Inside the distillery crafting spirits on the edge of the world

The bus from Tórshavn winds through a landscape pulled from Norse mythology. The route is flanked by dramatic, almost otherworldly scenery — cliffs looming above, valleys plunging below.

For 90 minutes, I watch the Faroe Islands pass by: peaks shrouded in mist, lambs trailing their mothers up steep, rugged hillsides, entirely unconcerned by the ever-shifting weather. Eventually we reach the Norðoyatunnilin undersea tunnel, then emerge into Klaksvík — the second-largest settlement in these scattered islands.

Home to just 5,000 residents, sitting between two fjords and framed by towering, green hills, it feels like an outpost at the very edge of existence. Yet it’s home to something that would’ve been impossible to imagine just over a decade ago due to the Faroes extreme alcohol laws. Overlooking Klaksvík's port is Einar's Distillery, an extension of the family-run Föroya Bjór — 'the beer of the Faroes' — which has weathered over 130 years of changing laws and was finally able to fulfil its distilling dreams when strong spirits became legal again in 2012.

The ban, originating from a 1907 national referendum, was championed by a powerful temperance movement and prohibited the commercial sale and production of strong alcohol. However, the law didn’t outlaw consumption entirely. From 1928 onwards, a tightly controlled system allowed individuals to privately import a restricted amount of alcohol from Denmark. Föroya Bjór survived those lean decades by producing soft drinks under the ‘Jolly’ brand, which continues to outperform Coca-Cola locally, and perfecting its pilsnar, a 2.7% pilsner-style lager.

I'm barely through the door of Einar's when I'm greeted by Annika Waag, the fourth generation of her family to work in these premises. With a warm smile and the kind of directness that seems to be shared by all the islanders I meet, she extends her hand for a firm handshake. But the formalities don't end there.

“Now,” she says, immediately reaching for two small glasses and a bottle of clear spirit, “as is tradition, we toast each other's health.” The bottle bears a distinctive ram logo, one that’s marked the family business since her great-grandfather Símun í Vági designed it in 1888. This is Einar's akvavitt — a spirit known in Scandinavia as ‘aquavit’, a name that derives from the Latin ‘aqua vitae’, meaning ‘water of life’. Made with water, caraway and herbs foraged from the surrounding hills, it represents everything the distillery stands for: local ingredients, traditional methods and an uncompromising sense of place.

The fact that it's 11am doesn't enter the equation. This sort of custom to toast upon meeting has been an intrinsic part of Nordic culture for centuries — and some traditions transcend conventional social hours. Not yet finished with introductions, Annika produces another bottle, this one containing a deep amber beer that exists nowhere else in the world.

“This,” she says, “is made with barley harvested from the farm at the top of Múlafossur Waterfall.” The dramatic cascade near Gásadalur village is where barley grows impossibly close to one of the Faroes' most photographed natural wonders. “You can only get this here,” Annika adds.

With my glass empty we begin our tour. Annika tells me about the company's history and constant battle for survival. "It hasn't been easy," she admits, referring to the prohibition. When Símun founded the company in 1888, he was a leading advocate for Faroese independence, flying the islands’ national flag long before it was officially adopted in 1940. He even funded a school that prioritised Faroese-language education.

For Símun, brewing wasn't just about business — it was another way to preserve his homeland’s cultural identity. His son Einar Fróvin Waag continued this legacy, later expanding the business to include soda water production in 1936. It’s from him that the distillery takes its name, although Annika explains it was the fulfilment of a lifelong dream held by his son — her father, also named Einar Waag.

But it's not the beer or even the akvavitt that I'm most interested in — it's the whisky. The bottles are decorated with local birds, picked to reflect each whisky's character. The agility of the great skua speaks to one version’s strength while the raven’s intelligence speaks to the complex flavour layers of another.

A personal favourite is Einar's Raven, the distillery's first smoked whisky. Bottled at a formidable cask strength of 59.5%, it carries heft but doesn’t overwhelm. It's a whisky unlike anything I've ever tasted, and there's a good reason for this uniqueness. The Faroe Islands offer near-perfect conditions for whisky maturation — high humidity, salt-laden air from Atlantic winds and remarkably stable temperatures. It’s an environment so optimal that it rivals that of the Scottish Highlands.

But while this isolated, nature-enveloped setting is perfect for crafting spirits that are wholly bespoke, the very remoteness that makes them special also presents challenges. “Exporting is difficult from here, financially and logistically. We’re small,” Annika acknowledges, gesturing toward the port visible through the window. “But whisky people love stories. They want authenticity, something that speaks of where it was made. In that regard, we have all the ingredients to succeed.”

This commitment to place extends beyond the liquid itself. Walk around the distillery and you'll notice crates that have been in service for half a century, still being used to deliver bottles around the islands. Customers are also encouraged to return bottles and cans for reuse or recycling — a necessity born from isolation that’s as practical as it is environmental.

The true essence of Einar’s, I’ve come to realise, isn’t found in a specific technique or a single tasting note, but in its overriding philosophy — one that Annika personifies herself. It’s the spirit behind the spirits themselves: a quiet determination to stay true to your roots, and to create something that draws its very character from the Faroese landscape.

Annika’s own words cut to the heart of it all. “This is the way we've always done things,” she says. “And it's how we'll keep doing them. It's more than just habit — it's our heritage. It's who we are.”