Some tobaccos you smoke. Others you experience. And then there are those rare few that change you forever. This is my story with Royal Yacht.
The Accidental Discovery
I never intended to fall in love with Royal Yacht. In fact, I actively avoided it for years. The name seemed pretentious, the plum topping sounded artificial, and frankly, I was a Virginia purist who believed that good tobacco didn’t need enhancement. How wrong I was.
My first encounter came by accident in 2003. I’d ordered what I thought was a tin of Dunhill Flake from an online retailer, but when the package arrived, there sat a tin of Royal Yacht instead. My initial reaction was annoyance—I’d been looking forward to that Flake all week. But since I’d already paid for it, I grudgingly decided to give it a try.
That first bowl changed everything. Not immediately—I’m too stubborn for that—but slowly, insidiously, like the best kind of seduction. The tobacco didn’t announce itself with fanfare. Instead, it whispered. It suggested. It hinted at depths I hadn’t expected and complexities I couldn’t quite grasp on first meeting.
Learning to Listen
The tin note was my first clue that I’d misjudged this blend entirely. Yes, there was plum—but not the cloying, artificial fruit flavoring I’d expected. This was subtle, sophisticated, like catching a whiff of someone’s expensive perfume as they pass by. The Virginia base sang through clearly, all hay and honey and summer afternoons, but with this mysterious dark fruit undertone that made everything more interesting.
I loaded my trusty Stanwell 95 that evening—a reliable old friend that had never steered me wrong—and settled into my reading chair with low expectations. The first few puffs were pleasant enough. Good Virginia character, smooth burning, nothing offensive. But then, somewhere around the halfway point, something magical happened.
The plum topping, which had been playing coy up until that moment, suddenly bloomed. Not aggressively, not artificially, but like a flower opening at dawn. It didn’t mask the Virginia—it enhanced it, complemented it, made it sing in harmonies I’d never heard before. The tobacco transformed from merely pleasant to genuinely captivating.
I found myself slowing down, paying attention in a way I rarely did with my everyday smokes. Each puff revealed new nuances: hints of wine, suggestions of dark chocolate, whispers of exotic spices I couldn’t quite identify. This wasn’t just tobacco—it was a conversation, and I was finally learning to listen.
The Murray’s Years: Peak Performance
That accidental introduction led to a decade-long relationship with Royal Yacht, but it was the Murray’s era tins that truly won my heart. When I discovered that my local shop had a few remaining tins from the final Murray’s production run in 2005, I bought them all. Six tins that would become some of the most treasured tobacco in my cellar.
The Murray’s Royal Yacht was Royal Yacht perfected. Everything that had attracted me to the blend was refined, polished, elevated. The Virginia base was richer, more complex. The plum topping was more integrated, more sophisticated. The overall experience was simply sublime.
I remember the first time I opened one of those Murray’s tins. The aroma that escaped was like opening a jewelry box—precious, refined, unmistakably luxurious. The tobacco itself looked different too: darker, more mature, with an oily sheen that spoke of careful aging and expert processing.
That evening’s smoke was a revelation. The tobacco burned with perfect consistency, never hot, never harsh, delivering wave after wave of complex flavors that seemed to evolve with each puff. The plum notes were there, but so seamlessly integrated that they felt like a natural part of the Virginia rather than an addition to it.
The Aging Experiment
Of those six Murray’s tins, I smoked three fresh and cellared three for aging. It was one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made as a pipe smoker. The aged Royal Yacht I’m smoking tonight—nearly two decades in the cellar—is a completely different animal from the fresh tobacco I fell in love with all those years ago.
Time has worked its magic on this blend in ways I never could have anticipated. The Virginia has mellowed and sweetened, developing rich caramel and honey notes that weren’t present in the fresh tobacco. The plum topping has evolved too, becoming more wine-like, more sophisticated, with hints of port and dark berries that add incredible depth to the overall experience.
But perhaps most remarkably, the aging process has created what I can only describe as tertiary flavors—subtle notes of leather, old wood, and gentle spices that weren’t present in the original blend but have developed through the slow alchemy of time. These flavors don’t dominate; they provide a foundation, a backdrop against which the primary Virginia and plum flavors can dance.
The Ritual
Tonight, as I prepare to smoke this aged treasure, I’m using my Peterson Sherlock Holmes Mycroft—a pipe that seems perfectly suited to such a distinguished tobacco. The ritual of preparation has become as important as the smoking itself. The careful opening of the tin, the first appreciative sniff of the aged tobacco, the gentle rubbing out of the ribbon cut, the methodical packing of the bowl.
Each step is deliberate, mindful, reverent. This isn’t just smoking—it’s communion with history, with craftsmanship, with the accumulated wisdom of generations of tobacco artisans who understood that the finest things in life require patience, skill, and vision.
The first light reveals the full glory of what this tobacco has become. The Virginia character is immediately apparent—sweet, complex, satisfying—but it’s the way the plum enhancement has evolved that truly takes my breath away. What was once a distinct flavoring has become an integral part of the tobacco’s character, as natural and essential as the Virginia itself.
The Dance of Flavors
As the bowl progresses, I’m struck by how perfectly balanced this aged Royal Yacht has become. The sweetness never becomes cloying, the strength never becomes overwhelming, the complexity never becomes confusing. Everything works together in perfect harmony, like a well-rehearsed orchestra where every musician knows their part.
The plum notes ebb and flow throughout the smoke, sometimes prominent, sometimes subtle, always appropriate. They provide a counterpoint to the Virginia’s natural sweetness, adding depth and interest without ever overwhelming the tobacco’s essential character. It’s a masterclass in the art of enhancement—how to add complexity without sacrificing authenticity.
The room note is equally impressive. Where some aromatic tobaccos can be cloying or artificial-smelling to bystanders, this aged Royal Yacht produces an aroma that’s both pleasant and sophisticated. It’s the kind of tobacco that makes people ask, “What are you smoking?” rather than asking you to open a window.
Reflections on Loss
As I near the bottom of this bowl, I’m acutely aware that I’m smoking something irreplaceable. When my remaining tins of Murray’s Royal Yacht are gone, they’re gone forever. The Peterson version, while competent, lacks the soul of the original. It’s like listening to a cover band perform your favorite song—technically proficient, but missing that indefinable something that made the original special.
This awareness adds a bittersweet quality to every bowl. Each smoke is precious not just because the tobacco is exceptional, but because it’s finite. There will come a day when I light my last bowl of authentic Royal Yacht, and that day feels both distant and terrifyingly close.
But perhaps that’s part of what makes this tobacco so special. Its scarcity forces me to pay attention, to be present, to truly appreciate what I’m experiencing rather than taking it for granted. In a world of infinite choices and constant distractions, Royal Yacht demands mindfulness.
The Verdict
After nearly twenty years of smoking Royal Yacht in various forms and ages, I can say without hesitation that it represents the pinnacle of what enhanced Virginia tobacco can achieve. It’s proof that when done with skill and restraint, flavoring can elevate rather than mask the natural tobacco character.
This aged Murray’s Royal Yacht isn’t just tobacco—it’s liquid poetry, captured in leaf and aged to perfection. It’s a reminder of what we’ve lost in the modern tobacco world, where efficiency and cost-cutting have replaced artistry and patience. It’s a testament to the vision of Alfred Dunhill and the skill of the blenders who brought that vision to life.
For those fortunate enough to have cellared tins of authentic Royal Yacht, treasure them. Smoke them slowly, mindfully, with the reverence they deserve. And for those who never experienced the original, I can only hope that someday, someone will recapture the magic that made Royal Yacht legendary.
Until then, I’ll continue to ration my remaining tins, smoking them on special occasions and quiet evenings when I need to be reminded of what true tobacco artistry looks like. Because some things are too precious to waste, and some experiences are too perfect to rush.
Royal Yacht taught me that the best tobaccos, like the best relationships, reveal their secrets slowly. You have to earn their trust, learn their language, and give them the time and attention they deserve. In return, they offer rewards that last a lifetime.
