291 is the kind of whiskey brand born out of contrast: rugged mountain air in Colorado Springs, but polished ambition in every barrel. Founded by Michael Myers, once a fashion photographer, it’s a whiskey venture that doesn’t pretend—it leans into being local, wild, experimental. The name itself—291—is meant to evoke open space, altitude, trail, frontier. That sense of vast outdoors shapes what they do: grain-to-glass, aging in small barrels, finishing with toasted staves of Colorado aspen, all in search of flavor that feels like terrain. What defines 291 is tension. Between youth and maturity, between oak and wood, between bold sweetness and sharp spice. They don’t sit back and let tradition alone dictate things; they challenge it. They bottle rye and bourbon that wear their char bravely, that smell of smoke and honey and wood while still managing to feel like something new. Their bottlings seem driven by mood: “I want that bite of rye, tempered by the crackle of aspen, its core honesty.” They are not safe. They are not quiet. At the same time, 291 wants to be more than craft novelty. The stories behind the bottles matter: where the rye grew, how the aspen staves were toasted, how the aging interacts with altitude and climate. It’s whiskey that tastes like place, not just process. And though some bottles lean hard, others surprise with balance, showing that ambition doesn’t always mean abrasive. The brand is built for people who drink with expectation—those who want character, ruggedness, and something they can recognize as distinctly their own in a crowded shelf.