink and an asterisk. Barrels are released only when they’re ready - or, as Duckett puts it, “when they start yelling from the corner.” And they yell loudly: Heartwood’s whiskies routinely roar past 60–70% ABV, delivering flavour profiles that are as big and unapologetic as the Tasmanian climate that birthed them.

Each release bears a name that reads like a protest banner - Expect No Mercy, The Beagle, We Are The Droids You Are Looking For. They’re part art, part attitude, and entirely unfiltered in both spirit and message. In an era of algorithmic precision and polite branding, Duckett’s bottles feel like acts of resistance: cask-strength manifestos against planned obsolescence, dilution, and marketing polish.

Heartwood’s influence runs deeper than its cult status among whisky aficionados. It’s a provocation - a challenge to how we define authenticity in craft. When other producers talk of “handcrafted tradition,” Heartwood quietly bottles it, proofed only by patience and defiance. It is in its very DNA that Heartwood distinguishes itself - a whisky unmistakably Australian, defying comparison and eluding every conventional mould.

To drink Heartwood is to experience whisky not as nostalgia, but as rebellion. It’s what happens when a nation’s wild climate, experimental zeal, and dry humour converge in a glass. It’s whisky that doesn’t just ask to be tasted - it demands to be reckoned with.

Sitting down with Tim Duckett is a bit like sitting next to a controlled explosion - warm, unpredictable, and oddly illuminating. There’s the chemistry degree in his past, sure, but also the mischief of someone who’d rather let a whisky misbehave than see it tamed by marketing logic or corporate deadlines. He speaks of barrels like old friends, of maturation as argument and reconciliation, and of whisky not as a commodity but as a living, evolving ecosystem.

What lingers, long after the last pour, isn’t just the spirit itself - it’s the philosophy underpinning it. Heartwood isn’t chasing perfection, it’s interrogating it. In an age obsessed with automation and scalability, Duckett’s approach feels delightfully analog, like vinyl in a streaming world or a handwritten letter that smells faintly of smoke. His whiskies resist the gloss of “innovation theatre” and instead celebrate the beautiful chaos of craft: the weather, the wood, the waiting.

As we concluded the interview, it became apparent that what Heartwood does best is bottle time itself, before the industry can sterilize it. It’s whisky that feels like Tasmania: elemental, uncompromising, and a little bit wild around the edges. And if you’re lucky enough to have one of Duckett’s bottles in your hands, you’re not just drinking a dram - you’re part of a grand, ongoing experiment in what happens when instinct, irreverence, and art collide.

Tim, from environmental consulting to whisky alchemist - that’s quite the leap. How much of your approach is science, how much is instinct, and how much is sheer, delicious chaos?

Tim Duckett: It’s not quite the leap you’ve suggested. There are two parts to the equation. Firstly, it’s basically chemistry - both organic and physical. Secondly, it’s the “dark art,” built on an individual’s past experiences and their ability to create something others will appreciate and enjoy.

Heartwood is famed for bold, cask-strength expressions. Is it fair to call your whiskies “adventure in a glass,” or would that be underselling the danger?

Tim Duckett: In 2015, Dominic Roskrow in London said of Heartwood, “You either love it or hate it, but you won’t forget it.” When we started, our whiskies were unique - and we always knew others would follow. As a result, we’ve since developed more subtle expressions and new labels to cater to a broader spectrum of palates. That said, the “big brutes” are still being rolled out.

Your expressions have unforgettable names like Expect No Mercy. How do you decide whether a dram demands swagger, subtlety, or a wink at the drinker?

Tim Duckett: If you asked me to name a whisky on the spot, I couldn’t. The name has to hit you. It usually comes from the whisky’s character or from something that happens during its creation. Our “#$@%*&” whisky, for example, got its name because it was an absolute nightmare to fix to a releasable standard. The recalcitrant piece of %$#@ took three years to get right.

Tim Duckett, Tasmanian whisky anarchist and controlled chaos connoisseur

With thousands of litres maturing in your warehouse, how do you recognise “the one” - the cask that has reached whisky nirvana? Do you follow a tasting ritual, a gut instinct, or just stare at it until it confesses?

Tim Duckett: It’s not that complicated. My son Louis and I taste each barrel, and you just know what’s required to make a good drink. We rank our whiskies from one to five. One means bottle now. Two to three means it needs manipulation before release. Four to five means, “Oh my God, I’ve wasted all my money.” Those 4–5s go back through the system for repair. As an independent bottler, we own the whisky, so we have to fix it. Small distilleries might re-distil poor whisky; large ones can hide it through blending and volume.

Heartwood often blends whiskies from different distilleries. Is there an art to orchestrating harmony from disparate personalities, and have you ever had a dram so rebellious it refused to play nice?

Tim Duckett: You have in your mind what makes a good whisky - you know the characteristics that matter. But yes, we’ve had whiskies that just didn’t meld. Those go back through the system for redemption and repair.

Independent bottling allows freedom to experiment. What’s the most audacious thing you’ve tried that either worked brilliantly or had you questioning your life choices?

Tim Duckett: We produced a whisky based on the American football term “Hail Mary.” Funnily enough, we called it Hail Mary. We literally threw buckets of different whiskies together - and somehow, it worked. It’s now one of our most sought-after releases.

Tasmanian climate and barrels clearly shape your whisky. Do you feel like a conductor directing the elements, or more like a mischievous puppet master with the casks as your marionettes?

Tim Duckett: Every distillery in Australia - from WA to SA, the Victorian highlands, NSW inland and coastal regions, and throughout Tasmania - operates under different environmental conditions that affect fermentation, distillation, and maturation. To produce great whisky, you have to harness those conditions, and that takes time. Too many producers rush to generate income. Take your time, learn your environment, then orchestrate your whisky’s construction.

Heartwood whiskies have a cult following. When someone tells you your whisky changed their evening (or their life), does it make you grin, blush, or immediately start plotting the next expression?

Tim Duckett: You’re only as good as your last release. Positive feedback is always... positive. But once we release a whisky, we’re already working on the next one. We don’t try to reproduce a whisky, but we learn from its construction. Feedback helps, but it’s not the main driver.

If Heartwood were a character in a novel or film, who would it be - the quiet philosopher, the charming rogue, or the chaotic genius everyone secretly wants to follow?

Tim Duckett: Some might say Shelley’s Frankenstein for shock value, or maybe The Craft with a cauldron. Perhaps Amadeus. Or maybe a combination of all three.

Finally, if you could stage a dream collaboration with any distiller, artist, or wild concept from the past or present, what would it be - and how would it redefine what a Heartwood whisky could be?

Tim Duckett: Sidney Nolan. The Snake, The Riverbend Series, The Ned Kelly Series. Unique. Australian. Verging on abstract. The ability to take components and craft something much greater than the sum of its parts. A Sidney Nolan label collaboration - now that would be the dream.

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Words and questions by AW.

Photos courtesy of Heartwood Malt Whisky.

Background artwork of imaginary Heartwood x Sidney Nolan collaboration courtesy of Sidney Nolan.