I spent some time (two days and two nights) at a lakeside cabin with a party of 6 consisting of 2 confirmed cigar aficionados, 2 much younger men who smoke a couple of times a week, and two who smoked mostly from peer pressure. The gathering was a Bible study, and nearly all the time spent not actually studying (watching lectures on disc inside) was spent smoking and discussing.  

The gathering was outstanding. We probably smoked well North of 100 cigars and covered about 2.5 hours of lecture.

I will list the ones I can recall we had (not everybody had everything).

1. Liga Privada T52
2. Mark Twain
3. Arganese
4. 5 Vegas
5. Monte Cristo Media Noche
6. Gurkha Warpig
7. Arturo Fuente Queen B
8. Amati
9. Cain Daytona
10. LaGloraCubana R Estelli
11. LFD Ligero

The list is incomplete, I'm sure. Out of all those cigars (and I assure you they were consumed at such a volume and rate that a person seeing the air above our cabin from the perspective of 100 years past would have assumed that the lake steamer was working up a good head for an imminent crossing) there was one and only one stinker. One masterfully planted, tended, harvested, fermented, selected, rolled by skilled and prideful hands into a cigar and sold for a fair bit of gringo plato was not fit for a bad dog to smoke. It was, of course, the second Gurkha Warpig.

One of our merry band took a second long draw on the first Gurkha and pronounced himself transported to a higher realm; we, his friends were dearer and funnier; long-lost belly-busting old-time tales burbled up in profusion from his lips. He scratched himself with grand and unaccustomed pleasure. He had latched onto a truly great cigar. All things must end, and this magical Gurkha grew too short to hold while still to hot to swallow, so it was allowed to extinguish itself.

A few moments later, our subject lighted the second Gurkha. He took a satisfied breath and smiled a little as he took his first draw. The man froze. He was no more mobile than if he had been carved from meerschaum. It was obvious that important thoughts raced behind his waxy brow. After some moments, he uttered forth the weight of those thoughts. "CAT SHIT!" he said, throwing the cigar with a powerful arm and a forethought arc designed to remove the offending, thuggish thing as far from him as possible.

He only wept a little. He should have known you don't get two great Gurkhas in a row.

The rest of the cigars were quite good, with some of us finding new ones to add to our personal lists. Somebody brought 5 Vegas, which I had not tried but are now on my "smoke when available" list.

I urge you to get a crew together to go to someplace nice (we were at Lake Louisa State Park near Orlando) and do some smoking and thinking and talking, even if you aren't inclined to the Bible Study. We had a fine time.

Sounds like a wonderful time.  Gurkhas are most certainly a roll the dice proposition.  The few 5 Vegas sticks I've smoked were quite enjoyable.