When the Sky Falls in a Glass: LARK’s King Island Rain Turns Weather Into Whisky.

Most whiskies lean on their terroir, reminding you of soil, barley, or casks that once housed something sexier like Pedro Ximénez. But LARK’s King Island Rain goes rogue. It doesn’t just distil place, it distils weather. The whisky’s defining ingredient is rain - caught mid-air off the Roaring Forties before it ever kissed land or gathered minerals. It’s bottled weather, not bottled water. Captured by Cloud Juice (yes, that’s their real name, and yes, they’ve been quietly bottling King Island’s rainfall for decades, supplying Michelin-starred restaurants in Europe), this is rain so soft and low in mineral content it makes San Pellegrino taste aggressive. Think of it as the Supreme drop of hydration - except instead of hoodies, you’re lining up for clouds.

King Island, perched at the northern edge of Tasmania, is no quaint postcard setting - it’s a rugged outpost shaped by unbroken westerlies that have circled the globe before slamming into its cliffs. NASA once declared the air over this patch of ocean to be the cleanest in the world, which makes sense, since there’s not a factory or freeway for thousands of kilometres. LARK has managed to take that wildness, pair it with a bourbon cask from 2017 (#LD2539), and funnel it into just 307 bottles, 227 of which will vanish online quicker than a King Island cheese platter at a Melbourne dinner party.

The whisky itself feels like an eccentric dinner party in liquid form. On the nose, it’s as if crème anglaise escaped the kitchen and collided with tropical fruit - guava nectar dripping onto custard, lychee drifting in late like that guest who somehow becomes the centre of attention. The palate doesn’t just sip smooth, it sprawls luxuriously, like sinking your teeth into the flesh of a ripe peach. Layers of spiced pear tart fold in, warm and generous, before fennel seed cuts across the sweetness like the oddball uncle who insists on bringing something "different" to the table. And the finish? It lingers like a story told too well to leave behind - brioche toasted just right, sluiced in white chocolate, and brightened by nectarine zest. There’s even a whisper of hazelnut, subtle enough to make you wonder if you imagined it.

What’s remarkable here isn’t just the flavour but the concept. Most distilleries romance the barrel; this one romances the sky. King Island Rain isn’t content to be another Tasmanian single malt - it positions itself as an atmospheric archive, a snapshot of the island’s wild climate captured in liquid form. It’s whisky as weather report, though far more reliable than the Bureau of Meteorology. That’s why collectors won’t see the 307 bottles as stock but as artefacts, as rare and time-stamped as the rainstorm they came from. And given the Wilderness Collection’s track record - earlier releases like The Angel’s Cask sold out in hours - you’ll need faster reflexes than the Roaring Forties to catch one.

King Island Rain isn’t just whisky - it’s proof you can drink the weather, and that in Tasmania, even the rain has a better backstory than most wines.

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Words by AW.

Photo courtesy of Lark Distillery.