Behind the Brantford Batch: Our Kentucky Trip in Photos

Earlier this month, our Top Shelf Distillers team travelled through Bourbon Country – visiting BrewDog Distillery in Columbus, Maker’s Mark in Loretto, Kelvin Cooperage in Louisville, and several other iconic Kentucky whisky destinations – to witness the creation of our first-ever Canadian white oak barrels, known as the Brantford Batch. Over the course of a week, we toured world-class bourbon distilleries, met with coopers, explored traditional barrel-making techniques, and learned what goes into crafting the flavours that make Kentucky bourbon famous. This blog shares that journey, highlights what we learned, and offers an inside look at how this milestone will shape the future of Canadian whisky.

It’s Monday morning. John slides the last of our bags into the Cybertruck while Dustin triple-checks his camera batteries. The sun sits low on the horizon, and the air carries that unmistakable early-winter bite – cold enough to notice, not cold enough to complain about. Where we’re going, winter feels far away anyway.

“Ready?” John asks.

Dustin and I nod and climb in. This truck will be our home for the next fourteen hours – broken up by stretches of chitchat, long pockets of quiet, and the occasional pit stop to charge up and stretch out.

We’re Kentucky bound.

After a fourteen-hour haul, we finally rolled into BrewDog Distillery late last night. A neon sign buzzed in the lobby – Welcome to the Doghouse – equal parts invitation and challenge to three Canadians running on caffeine and leftover Halloween candy.

We managed a quick check-in beer, took a slow walk through the lobby to admire the massive wooden fermenters on display, and exchanged a few exhausted nods before disappearing into our rooms.

Today was slower by necessity: a chance to catch up on the stack of emails that accumulated during the drive, regroup over lunch at the Taproom, and regain our bearings. By late afternoon, car number two pulled in – carrying our Head Distiller Dylan, distiller Jason, and tour guide Emma – rounding out the team for the rest of the trip.

Tomorrow we tip our hats to Ohio and make our final push. Bluegrass bound, baby.

Back on the road.

I’ve come to appreciate electric vehicles – not just for their environmental benefits, but for what they do to long drives. In the Cybertruck, it’s never “How long until we’re there?” but “How long until the next charging station?” Every stop gives us a guaranteed 25-minute window to stretch, use the facilities, and marvel at the endless array of American convenience-store snacks. Nuts ’n Gum – together at last.

Around 2:00 p.m., we pull into Maker’s Mark Distillery in Loretto, Kentucky, which is the oldest operating bourbon distillery on its original site. We hop onto a tour and wander the grounds, weaving between limestone buildings, rickhouses, and the creek that cuts through the property. The highlight? Standing just a few feet away as each bottle meets its fate – dipped by hand into Maker’s Mark’s iconic red wax.

That evening, we drive from Loretto to Red River Gorge, where our team has rented out three cabins at Hooting Owl Homestead. The reason? Inspiration. But you’ll have to wait and see.

Today’s the big day.

An early fog clings to the hills of Red River Gorge. The smell of coffee fills the kitchen. Outside, gravel crunches under slow-rolling tires. I glance through the window and see Dylan’s truck pulling up, the rising sun catching the sheen of the bodywork.

There’s a quiet excitement that fuels our movements far more than the caffeine. Dustin’s assembling his gear, pre-packing his lenses with a practiced calm. John’s quiet but alert. The significance of what’s to come isn’t lost on him.

We arrive at Kelvin Cooperage just before 10 am, where we’re ushered into a back office with an impressive whisky collection backlit on a glass shelf. Through the closed door, the noise of the yard pulses like a heartbeat.

This is the purpose of our trip.

We’re here to witness the creation of the Brantford Batch – our first whisky barrels crafted entirely from Canadian white oak. For our company, it’s monumental. And as we step into the yard, each of us carries the same sense of gravity.

John is silent, almost misty-eyed, as he watches a process years in the making finally come to life. Dylan too – you can see it in the way he runs his hand across the grain of a freshly raised barrel. The moment settles over us. Then a sudden bloom of fire snaps us back to the present. Because as special as the moment is, we also can’t help but notice the organized chaos that surrounds us.

Like a well-oiled machine, the coopers move through their tasks – jointing staves, hooping, raising, charring, testing for leaks. Not a single nail or drop of glue. Just wood, steel, fire, and skill. It’s alchemy.

We close out the production by signing the head of one of the barrels. The gesture feels bigger than us, and each of us has to steady our hands before putting marker to oak.

This moment is a milestone for the entire Top Shelf team, and for Canadian whisky lovers everywhere.

We bid our barrels farewell. Soon they’ll be loaded onto a truck bound for Perth, tracing almost the same route we’ll follow back to Canada. Then we continue on to Rabbit Hole Distillery for a tour and a tasting. The tour is excellent, but all of us are still carrying visions of our Canadian barrels.

After Rabbit Hole, we drive to Frankfort to visit Whiskey Thief Distillery. The drive is pure postcard Kentucky: rolling hills, dairy cows grazing on bluegrass, a warm sun high in the sky. The grounds at Whiskey Thief are buzzing with people, and an old, lazy dog sleeps in front of a massive still. Quintessential Kentucky.

We end the night back at Hooting Owl Homestead. Jason grills steaks and vegetables, as stars, unencumbered by city lights, shine overhead.

Life is good.

My alarm sounds at 6:00 am. The same stars are out, just shifted to a new corner of the sky.

Today, Emma, Jason, and I are heading to Moonshine University to earn our Bourbon Stewardships. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve sat in a classroom, but this feels different. Maybe it’s the flight of whisky samples set neatly in front of me. Maybe it’s the endless supply of snacks within arm’s reach. Or maybe it’s the massive piece of equipment – which I would soon learn is a steam-jacketed fermenter outfitted with sight glasses and cooling coils – grumbling away just outside the door. Whatever the reason, I’m stoked.

Eight hours later, the three of us are officially Bourbon Stewards. Dylan swings by to pick us up and, like a proud father, insists on taking our picture out front of the campus.

We celebrate that night by roaming around Louisville. At a speakeasy, a Prohibition-style jazz trio plays smooth, smoky tunes that fill the room. The music has a conclusive feel to it, like a perfect last page. We’re content, happy, but quiet. No one says much.

We just listen.

Homeward bound. As we head north, the leaves shift from green to brown, and near the border a heavy snow begins to fall.

It isn’t exactly a warm welcome, but it is unequivocally Canadian. And somehow, after a week of barrels, distilleries, and long miles on the road, it feels right – like the perfect reminder of where this journey ultimately leads.

Cheers.