Whisky, Unscripted: Inside Whisky Flight Club with Brad Ross and Asher Walters .

There is a point, usually unannounced, when whisky stops behaving like something to be collected and begins to feel more like something to be entered. Not a liquid so much as a situation. It happens quietly. A glass passed across a table. Someone hesitates, then says what they actually taste rather than what they think they should. The room adjusts. The hierarchy dissolves. What remains is not expertise, but attention.

It is an odd thing, this shift. Whisky has spent decades building its own mythology - coded language, closed circles, the soft theatre of rarity. And yet, in practice, its most persuasive moments tend to occur elsewhere. In kitchens. On balconies. In those improvised gatherings that feel less like tastings and more like footnotes to something larger. If there is a lineage here, it sits closer to the essays of Montaigne than the auction catalogue - provisional, conversational, always in motion.

For Brad Ross, the idea did not arrive as a thesis. It assembled itself in fragments. Bottles that felt unjustifiable alone but entirely reasonable when shared. The quiet relief of not needing a whisky to be “worth it.” The moment others began asking to join, not because they were chasing rarity, but because they wanted access without the friction. Somewhere in that accumulation, whisky shifted from object to experience.

Whisky Flight Club formalises that instinct without over-explaining it. Each month, three whiskies arrive. Not samples in the dismissive sense, but measured encounters. Enough to sit with, to revisit, to pour for someone else. There is a choice of scale - 100ml for curiosity, 175ml for something closer to immersion - but the structure remains constant. A line-up is revealed at the beginning of the month. You decide if it speaks to you. If it does, it arrives. If it doesn’t, you step aside. No contracts, no obligation to maintain continuity, no sense that absence constitutes failure. The whole thing is built to be paused, which is perhaps why it feels so easy to continue.

The April 2026 release is a case in point, though it resists being read as a set piece. It feels more like a sequence of gestures. Ardnamurchan AD/ The Midgie 2025 opens things obliquely. Coastal, slightly saline, with a texture that lingers at the edges rather than declaring itself outright. There is something almost perverse about naming a whisky after the Highland midge, an insect known less for its elegance than its persistence. And yet it fits. The dram does not overwhelm. It accumulates. Like the minor details in a Sebald passage that only reveal their weight in retrospect.

Arran Barley 10 Year Old Batch 001 follows with a different kind of clarity. Grain-forward, structured, almost architectural in the way it holds itself together. It feels composed rather than expressive, in the way certain Calvino texts lay out their logic in plain sight while quietly rearranging your sense of order. Nothing is hidden, and yet everything requires attention.

Then Bunnahabhain 18 Year Old, which refuses the expected crescendo. No theatrical peat, no insistence on its own importance. Instead, a kind of depth that reads slowly. Layers that do not compete so much as settle. It is less a finale than a thickening of the narrative, the point at which you realise the earlier pours have been setting something up all along.

Turns out the best tasting note is the one you didn’t rehearse.

Behind it, the mechanics remain deliberately understated. Whisky sourced directly, rebottled with care, labelled without fuss. A QR code if you want context, silence if you don’t. A Glencairn glass in the first delivery, not as branding but as a small insistence that how you drink matters as much as what you drink. The club does the work of selection, but without closing off interpretation. If anything, it removes the quiet anxiety that often shadows whisky - the need to have chosen correctly, to have spent wisely, to have understood fully.

What replaces it is something more interesting. A willingness to be wrong. To dislike something without consequence. To discover, occasionally, that what you thought you didn’t like is simply something you hadn’t yet met properly.

That, more than anything, is where the conversation begins.

And it is from that place - somewhere between curiosity and permission - that I spoke with Ross and Asher Walters about how it all came together, and what happens when whisky is allowed to loosen its grip on certainty.

Whisky Flight Club clearly positions itself as a whisky experience for everyone, not just elite collectors. What was the personal “aha” moment that made you pivot from whisky as connoisseur hobby to whisky as shared experience? Was there a dram in particular that convinced you whisky should be demystified rather than gatekept?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: What started as a personal hobby slowly became something more communal. A few of us began pooling our money to buy bottles we would not have justified on our own. Sharing the cost meant we could try whiskies that felt out of reach, and if one didn’t quite land, there was less sense of regret. It took the pressure out of the purchase and made the experience lighter.

Over time, more friends heard what we were doing and wanted in. Not just because it was more affordable, but because it gave them access to whiskies they would never have picked up themselves. The guesswork was gone. They could simply turn up, taste, and be part of it.

The real turning point was not a particular bottle. It was the moment people outside our circle started asking to join. That was when we realised this was bigger than us. If we felt whisky could sometimes be intimidating or overly exclusive, chances are others did too.

Whisky Flight Club grew from that idea. Make great whisky more accessible. Remove some of the risk and intimidation. Whether you are just starting out or already deep into collecting, the goal is the same: give people an easy, welcoming way to explore more good whisky together.

Your partnership with the Edinburgh Whisky Academy brings accredited Scotch whisky education via tasting packs into Australia without international shipping hassles. How do you think this will reshape the way Aussie drinkers understand not just flavour profiles, but the science and history behind malting, cask influence, and regional identity?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: To be clear, the Edinburgh Whisky Academy and Whisky Flight Club aren’t formally linked, though there is much mutual respect. We help facilitate their deliveries within Australia so that more people can benefit from their courses. That said, we believe wholeheartedly in what they’re doing, having completed the Certificate course ourselves.

In many ways, their program is the prequel to the story in the glass. It explores how whisky came to be, the history, the science, the decisions around malting, maturation, and regional character, and makes that knowledge accessible to the average drinker. Rather than overwhelming people, EWA breaks complex concepts into digestible, bite-sized modules that provide a clear framework for understanding flavour profiles and production influence.

Where we focus on expanding palates and encouraging people to experience a broader range of whiskies, EWA equips them with the language and context to articulate what they’re discovering. The combination empowers drinkers not only to taste more confidently, but to converse more meaningfully with their whisky-loving peers, to understand the “why” behind what’s in their glass and to share that understanding with their friends.

The Explorer and Discovery Flights curate three whiskies each month with tasting notes accessible via QR codes. In a world where people can Google flavour notes instantly, what’s the sensory value of curated flights that you think technology alone can’t replicate?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: The value of a curated flight really comes down to trust and perspective. We do the legwork. We source the whisky, taste it, and decide if it’s worth a place. That frees members up to be more honest in their own assessment. They are not the ones who hunted the bottle down or spent their money on a whole bottle, so they are less invested in needing it to be good. That alone changes how people taste.

When people buy based on Google searches or tasting notes, they usually filter for flavours they already know they like. Even if they buy a few bottles, they often end up with variations of the same style. We sometimes group our flights by similarity, sometimes by contrast, but either way we take the responsibility of choice off their shoulders. That means they end up trying things they might never have picked for themselves.

That is where discovery happens. One of our favourite whiskies once listed “rusty fence” as a tasting note. Very few people would actively seek that out. But because we had tasted it and understood it, we knew that note was just a guide, not the full experience. In a curated flight, it becomes less about what you read on a screen and more about what is actually in the glass.

Many whisky flights focus on whisky as product, but Whisky Flight Club feels like whisky as narrative. Do you see flavour exploration as a kind of storytelling? If so, can you share an example where the story behind a selected whisky elevated its impact for members?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: Yes, we see flavour exploration as a form of storytelling. Too often whisky is sold on polished marketing, with very little sense of place or context behind it. For us, the story begins in a simple moment. Sitting down with someone and saying, “Here, try this.” That is where it stops being transactional and starts becoming something shared.

A strong example was Fly By Night from The Remnant Whisky Company, which we poured at an event last year. The whisky came from casks rescued after the collapse of a Tasmanian distillery’s barrel investment scheme. A group stepped in and bought the remaining barrels so the spirit could be bottled and investors could see some return.

What was interesting was not that the story changed the flavour. It didn’t. But it changed the way people engaged with it. That whisky sparked more questions than almost any other on the table. Each group started having its own discussion. People wrestled with the idea that the original producer had behaved poorly, yet the whisky itself was genuinely good. They found themselves asking whether it was okay to enjoy it, and whether they would feel differently if it didn’t carry that redemption arc.

That is where storytelling elevates a dram. It makes people slow down, think more deeply, and experience it more fully. It becomes more than a tasting note. It becomes a conversation.

Australia’s new-world whisky scene, from Tasmania to emerging craft distillers, has developed its own personality. How do you balance showcasing international classics with spotlighting homegrown innovation, and is there an Australian expression or distillery you’d call a “secret weapon” that deserves more attention?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: Australia’s whisky scene is now a genuine player on the world stage. The quality is there and recognition grows every day. For us, balancing international classics with local innovation is not about choosing sides. The classics act as a benchmark. They give context. When we pour a Scotch alongside an Australian release, it helps people understand both more clearly.

We don’t often run an all-Australian or all-Scotch flight. The mix is deliberate. Sometimes we use international whiskies to anchor a flight, then allow Australian producers to challenge or expand that reference point. Local distillers are often working in very different conditions.

Climate alone changes everything. One Adelaide producer spoke to us about maturing spirit through 40 degree summers and having to adapt constantly. That necessity drives innovation, and sometimes those solutions create something you would not find anywhere else.

If there is a “secret weapon” we come back to, it is Overeem. It feels odd to call them that because they have been around for a long time and have collected serious awards. Yet they still don’t get the broader recognition from the average whisky drinker that they deserve.

Their whiskies are careful and balanced. When members taste them next to established international benchmarks, it often shifts perceptions. It shows that Australian whisky is not just experimental or novel. It can stand comfortably alongside the classics.

Subscription clubs can sometimes feel like a roulette of quality. Your model includes no lock-in contracts and the option to skip months. How do you manage member expectations when a flight includes styles that might be outside someone’s comfort zone, say an overly smoky Islay next to a delicate Speyside?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: That’s a fair concern, and we’re very conscious of it. We will only ever send something we happily drink ourselves. The club has always been built around what we believe is worth tasting. You might receive a whisky that is not to your personal taste, but it will never be one you regret trying.

We are not interested in locking people in. We want them to come along for the ride because they trust the journey.

Peat is the one truly polarising style, so we have made a conscious decision not to send heavily peated whiskies as part of the core subscription. If we feature something more divisive, it is usually through a special release that members can opt into rather than opt out of. By guiding people gradually, without pressure, they are far more likely to be pleasantly surprised than put off.

Lifestyle subscriptions often become identity markers. Have you noticed patterns in how your members self-identify through the whiskies they gravitate toward, and what does that tell you about how we use whisky to express personality or mood?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: We definitely see patterns. Some people arrive convinced they only drink age statement Highland whisky and want us to prove them wrong. Others lean heavily toward bourbon casks or full sherry bombs. Preferences are completely valid, but part of our role is gently showing that staying in one lane can mean missing out on a lot of great whisky.

The more we speak with members, the more we can see how those identities form. It is easy to label yourself. But whisky, like mood, is not fixed. In the end, we find people start saying “I’m a good-whisky guy.”

What you reach for on a cold night is not the same as what you pour on a warm afternoon, or when you are celebrating, or when you just want something familiar. Over time, many members shift from defining themselves by a style to choosing based on how they feel in the moment. They stop saying “I’m this kind of drinker” and start saying “I feel like this tonight.”

That is when whisky becomes less about identity and more about experience.

Whisky tasting can be sensory overload. Why do you settle on three whiskies per flight, and have you considered formats like vertical or stylistic flights?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: Three has always felt like the right number for us. It gives enough variety to create contrast and conversation, without tipping into flavour fatigue. We are more interested in people remembering what they tasted than simply being able to say they tasted it.

It also reflects our broader philosophy of drinking less but better. Three whiskies give you space to sit with each one, revisit them, and notice how they evolve in the glass, rather than rushing through a longer line-up.

We have experimented with other formats and still do in different settings. Vertical tastings or tightly themed sessions can be incredibly rewarding in a guided environment. But for the club, being too narrow can work against what we are trying to do. Three whiskies allow for a sense of journey, with contrast, balance and perspective.

Your role bridges club experiences and formal whisky education. Do you see Whisky Flight Club evolving into something like curated mentorship or deeper learning journeys?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: We’re careful not to get ahead of ourselves. Whisky Flight Club was built on tasting first, and that remains the centre of what we do. We never say never, but we are not in a rush to turn it into something overly structured.

There is something powerful about learning whisky the way people once learned a trade. The Academy provides structure and technical depth. Our role is different. We provide the experience, a base of reference points people can build on.

We have talked about ideas like travelling to Tasmania or spending time at distilleries, not as formal courses, but as opportunities to see whisky where it is actually made. If that evolves, it will be because it feels natural. For now, the focus is simple: do the basics well, encourage curiosity, and let learning grow from shared experience.

If you could design a personal flagship flight inspired by place, memory, or emotion, what three whiskies would you choose and why?

Brad Ross / Asher Walters: That’s a dangerous question. It is a bit like asking which child you love most. The honest answer is that it changes. Like any good menu, a personal flight shifts with the season, the mood and where you are in life.

If I had to build one from our experiences so far, I would start in Campbeltown. There is something grounding about that place. A style shaped by history, resilience and a refusal to disappear. It reminds you that whisky did not begin as a luxury product. It began as a local craft, made for everyday people.

From there, I would move to a Highland sherry-led whisky. Not because it is fashionable, but because it is approachable and familiar. It is the bottle you pour when you are not sure what everyone enjoys, and more often than not, it brings people together.

I would finish with an Australian whisky. There is still a sense of possibility here. It feels curious and evolving, willing to respect tradition but not be confined by it. For me, it represents the future.

That flight would be about past, present and promise. Three glasses that tell you where whisky has come from, where it stands now, and where it might be heading next.

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Words and questions by AW.

Answers coutesy of Brad Ross and Asher Walters.

Photo courtesy of Whisky Flight Club.