Martin Miles · The person behind the records
Collector
Meet the collector behind the archive.
- 01Personal name
- Martin Miles
- 02Archive
- Private collection
- 03Method
- Structured records and tasting
How it all started
One bottle became a way of remembering.
“The first bottle is not simply first in a sequence. It is the reason a sequence exists.”
You never forget your first time.
Your first day at school. The first time you see the ocean. Your first kiss. Your first night of love. Some moments pass in an instant, yet remain with you forever.
Scotch whisky can be like that. The first time you lift the glass. The quiet warmth of its aroma. The first sip, unfolding slowly, revealing smoke, fruit, oak, salt, and time.
Once you discover a whisky that truly speaks to you, its memory never completely fades.
Mine was an Oban 14. Many years have passed, and I have tasted many whiskies since. But I can still remember that glass. The anticipation. The warmth. The flavor of that very first sip.
Because some tastes are more than tastes. They become memories. And you never forget your first.
Profile
Martin Miles
I live in Las Vegas, having moved from the United Kingdom a few years ago. It was in Britain that my interest in Scotch grew into a serious passion: not from labels alone, but from proximity to the places, people and landscapes that give the spirit its character.
I have visited distilleries across several whisky regions and travelled through Scotland far beyond the familiar stops. Whisky is one thread in that affection, not its limit. I am an admirer of the country in full—its islands and cities, weather and history, coastlines, hospitality and particular sense of place. This collection is my way of keeping those encounters close, bottle by bottle, while documenting them with care.
Fun fact about me
A personal dry law in the USA
I am a man of strict discipline and, for me, collecting matters more than routine consumption. I have therefore drawn an unusually clear personal boundary: I do not drink alcohol anywhere within the United States—the 50 states, US airspace, and the territorial sea out to twelve nautical miles. The rule covers everything, including weak beer, and applies on the land where I spend almost all of my time.
Outside that boundary I remain free to enjoy a carefully chosen whisky: on holiday, back in Britain, or on a long-haul journey once the aircraft has left US airspace. Deliberate distance sharpens my anticipation. A dram becomes a rare, conscious occasion rather than a habit—and the pleasure of the permitted moment feels all the more vivid because I chose to wait for it.