There is a place so raw and untouched. A place where wind and sea determine the course of life. Where the waves relentlessly gnaw away at the coast bit by bit. A place surrounded by shipwrecks, drowned sailors and more mystical stories than anyone can ever remember. 

A spot on the map, embraced by salt water, mermaids, seals and, I'm sure, emperor lobsters. Where the wind rushes across the desert and if you listen closely, you can hear it telling ancient tales of werewolves, witches, dwarves and bands of robbers.

An island so isolated that air pollution does not exist and the quantities of edible berries, plants and roots are quite unique. There is a place where thousands of juniper bushes grow. Where the rain is filtered by the desert sand to become perhaps the purest and softest drinking water in the world.

Anholt - small and shy, but also rough and magnificent. An island where nature sets the scene, where calm and thoughtfulness go hand in hand with the roar of the stormy sea - and where a man would rather say too little than too much. 

We have poured all of this into a bottle with a lot of love. As a tribute to Anholt and those who live.

Less shit, more gin.