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Born from the spirits that where lost to the fog...
The Fog’s Due
Long before charts were true and compasses steady, sailors feared only two things: an empty barrel and the rising fog.
They wrote of it in salt-stained logs—how the mist would gather without wind or warning, swallowing the horizon in a single breath. Some claimed it was only weather. Others knew better. They said the fog was alive, an old spirit of the sea that demanded tribute from those who crossed its waters.
More than one ship went missing in those shrouded miles. Yet when their splintered hulls washed ashore months later, one thing was always the same: the rum stores had vanished, every cask taken, as if carefully chosen. The men were gone, the sails torn, but not a drop of rum remained. The fog had claimed its due.
Out of those tales grew a quiet superstition. Before a voyage, crews would pour a measure of their finest rum over the rails—an offering to keep the mist at bay. Some swore the sea drank it. Others swore the fog itself loosened its grip.
Fogbound Rum is born from that old sailors’ bargain. A tribute to the mystery that guarded their journeys, humbled their ships, and reminded them that every drop of rum was worth protecting—even from the fog itself.