Ghost Ship's line, at least of those I've tried, has a tendency of feeling very cold and wet. There's some underlying astringent note to their fragrances— maybe it's the alcohol they use, or maybe it's a deliberate choice by the perfumer, but it's something I tend to find pretty unappealing.
But for every rule there's an exception, and Edmund Fitzgerald is that exception for me. There's that same cold wet undertone to it, but here it actually works to the perfume's benefit, and covers the whole autumnal apple-y bourbon thing in a grey fog that's just about to break into rain. This is not a warm, cozy, stay-by-the-fireside autumn fragrance, it's a fragrance to walk through muddy trails in, with your head hunched over to keep the rain off your face, wondering how it got so dark so quickly, your only comfort a flask of brandy in your pocket.
Maybe I wish it were a bit more elegant, a bit less fleeting, maybe the applejack could peek its head out through the rain a little bit more, but it's still a unique and atmospheric experience, and I'm so glad Ghost Ship has brought it back.
