Big Mountain paired with New Belgium Red Hoptober

Posted on September 18, 2012 by BrewSki

Big Mountain. The name suggests a massive massif, when it’s really just a small peak (8,472 feet) among much larger high points of the Wasatch. But while the mountain doesn’t quite live up to its name, the history of the place makes this sub-standard summit more than worthy of a quick morning hike, especially with a beer in tow, like New Belgium’s Red Hoptober.

“This is the place.” It’s a quote made famous by Brigham Young when he stood upon a high point near Emigration Canyon in 1847 and declared the Salt Lake Valley to be the place where Mormon pioneers would settle. But those pioneers really got their first glimpse of their future home from Big Mountain Pass. From there, a short hike up to the summit was all scouts needed to spy the valley far below, and figure out a way for their handcart brethren to get there.

Today, Big Mountain is a pleasant hike that is short, but provides for the same sweeping views these early pioneers saw long ago. On this SummitBrew trip, it was a warm, autumn day, when the leaves were just beginning to change, hinting at the inevitable coming of winter snows. After driving up Parley’s Canyon and turning north on the East Canyon exit, I drove 8 miles and parked my car at the dirt lot atop Big Mountain Pass. After gearing up, I crossed the road to the west where the trail begins.

A few steep switchbacks lead to low-angle hiking that traversed the north side of the ridge, where excellent scenery fell below my feet toward Emigration Canyon. A vast view of the central Wasatch Range dominated the horizon as the trail curved around and eventually topped out on the ridge where I got my first view of Big Mountain’s summit.

The trail meandered here through scrub oak and bushes, but soon emerged just below the peak. It seemed an easy task to just clamber up the side of the mountain from here, but the trail did curve around to the north before an easy, less steep option revealed itself that went directly to the top.

The summit of Big Mountain was a barren plot of land with a few flat rocks and an old campfire ring where broken glass and bottle caps were littered among the lichens and moss that inhabit these above-treeline spots. About a million flying ants also seemed to dwell here, but didn’t mind my presence.

It was a sweet spot to scope out future summits to climb, like Grandview and Lookout Peak toward City Creek Canyon and Bountiful. With that, I opened my brew and toasted those hearty Mormon pioneers, because if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be living in this awesome place full of mountains, skiing and immense amounts of powder snow, for which I prayed to Ullr with beer in hand.

New Belgium Red Hoptober

The hunt for Red Hoptober is over! Ever since my uncle (who works for a beer distributor in California) gave me an awesome t-shirt promoting New Belgium’s current fall seasonal, Red Hoptober, I’ve been dying to get my hands on a sixer. Well, a trip to Colorado took care of that search, and the wait was well worth it.

Red Hoptober boils down to one word: roasty. This tasty brew is covered from head to toe in roasted malts that evoke flavors like toast, caramel, and sweet chocolate. It’s a delicately balanced beer that really lets the roasted malts stand up front. Definitely a fall-type flavor, this beer makes me think of dead leaves crackling underfoot, corn mazes, and chilly evenings spent in the backyard at a barbecue.

In the glass, Red Hoptober pours a deep red color, a perfect compliment to all those haunted houses that pop up all over the place this time of year. Like a vampire, you can pretend you’re drinking hoppy blood… or not. Up front the beer has a moderate bitterness with a very subdued hop flavor that just hints at citrus and pine. Aroma-wise, there’s not much hop smell on the head, nor do hops overpower when swallowed. There is a very nice amount of thick head after pouring, with lacing on the sides of the glass that sticks like a damn Victorian curtain.

Overall, New Belgium’s Red Hoptober is a full bodied, almost bready brew with caramel notes. The style is very much a heavy red or amber ale, and honestly, preferable in my opinion to New Belgium’s most famous flagship amber, Fat Tire. What a great beer to drink atop a summit while looking at the red leaves on the mountain trees!

For more, visit www.newbelgium.com

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Devil’s Lake/Balanced Rock paired with Ale Asylum Bedlam Trappist IPA

Posted on September 1, 2012 by Brewddha

Bedlam doing its own Balanced Rock impression.

In Wisconsin, the term “summit” needs to be qualified somewhat.  One usually infers “mountain” when hearing the word “summit”, but the lack of said mountains in Wisconsin has never deterred Midwesterners from using such lofty geographical nomenclature.  For example, I skied at Whitecap Mountain, Porcupine Mountain and Blackjack Mountain (where the runs dropped 465’ quad burning feet from a lung busting elevation of 850’ above sea level).  I can’t blame someone who lives in an area like I did where the highest point may have been a pile of coal near the river from trying to improve the image of their landscape by being overzealous in word choice, but it should be noted that Wisconsin contains some interesting topography within its borders.  For a young boy growing up in the flat lands of northeastern Wisconsin, the Baraboo Hills in central Wisconsin were one of the more unique areas to explore.  Within this rolling landscape lays Devil’s Lake State Park, a unique combination of water, rock and land that I visited this summer for the first time in nearly 20 years.  While most lakes in America’s Dairyland are surrounded by fields and farms, Devil’s Lake is surrounded on 3 sides by forested and rocky moraines, giving it an atmosphere similar to a glacial basin high in the mountains.  Curious to see the lake once more and hopefully taste a little of the awe I experienced as a kid, I went there with my father and Mulva to climb the talus of the moraines.

A hot summer evening looking down at Devil’s Lake in Central Wisconsin.

The park contains many trails for day and even overnight hiking, but given the extreme heat radiating around Wisconsin this July, I chose an extremely short hike to a Wisconsin version of “balanced rock” high up on the east moraine.  From the park entrance at the south end of the lake it was a short walk to the trailhead which lay in a thicket of deciduous trees just past a Native American burial mound.

The trail to Balanced Rock is short, less than a mile, but steep.  Chunks of talus along the slope have been arranged to make a stairway leading towards the bluffs at the top of the moraine.  Even in the extreme heat we encountered lots of people on the trail, and unfortunately lots of litter, a negative aspect of such attainable summits.  The climb doesn’t require much skill, however I found the rock to be surprisingly slick, probably smoothed over from years of traffic, and I took care to have a sure footing as I climbed.

Mulva climbs the trail to Balanced Rock.

Accidents and even fatalities do happen on these trails from people misjudging or underestimating the risk.  While it doesn’t have the same stupidity rate as Mt. Olympus here in the Wasatch, there bluffs and steep incline do pose a risk.  Additionally, the big fields of talus are a pretty appealing jungle gym for many kids where even if you are able to keep from turning an ankle, there is the chance of encountering a rattlesnake.

Most balanced rocks I’ve been to stand out stoically in a harsh desert landscape where years of gentle erosion have slowly carved the bottom out from beneath a rock to create a spectacle of balance and gravity defying architecture.  That is not Devil’s Lake Balanced Rock.  We very nearly walked right past the unassuming triangular rock.  Still, what it lacked in size was made up for with serenity and a reminder of how spontaneous nature can be.

No, it isn’t as grand as what some of us westerners are used to, but a great hike none the less.

Perched 30 yards or so from the trail was a blocky and chiseled stone balanced on its point near the edge of a bluff and neatly framed by the trees in just such a way that you could make out sky, hill and lake all behind it.   Rather than the result of gradual erosion, this rock seemed like the product of glacial chaos dispersing blocks all over the hill side like a kid emptying out his toy box and by chance one of the blocks fell into just the right place amongst the rest of brothers to stand erect and defiant.

My initial reaction paled to the sensation of seeing Delicate Arch or the Hat Shop in Utah’s red rock desert, but as I’ve illustrated earlier in this blog, expectations need to be tempered in a landscape like the Midwest.  Further up trail is the quite impressive Devil’s Doorway formation, but considering the heat, I was happy none of us had passed out and figured it was best to end the hike up here.  Besides, in a state full of great beer I was about to improve the situation immensely by cracking a homeland summitBrew.

In 95+ heat and sticky midwest humidity, a smooth Bedlam hits the spot. Because of it’s strength however, quite a bit was offered to Ullr.  If the skiing at Devil’s Head and Cascade is epic this year Cheeseheads, you can thank me.

Wisconsin’s rich brewing history  made for a fitting start to my life.  Major national breweries like Miller, Blatz, Schlits, Pabst and Old Style all had their start in Wisconsin.  These days however, with the exception of Miller, those breweries are more a piece of nostalgia than a legitimate part of American brewing excellence.  And as much as MGD and High Life played an important role in my early drinking life, after its merger with Coors, Miller Brewing is less a part of Wisconsin brewing excellence and more a part of brewing partisanship, dividing beer drinkers from beer lovers.  Every time I go back to Wisco, it seems like there is another micro-brew brand in the grocery store cooler calling out my name.  In my 2011 visit when I flew into Madison, I passed a sign outside a small commercial building in the light industrial area around the airport that said “Ale Asylum”.  While I didn’t get the chance to sample their beers then, I made sure to seek them out on this trip.  As we made a grocery store stop on our way out of Madison, I grabbed a 6 pack of a wickedly illustrated beer of theirs called Bedlam, a Trappist IPA.  This intrigued me immensely and after drinking a few that week, I knew it had to be my choice for summitBrew in Devil’s Lake.

Back at Lake Petenwell enjoying another Bedlam.

Ale Asylum’s Bedlam may be one of the most unique beers I’ve ever tasted.  The use of trappist style yeast really changes the character of this beer.  Like a Tootsie Pop, the Belgian style beer holds a fruity hop center without the hop bitterness.   “Citrus” is not adequate enough to describe this beer; pineapple, grapefruit and mango are just a few of the flavors I tasted while drinking this “experiment” that has turned into Ale Asylums most popular seasonal beers.  Bedlam is a powerful beer at 7.5% which balances the attributes of two distinct styles of beer without their overbearing attitudes.  In addition to Bedlam’s lack of hoppy bitterness, there was also a lack of a biscuit-y or yeasty taste that dominates many Belgian ales, instead it has almost a sweetbread or cookie like finish.  I ended up drinking this beer all week in Wisconsin and loved its easy drinkability at such a high strength.  Ale Asylum is currently putting the finishing touches on their new, larger facility that dwarfs the small unit they were renting in a light industrial office complex a few miles away.  It’s likely a sign that the young brewery that was just founded in 2006 is doing quite well.  Their beers are obviously not available in this neck of the woods, but if you’re ever in Madison or Milwaukee, I think they’re well worth seeking out.  At the least, check out their website, or more specifically their description page of Bedlam, it’s one of the more image-rich beer descriptions I’ve ever read.

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Sugarloaf Peak paired with Great Divide Rumble Oak Aged IPA

Posted on August 29, 2012 by BrewSki

A unique morning calls for a unique beer, and I found both atop Sugarloaf Peak with a Great Divide Rumble in my hand. Actually, this hike to the summit of Sugarloaf overlooking Alta’s Albion Basin was a downright strange trip, and made for a memorable Summit Brew.

The hike started out normal enough as I pulled my car into the Albion Basin parking lot at the trailhead. But as I was lacing up my hiking boots, a high pitched scream like a mountain lion being tortured, followed by a deep, grumbling roar echoed through the pine trees and off the cliffs of Devil’s Castle. I knew that moose frequent the campground in the summer, and figured they were just welcoming the rising sun, perhaps vocalizing their hunger as they grazed for breakfast. But as I began to hike up the trail, the roars and screams became more frequent, as if the moose were being attacked by a large cat. I gripped my trekking poles tighter, ready to defend myself lest an angry, antlered beast came to run me down.

But as I got higher into the basin, the sounds receded behind me. I could focus on the task at hand, which rose high above the wildflowers and meadows of this elevated alpine scene. Sugarloaf Peak revealed herself through a break in the trees, and I could see her summit clear in the blue morning sky.

As I ascended the switchbacks that lead to the crystal waters of Cecret Lake, the sounds of beasts in battle far below changed pitch, and the echoes revealed what they truly were – construction workers drilling at a home site above the campground. I felt silly thinking it was animal noises, but the sounds warped by trees, rocks and mountains before reaching my ear holes really did seem ominous and unleashed my imagination. Assured that the rest of my hike would go as normal, of course something even more weird soon occurred.

It happened as I was circling the lake in search of a faint trail that goes to the saddle between Sugarloaf Peak and Devil’s Castle. But as I searched, I noticed a black hump moving in the water. My heart raced. I imagined that it must be some ancient lake creature surfacing in the dawn hours when no humans are there to witness it. But as I sat on a boulder about 100 yards above the lake, I saw the hump was wearing goggles and an oxygen tank. “Seriously, am I living in a Fellini movie?” I thought. Was there actually a man scuba diving at 9,000 feet in the mountains? Indeed there was. Amused, and perplexed, I watched the wet-suited figure as he neared shore and started talking to a man I couldn’t see. Must have been a diving course, or perhaps a S&R diver looking for a missing person. But rather then investigate further, or continue back down to take a picture for proof of this hallucination, I left the brain-snapping vision behind and continued climbing. There was a beer in my pack, after all, and it was getting warm.

The faint trail was soon located after a bit of scrambling over rock fields and bushwhacking, and I was soon humping up a very steep and somewhat loose switchback section that rises up the north face of Sugarloaf Peak. Highly eroded sections of trail required some light-footed maneuvering, but before long I crested the saddle, which provided a good view into the backside of American Fork Canyon and Mineral Basin across the way. From there, a short jaunt up the rock-strewn ridge put me on top of Sugarloaf Peak at an elevation of 11,051 feet.

As I sat on some flat rocks on the summit, I could see Cecret Lake way down below, with a faint, barely moving black dot on the surface. The scuba man was still at it as I sat on top of a mountain. I couldn’t shake the contrast, and decided it was high time to drink, for beer ought to make my head orient straight. But still, this mighty brew called Rumble from the Great Divide Brewery in Denver Colorado, did little to normalize my already off-the-charts strange day.

Great Divide Rumble Oak Aged India Pale Ale

Like the rumble of my imaginary moose at the trailhead, Rumble from Great Divide also was not what I perceived. As soon as I popped the top, I expected to smell the usual aroma of a damn hoppy IPA. But instead, I got nothing. So I drank, and wow was the taste unusual! The Fellini movie was continuing to screen in my mind as this supposed IPA tasted unlike anything I drank before.

Reading the label, it’s clear that the beer is aged in oak barrels, but nothing could prepare me for this intense experience on the tongue. So I drank more, gave Ullr his share, and reveled in this plot with so many twists.

In the glass, Great Divide Rumble has an aroma that is easier to detect than in the bottle, but it’s still not strong. However, what notes that do come off the head are of light hops and oak, with the woody smells are far more prominent.

The beer pours a deep gold color that’s very clear with no haze. A good head disappears in little time but the beer continues to have nice carbonation long after it is poured.

 

But boy does Rumble live up to its name when quaffed, with a unique flavor that is very oak forward. When I think of oak beers, I usually imagine smokey flavors, but this oak is not smokey at all. Instead, it’s clean tasting, with an almost white wine and whiskey essence swirling around inside an American-style IPA. The effect is delicious, even though the oak seems to subdue any hop characteristics and bitterness, creating a smooth, balanced beer.

In the mouth, Rumble is quite bubbly, which makes me taste white wine even more. Maybe it’s simply the suggestion playing with my head as the beer is aged in French casks, but I swear the taste is there.

Overall, Rumble Oak Aged IPA from Great Divide Brewing is a unique take on an IPA that is soooooo tasty, and even fun to drink while trying to decipher all the complex aromas and flavors going on here. This seasonal brew is highly recommended if you can find it!

For more, check out Great Divide Brewing at www.greatdivide.com

 

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Mount Millicent paired with Rogue Juniper Pale Ale

Posted on August 13, 2012 by BrewSki

Damn I’m ready for winter. That was the thought that bubbled up to my grey matter as I hiked up the slopes of Mount Millicent above Brighton Resort in Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was August, temperatures had been in the upper 90’s for weeks in the Salt Lake Valley, and escaping to the high elevations provided little relief. It was all made worse by the fact that I was hiking on ski slopes, where in a few months (not few enough) skiers and snowboarders would soon be shredding on lovely, frozen goodness. The only saving grace of this hike filled with summer’s torment was the cold bottle of Rogue Juniper Pale Ale waiting in my pack.

Mount Millicent and the hike to her summit started innocently enough. I thought going to her 10,452-foot summit would wrap me in cool mountain air, where I could spin with arms outstretched in a “the hills are alive with the sound beer in my pack” sort of way. But as soon as I meandered on the jeep road that switchbacks up the Millicent area of Brighton, I soaked myself in my own sweat. Ah well, “the summit awaits,” I thought, so I soldiered on in the hope that the higher I go, the cooler the air would get.

From the Brighton parking lot, the hike to the summit of Milly is pretty straightforward. One simply has to follow said jeep road until it reaches the base of Twin Lakes Dam. Today, it was more like “Twin Lakes Damn” as I really wanted to cool off in the lake’s water, but a sign on the trailside explicitly screamed, “no swimming.”

Oh was I tempted to cannonball naked into the lake’s clear surface, watershed restrictions be damned. But, like a good boy, I stayed fully clothed and headed left up a steep section of road until I reached the top of the new Millicent high-speed quad. A ski patrol shack off to the side was a good spot to take a breather and eat some energy gels to replenish all that lost salt currently filling my shirt and pack straps like a sponge.

From here, the real fun of the hike began as I followed the ridge directly to the peak. Not so simple though, was the fact that the ridge is covered in a huge jumble of boulders. While scree slopes and rock hopping often conjures images of granite slabs dislodging onto delicate, breakable body parts, the scramble up Millicent was actually pretty easy.

Most of the rocks stayed put (except for a few heart-stopping wigglers) which made jumping and crawling on all fours a rollickin’ good time. I even forget about the heat as my attention focused on balance and traction. Soon, there was no more up to ascend, so I found myself a nice place to sprawl among the scattered boulders, took in the view of Catherine Lakes, Brighton, the Wasatch Crest and Wolverine Cirque, and popped the top off my Rogue Juniper Pale Ale.

Rogue Juniper Pale Ale

When I saw a six pack of Rogue Juniper Pale Ale in a Colorado liquor store, I had to buy it and try it, mainly for the fact that I home-brewed my own juniper rye pale ale made from fresh juniper berries I hand picked on Gooseberry Mesa in Southeastern Utah on a recent mountain biking trip. I simply had to compare the two. Call it research and development for my homebrew ventures.

In any case, Rogue’s version did not disappoint, especially on a hot day atop a Wasatch Mountain peak. Also, this Newport, Oregon-based brewery had been a college-era favorite thanks to their Dead Guy Ale, so I was keen to try one of their more obscure offerings.

Rogue says this about their Juniper Pale: “A pale ale, saffron in color with a smooth malt balance, floral aroma with a dry spicy finish from whole juniper berries.” Sounds about right. Drinking one on a mountain was damn refreshing, even if it was cooking in my pack for over an hour. As far as pales ales go, this one is a bit less hoppy than I would like, with very little aroma on the head, and a somewhat thin flavor overall.

What bitterness that can be found is well balanced with the malts up front, but most of the zing happens when the beer is swallowed. Those juniper berries, while hard to detect on the tongue, are certainly present in the throat as a refreshing zing hits the palate like a cold gin and tonic.

In the glass, Rogue Juniper Pale Ale pours a light yellow color that looks more like a pilsner or lager. The effect is a very drinkable pale ale that’s ideal for hot summer days when one is dreaming of powder snow. Overall, I wish there was a more juniper taste up front as spice/herbal beer would require, but as it stands, it’s still a decent brew.

For more, visit www.rogue.com

 

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Delano Peak paired with Uinta Skipping Stone Summer Lager

Posted on July 31, 2012 by BrewSki

Dogs, beer and mountains – three great things that go great together. That’s why my recent hike to the top of the tallest mountain in the Tushar Range, Delano Peak, along with my dog Lucy and a bottle of Uinta Skipping Stone Summer Lager in my pack made for one hell of a well rounded day.

Delano Peak is not only the highest mountain in the Tushars, but it’s also the highest point in two counties. That’s significant for those of us who are checking off the highest points in every county in the state. So with beer on my back and a dog at my side, I set off with family visiting from California and a plethora of their friends to stand atop Delano at 12,173 feet.

It’s been a tradition to have family reunions every July in the Tushars, where we camp at Big Flat and drink too much beer around the campfire while playing horseshoes or riding mountain bikes on the Skyline Trail. But every year we’ve attempted Delano Peak, we’ve been turned back by one reason or another. Car trouble, broken bike racks, and too much snow keeping the road closed have all conspired against us. But thanks to the miserably bad snow year of 2012, Big John Flat road was wide open and provided access to the trailhead of Delano. Our time to summit was at hand.

We began by driving up past Big John Flat on a well maintained dirt road. A few stream crossings, including Poison Creek, led our caravan to a series of switchbacks where the road got a bit more rough on the mountainside. Luckily we all had higher-clearance vehicles to get us to the trailhead. After a few switchbacks, we could see the radio repeater tower on the ridge that marked where we would begin the hike. An unimproved double-track road closed by a metal gate went to this tower, and the gate was locked. We parked here, unloaded the family and pooches, and the adventure began.

After we all geared up and a few of us grabbed some Coors Light from the cooler (definitely not appropriate for a Summit Brew, but perfectly fine for a pre-hike affair) we all hiked up the weed-filled gravel road to the tower. At this point there was no obvious trail to take, but the route to the summit of Delano Peak seemed straighforward. As a general rule, it seemed staying on the ridgeline would lead us directly to the top. From the radio tower, we turned south, following the occasional game trail as we traversed along the contours of the ridge. A few sections of loose dirt and rocks had to be negotiated at the beginning, but nothing was technical at all. Upon reaching the ridge proper, we were thrilled to see dozens upon dozens of mountain goats, as well as evidence of their passing in fallen wool that littered the ground. They were far away and moved to higher ground as we neared, and I truly wished I had a long lens on my camera to shoot some closeup pictures of these alpine dwellers.

The ridgeline hike went up and down as it rolled over shoulders and through dips, all the while revealing new views as we passed by canyons and cliffs that fell away on either side. The summit of Delano Peak was always in sight as we made our way toward her, and while the distance seemed far at first, the hike was actually surprisingly simple and easy for a mountain that rises to over 12,000 feet. After about two-and-a-half miles of hiking on fields of alpine tundra covered in light green foliage and tiny wildflowers, we arrived at a short section of steep scree that was the final obstacle to the summit. Everyone made short work of it and before long the entire group achieved the day’s goal and stood at the top of Delano Peak.

The summit provided a wonderful 360-degree view of scenery that showed just how rugged and impressive the Tushar Range is, and revealed what everyone misses as they speed by on I-15 enroute to their destinations far below. To the north, other massive peaks rose from treeline, like Mount Belknap, and Mount Baldy. To the east, the greenery of an agricultural valley that surrounds Circleville and Junction shimmered below. And to the south and west, Eagle Point, Big Flat, the pines of Fishlake National Forest, and Brianhead could all be seen.

After a lunch of energy bars and sandwiches, we signed the summit register that lives inside an old mailbox in need of some TLC. After making my mark on a small notebook secreted inside, I chose a seat from the smooth rocks and enjoyed a Summit Brew.

Uinta Skipping Stone Summer Lager

Nothing says summer quite like a cold lager beer. So it makes sense that Uinta Brewing Company would release a summer seasonal like the Skipping Stone Summer Lager. While there were no lakes or ponds on Delano Peak to toss some flat rocks and watch them skitter across the water, drinking a Skipping Stone felt “summery” enough.

As far as lagers go, Skipping Stone is pretty typical. The problem with this style of beer, especially with it being a lighter brew, is that there isn’t much room for experimentation. It is what it is, and what it is, is a lager, pure and simple. While this may sound a bit bland, it’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it, quite the contrary. Skipping Stone is the perfect beer to drink on a hot day outdoors. It’s refreshing, watery and doesn’t force you to taste too much flavor. It is meant to be drunk fast and often, which I certainly did as I toasted the summit of Delano Peak.

In the glass, Skipping Stone is a very clear beer with a yellow color and head that dissolves soon after the pour. It is effervescent, with great carbonation. Typical lager flavor predominates with a hint of hop bite, especially in the middle and back of the tongue. A bit of citrus and grassy notes round out the profile. In addition, the beer is not too malty, but malts are there, providing just enough foundation without making the brew less quaffable or heavy.

While lagers aren’t my favorite style, Skipping Stone is a great local take and a worthy addition to Uinta’s new lineup of microbrews. It comes in at 22 IBU and 4% alchohol by volume. Skipping Stone also won the silver medal at the 2007 North American Beer Awards, and Gold in 2003. For more, check Uinta out online at www.uintabrewing.com

Overall, Delano Peak is a relatively easy way to hike one of southern Utah’s highest mountains. While it can be strenuous as it ascends over 1,500 feet in two miles, there is nothing technical, and the sweeping viewpoints are totally worth the effort. Luckily for Lucy, dogs are allowed, and luckily for me, the summit is a comfortable place with a pretty good view to enjoy a Summit Brew. Indeed it was a well-rounded day.

Cheers!

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Uinta Lake 10,919 and SanTan Devil’s Ale

Posted on July 25, 2012 by Brewddha

Enjoying a SanTan Devil’s Ale high in the Uinta mountains.

Minimal seems to be the theme in outdoor recreation.  Nowhere has the minimal fad done more to benefit the outdoor enthusiast than in backpacking.  Over the past few years, through various upgrades and refinements, I have winnowed weight from my pack: a down sleeping bag that is a pound lighter than the old, a new tent that’s half the weight of my previous, “cook in the bag” freeze dried dinners that only require boiling water; it all adds up (or more correctly subtracts up)– in theory!   What unfortunately has happened as a consequence of the weight reduction is that I’ve replaced most of that weight with less nessessary items like a pair of water shoes for stream crossings, a mosquito net, a hammock, etc.  With all that taken into account, it still seems impossible for me to keep my pack under 40 pounds.  So when I loaded my Osprey at the Swift Creek Trailhead in the Uintas, a 12 ounce can of pale ale seemed like a minor addition considering the weight I already had on my back.  The thought of that beer in my pack and the promise of drinking it amongst Utah’s highest peaks would mentally lighten the burden I’d be carrying up to Farmer’s Lake.

Just east of the Wasatch Front, the Uinta Mountains gradually bulge up between the northern border with Wyoming and the Duchesne River to the south in a crumbled and rounded east-west spine.  The Uinta’s aren’t about “purple mountain majesty” or jaw dropping views like you get in some ranges like the Tetons or Sawtooths, instead, the Uinta’s are about one thing… altitude.

Looking up Swift Creek Canyon. Farmer’s Lake is to the left of the divide at the back of the picture.

With over 20 peaks surpassing 13,000’ in elevation, the Uintas are a destination for many Salt Lake hikers.  For backpackers and day hikers seeking a change from the Wasatch, driving along the Mirror Lake Highway or camping at the more distant Henry’s Fork near Kings Peak can make for a rewarding, long weekend.  However, the Uinta’s can contain two annoyances: national park size throngs of people and mosquitos.  Still, the sprawling mountain range does have some lesser known areas where you can cut down on at least one of those pests.  One of those areas is the Yellowstone Creek drainage north of Duchesne where The Connoisseur and I set out for a two night pack trip along the Swift Creek Trail.

The early miles of the trail are narrow and choked with lodgepole pine.

The Swift Creek Trail wasted no time in taxing our legs and bringing a sweat to our brow.  Immediately ascending a ridge that separates Swift from Yellowstone Creek before they converge near the trailhead, we soon found ourselves on a great vantage point.  Each creek has a corresponding trail and where the gently ascending Yellowstone trail stays level with its namesake creek for most of the hike and eventually reaches the western side of Kings Peak, the Swift Creek trail spends very little time near the watercourse.  Upon reaching a burnt ridgetop that’s visible from the trailhead, we crossed over to the east side and continued climbing with not a sight of water since the bridge near the trailhead.  The first mile gained almost 1,000’ and I realized our late departure of 5:30 pm may have some positive consequences.  With the suns rays now on the opposite side of the ridge, we had some slight sanctuary from the heat.  While we hiked high on the ridge, the creek could barely be seen below us through the thickets of lodgepole that clung to the steep walls of the canyon.  Further up the canyon, the large mass of Uinta rock that creates the eastern border of the Farmer’s Lake Basin, our destination, hulked above the green carpet of pine that blanketed the hills.  Around 2.5 miles traveled, the trail began descending down to Swift Creek.  Aspens popped up with more frequency and the raging torrent of the creek could be heard flowing over boulders and deadfall to create a serene setting in the soft evening light.  The canyon widened slightly here and the creek’s current began to slack as beaver dams created numerous trickles and ponds that filled the marsh.  After a creek crossing, we found some higher ground clear enough to camp and called it a day after 3 hours of hiking.

The work that beavers can do.

The next morning’s hike started with a fairly flat track through small grassy meadows and marshes where I marveled at the gardens of jagged thin aspen stumps pruned down by the beavers.  Not long after a second stream crossing, the trail made its second major climb.  A mile of switchbacks would lead us to Deer Lake at 10,260’.  On this stretch, the heat began to take its toll as a steep grade accompanied the added obstacles of rocks and numerous downed trees.  Upon reaching Deer Lake around 10am we saw evidence of manmade water control.  While less of a natural wonder than the beaver ponds below, it was still no less impressive to see the extensive riprapping and damming that was done by farmers in the early 20th century.  Deer Lake signaled the end of the grueling part of our hike, but our destination still lay over 3 miles away.  Down below, at our last stream crossing, we had left the path of Swift Creek, (which continues on to Timothy Lake), and were high on the wall of the canyon looking over at the Uinta giant of Mt. Emmons, the 4thhighest peak in the Uintas.

Just below Farmer’s Lake, White Miller is a destination in and of itself.

Skirting around the east side of Deer Lake, we gradually walked through talus fields and past unnamed lakes before reaching White Miller Lake in a basin below Farmer’s Lake.  At the north end of that lake, the trail became difficult to follow as the trail disappeared into the soft, wet marsh.  Rather than backtrack to the trail, we cross-countried along the slopes below Farmers Lake and eventually came out on the shore of the large alpine lake.

Farmer’s Lake looms pretty large, especially at a height of nearly 11,000’; probably the largest lake I’ve seen at that elevation.  In 2006, the Uinta Basin Replacement Project returned the lakes in this area to a more natural level by removing the ancient headwalls once placed by the turn of the century farmers.  The project stabilized the water level at a “no hazzard” depth.  Rather than trying to control many lakes in such a remote area, the water is now stored well downstream in the Big Sand Wash Reservoir and consequently, the lakes seem pretty low when compared to the dark stained rocks that were now dry around the lake’s edge.

Farmer’s Lake, one of the larger lakes you will see at this altitude.

Farmer’s is ensconsed by high crummy rock walls on three sides and a steep shoreline with thick trees.  We couldn’t see many good places to camp, so after taking a breather and watching a trout swim in the clear water, we headed east to some smaller lakes.

We found a wide open meadow leading to Lake 10,919, one of the lakes scattered along the eastern side of the Farmer’s Lake Basin.  Even at this elevation, the heat beat down relentlessly, approaching nearly 90 degrees.  Even the sharp mountain breeze did little to refresh us as it just seemed to blow more heat at us.

Unnamed Lake 10,919 just east of Farmers. Bluebell pass is in the saddle in the background of the picture.

The wind did at least keep the mosquitos at bay and we were content to just sit on a rock near the lake and talk with our friends who had gone up to the lake the day before.  I took that beer out of the top hatch of my pack and stashed it in a shallow pool along the shore.  I knew it would probably get colder out deeper in the lake, but I also had a slight concern that it might float away, or get poached by some thirsty bear.  I know from the commercials of my youth bears prefer Hamms, but in this heat, I’m sure they’re not picky.

Most of the afternoon was spent sitting around in a state of absolute equanimity.  We ate lunch, set up camp and even waded into the lake a little to cool off.  I actually submerged myself in a short, painful baptism of refreshment, but over a days worth of sweat, salt, bug juice and sun screen needed to be stripped and the brief cooling of my body temperature felt great.  Then I walked through the shin deep water over to my alpine cooler and grabbed the SanTan Devil’s Ale that had now reached a drinkable temperature.

“Warm beer, meet mountain lake.”

Sitting on a rock with my shirt off and staring up at the seemingly endless rounded ridge that surrounded us seemed like one of the best summitBrews I’ve had, even if it wasn’t on a summit.  I had thought about hiking up to Bluebell Pass and scrambling to one of the highpoints above the saddle for a true summitBrew, but given the oven like temperatures and the steep, loose talus that led to the top, I felt quite content to sit by a lake with my beer.

Devil’s Ale is a west coast pale brewed by SanTan in Chandler, Arizona.  Established in 2007 as a brew pub that prides itself in quality food, their beer has only been distributed since 2009.  Their motto is “Craft beer for beer drinking”.  I’m not sure if they are jabbing at pretentious craft breweries, but I won’t argue with their claim… it is a craft beer… and I did drink it.  Devil’s Ale has an amber color with a light head and a medium amount of carbonation.  Its medium malt body holds a faint aroma and little character in the hops.  The light hop taste quickly recedes amongst the more prevalent dry notes.  The 5.5 ABV beer that scores 45 on the IBU scale was quite refreshing at 11,000’.  This beer did win gold at the 2011 Arizona Brew Festival, and while enjoyable, I have had a hard time finding any Arizona beers I can really light up about.  This beer would probably fall into the category of, “not bad for an AZ beer”.  I’ll probably go for a Lumberyard or Mudshark Full Moon if I was drinking the beers of the Grand Canyon State.

While there are numerous lakes to visit in the Uintas, I’ve found that the less visited lakes can often be the most enjoyable.  In fact, I debated whether I even wanted to release the whereabouts of this summitBrew for fear of crowding a relatively unknown area.  However, I’m pretty confident that Amethyst Basin, Kings Peak and Mirror Lake will still see the majority of Uinta traffic.  With some of the most stunning scenery in the range, there is a very good reason those places are so popular, and I’m sure I’ll find myself hiking in anyone of those areas at some point, but in a range as vast and high as the Uintas, there will be more than a lifetime’s worth of summitBrews to be discovered.

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Circle All Peak paired with Bridgeport Hop Czar Imperial IPA

Posted on July 7, 2012 by BrewSki

Hop Czar IPA from Bridgeport Brewing on Circle All Peak.

A small mountain meets a big beer. That’s the best way to describe the pairing of Circle All Peak with a bottle of Hop Czar Imperial IPA from Bridgeport Brewing. Both the mountain and the beer have sentimental value to me. Circle All Peak is the first mountain I backcountry skied in Utah, while Hop Czar is one of my favorite beers of all time. So it was only fitting to break out the tasty, hop goodness of this brew ruler atop a peak I return to again and again.

Circle All Peak is located in Big Cottonwood Canyon, in the proximity of larger peaks like Mount Raymond and Gobbler’s Knob. It stands at just 8,707 feet, much lower than the impressive Kessler Peak across the highway. Nonetheless, this little guy is a sweet place to summit in both winter and summer, as protected, northeast facing aspen groves hold some of the best powder skiing in the canyon, and the views at the top aren’t a bad place to enjoy a SummitBrew!

Signs point the way to Mill A Basin, where Circle All Peak lives.

I started the day at the Butler Fork trailhead one fine summer day, for a rare ascent in the warm time of year. It was much different hiking up the trail through greenery and gurgling streams compared to the white moonscape of winter. The trail from Butler Fork goes straight up the gully after it crosses a small stream, where things then get steep.

The trail approaches aspen groves before switchbacks to the ridge.

Before long, I was making good time through the forest that begins in the Mount Olympus Wilderness Area. From here, a fork in the path with a wooden sign points to Butler Fork to the right, and Mill A Basin Trail to the left. Going left is the way to Bakers Pass where hikers go to summit Mount Raymond, Gobblers Knob and Circle All Peak. After a short distance, I began to switchback up the steep flanks of Circle All. At this elevation the aspen trees become thicker, and a carpet of wildflowers and foliage brushed by as I passed. Due to the late morning sun in July, I tell you, the knowledge that a cold, hoppy beer waiting to be enjoyed after a sloppy slog in the sun was the best motivation.

Upon reaching the apex of the pass, I turned left and traversed along the ridge, passing a gaggle of old folks out for a group hike, all of whom were heading for the same summit. Knowing that the top of Circle All isn’t very big, I double timed up the mountain to secure my place with a cross-canyon view of the mountains above Big Cottonwood Canyon.

The view of the Wasatch Mountain from the top of Circle All Peak.

Although the peak is small, the views of Big Cottonwood and the jagged mountains that encircle it are just as impressive as any double digit thousander peak. I took off my pack, nestled in against a flat rock behind some gnarly pines, and settled in on my familiar peak for a cold one. The Czar was ready to receive me now.

Bridgeport Hop Czar Imperial IPA

Hail to the King, baby! Hop Czar rules atop Circle All Peak.

It’s always a treat to drink a Hop Czar Imperial IPA from Portland, Oregon. I first wrapped my lips around a bottle of this delicious brew while on a road trip to Oregon with my wife. We hit so many breweries and drank so much beer that we couldn’t stand the sight of it after about a week. Well, that didn’t mean we stopped drinking, so when I spied a sixer of Hop Czar at an Astoria grocery store, I had to buy it and try it. It was a revelation. Despite my tastebuds being bludgeoned by hops for the last seven days, Hop Czar jumped up on my tongue and screamed, “hey, I’m your new favorite Imperial IPA in the world!” and to this day, it still is.

There’s a reason Hope Czar’s yum factor is off the charts – it’s the hops! The bottle’s label says, “Hop Czar is brewed with an irresponsible amount of hops and balanced by a robust malt backbone.” It’s also bottle conditioned and triple hopped in the brewing process with Nugget, Chinook, Cascade and Centennial hops. Groovy.

Bridgeport Brewing Hop Czar Imperial IPA in a pint glass.

In the glass, Hop Czar pours beautifully, with a somewhat orange/amber color that remains a bit cloudy. There isn’t much head after the pour, but despite the apparent lack of foam, the beer still oozes with hoppy smells. Upon the first sip, there’s a surprisingly fun zing on the tip of the tongue from pleasant carbonation. The beer has a very full mouthfeel that is smooth, almost refreshing (unusual for an Imperial IPA.) A hint of alcohol taste is hidden well behind the malt and massive hop profile with flavors that trend more to the pine-needle end of the flavor spectrum. Still, the citrus, floral hops also come shining through, though not as strong.

Hop Czar is 7.5% alcohol by volume and has an IBU of 87. Despite all the fine, micro-brewed beer I’ve tasted over the years, Hop Czar from Bridgeport Brewing is still one of my favorites, and it tastes even better atop a mountain peak. For more information about Bridgeport Brewing, visit them at www.bridgeportbrew.com

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White Point paired with Prescott Brewing Ponderosa IPA

Posted on June 25, 2012 by BrewSki

Prescott Brewing Company Ponderosa IPA atop White Point in southern Utah.

White Point, an overlook on the Thunder Mountain Trail in southern Utah, is the place of a shared Summit Brew. It was here, atop the bleached rocks high above brilliant red rock cliffs and dreamlike hoodoos, that Brewddah and I cracked open some brewskis during a break on our mountain bike ride on this legendary trail. While my counterpart enjoyed a Mudshark Full Moon White Ale (which you can read here) I toasted the summit with another Arizona microbrew, the Ponderosa IPA from Prescott Brewing Company.

The mountain bike ride was a doozy, but since Brewddah already did a bang-up job of describing the trip in his report, it would be hopeless for me to try and emulate his poetic ramblings about the beauty we saw and rode through on that day. There was the usual ups-and-downs of mountain biking, the pedaling through pine groves and over ridgelines while stopping every few hundred yard for photos. We even discovered an outhouse without a door, providing one hell of a view for performing your business, but not allowing for much privacy.

Brewddah toasts the summit with his beer on White Point on the Thunder Mountain Trail.

Our summit came by way of White Point, a short hike up from the apex of Thunder Mountain Trail, which was the ideal time to enjoy a cold one before descending down into the canyon below. The beers were lukewarm from hours in the pack, but still cold enough to slake our thirst from riding the dusty trail. So with a toast to the day, we drank deep before continuing on our way.

Prescott Ponderosa IPA

Ponderosa IPA in a can, about to be consumed on White Point.

I drank a lot of Arizona beer in the past few years, even sampling a lot of them at the Great Arizona Beer Festival in Tempe last fall. I hate to say it, but I don’t like most of them. Every AZ beer I drink seems to have a strange aftertaste, a musky flavor that I call the Phoenix Funk.  I’ve found this less-than-desirable aftertaste in many beers, most notably from SanTan and Four Peaks. Is it the water? Do Arizona brewmasters use strange desert ingredients? Does the heat make beer go bad?

Funky!

Despite my bias toward Arizona beer, I was happy to pick up a six pack of Prescott Brewing Company’s Ponderosa IPA. Since I haven’t tried this one before, I was hopeful that (since it is brewed in Prescott and not Phoenix) it would not suffer the funk. I was wrong.

Upon opening the can, I could smell the funk wafting out. So perhaps it’s not Phoenix, but the whole state. I shall now call this flavor the Arizona Tinge. This IPA is very malty for a India Pale Ale, and the hop characteristics are hidden behind the funk. That being said, it is easy to drink, especially out of the can on a hot day.

In the glass, the color is an almost think, amber shade, with a typical-looking head that leaves nice lacing when downed. When sipped, the front of the tongue lights up with a sweet, malty, caramel flavor that transitions to the “tinge” as it goes down. The floral notes are also musky, with little hops coming through.

Ponderosa IPA in the glass.

So is there a beer in Arizona that’s actually good? Yes, there is. To my delight I found that Lumberyard and Mother Road breweries in Flagstaff make excellent beer, without a hint of the Arizona Tinge. Maybe it is the water, as Flagstaff is located high in the mountains above the desert, and has access to fresh and cold mountain water sources.

In all though, it’s not to say these beers are undrinkable, and I quite liked my time with the Ponderosa IPA from my seat on White Point.

For more, visit Prescott Brewing Company online.

 

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Mudshark Full Moon and Thunder Mountain

Posted on June 15, 2012 by Brewddha

Mudshark Full Moon Belgian White on White Point

While the challenges of moderation have never been too difficult for me, years of enjoying beer combined with years of self-examination have taught me that the needle on my consumption gauge may fall just a few degrees over “moderation”. In my life there are quite a few, “This calls for a beer,” moments, such as: finishing a backcountry ski tour, watching a Brewer game, tuning my bike, etc. and consequently, when I study that moderation gauge, I don’t really see a perfect 90° angle, maybe more of a 95° to 100° angle. Still not a cause for concern in my opinion, and by my home state of Wisconsin standards, I might as well be “Mormon”. Yet, at the start of May, with just a month to train for a mountain bike race, I recognized that pulling that needle back to a more acute angle could be beneficial.

My initial thought was to abstain from beer for the whole month (cue your collective, General Kurtz, “The horror!” gasps now), but instead I devised a plan to use beer as a motivational tool. My goal for the month of May was to ride 500 miles. For every 100 miles ridden, I would allow myself one beer. Seemed pretty Spartan at first, but like they do in the Tour de France, I decided to throw in some “King of the Mountain” bonuses and give myself a beer for every ride up Little Cottonwood Canyon or ride that accumulated over 5,000’ in elevation gain. This regimen bore a pretty successful month of riding in which I ended up drinking 7 beers and experienced limited “withdrawal”. Plus, the ritual tallying of miles would lead to “beer rides”, delightful rides where I knew that the mileage would be enough to earn that next brew. These rides were always a joy and the smile was obvious when my computer indicated that I made that next beer. I did use wine to try and temper my craving somewhat, but that moderation needle usually stays pretty acute when it comes to wine. Plus, I suspect in some ways drinking wine instead of beer made the German in me angrier and more motivated. “VAT! Nein bier und mehr wein! Mach schnell, MACH SCHNELL!”

“OK, I finished my lap, now I want my beer!”

The payoff for my month long sacrifice was a successful race in Flagstaff. Parched I was, but it made the new beers I sampled on the trip all the more satisfying. However, while the beer for this this SummitBrew did come from our neighbor to the south, the location of the consumption lies within Utah’s borders in the majestic redrock country surrounding Bryce Canyon National Park. BrewSki and I split the long drive back from Flagstaff with a night in Red Canyon where we rode a Utah trail that perfectly pairs singletrack mountain biking with the majestic landscape. The Thunder Mountain trail journeys across the northern end of the Paunsaugunt Plateau, just west of Bryce’s boundary, where we experienced the privilege of riding through hoodoos and monuments similar to those found within the national park.

The round trip, starting from our campsite, covered almost 16 miles, although the circuit’s most memorable stretch was the 7 plus miles of singletrack that began at the Coyote Hollow trailhead, a couple miles south of highway 12, and ended at the Thunder Mountain Trailhead, right near highway 12 at the west entrance to Red Canyon.

BrewSki checks out the map at the Coyote Hollow Trailhead.

At the Coyote Hollow Trailhead we were already at 8,000’, only 200’ below our highpoint, and I said, without any sense of looming irony, “Shouldn’t be too much more climbing.” I couldn’t have been more mistaken. The trail jogs northwest across the fingernails of several shallow draws, forcing you to pedal the same 50 to 75 feet over and over again. This repetition could have discouraged me, especially with my legs still recovering from the race, but each short climb up a ridge rewarded me with another exceptional view of the Sevier Plateau to the north followed by a quick descent back into the shady pines at the narrow crux of each canyon. Each time I hit that “V” at the bottom of the draw and downshifted, I could almost hear that distinct amusement park cacophony, the heavy chain of a rollercoaster clanking staccato notes as the cart gets pulled up for another drop. My legs would try to settle into a consistent cadence then explode into the pedals to finish off the last few feet where the incline grew abnormally steep. At the top of each ridge, I was suspended, sort of hanging there, at the top, taking it all in before my stomach dropped one more time. We weren’t sure how far we would be going like this but with every look over the shoulder, we could see the growing maze of pale orange creases behind us.

The repetitive climbs to the top of the ride.

That easy 200 feet of climbing actually cost us 800 feet of upward cranking.
Four miles from the start of the singletrack, we began to level out on a divide just south of a prominent butte which I suspect was Thunder Mountain.

The trail passed a large monument of three vertical boulders which seemed to mark a slight change in our terrain. Trees were fewer and replaced with golden hoodoos which lined the basin west of Thunder Mountain.

The namesake peak really isn’t much of a peak, and reaching the summit didn’t seem to appealing, so we enjoyed our beers from a distance.

We dropped our bikes in grey dirt that seemed almost white in the stunning color around us and hiked up to a lookout called White Point, perhaps named for the color of the sand in this area. From there, we looked northwest over a smaller, more subdued version of Bryce that was no less inspiring, probably because we pedaled to it. An eroded and crumbling canyon lay within the green boundaries of the high country. Horizontal carve marks emerged from smooth sandy slopes where walls of the canyon changed suddenly to cliffs and points and pinnacles. Gardens of segmented rock sprang up in clusters. We had a hard time even figuring out where our trail would take us through this fluted and scoured gallery.

While the lookout is not at the summit of Thunder Mountain (that was more of a hike then we were willing to do) the brews still came out. My pack held a Mudshark Full Moon– just barely warming up in the late AM heat. It was Belgian style white ale that I had never tried before, and since canned beer is a cooler’s best friend, I grabbed it from the convenience mart in Flagstaff the day before. The beer came along on the ride because of its uniqueness along with the appropriateness of drinking a Belgian style beer while cycling. In true European form, we drank our beers at room, or in this case, outdoor temperature, but it had no effect on my appreciation. Three days of mountain biking in the dust and dirt following a month long exercise in self-denial made temperature of the beer irrelevant. Full Moon is brewed by Mudshark Brewery in Lake Havasu and it represented my first sampling of any of their beers. Generally, I have found any ale that touts “spices” on the label, like Full Moon does, tends to go a little overboard on the spice; not so with this beer. The spice merges well with an orange flavor that refreshingly covers any yeasty taste that can come across in beers of this style. The beer has an ABV of 8.5% but that is hidden well within the flavor, it doesn’t smack you at the end like a steep climb up a cobbled Flemish road. BrewSki and I have found very few AZ beers to clamor about; most have disappointed us. However, while he is focused on IPAs like someone whose retirement account is invested heavily in hop farms, I’m instead focusing on the pleasant nuances I’ve discovered in the various Grand Canyon state libations I have sampled. This beer seems to be near the top of the list. It’s a refreshing beer– in a can for easy summer consumption. The drinkability of it compares to a pilsner while still maintaining the body you would expect from a Belgian style beer.

 The descent from our beer break continued with the same stunning qualities we experienced on the way up. The expanse of the canyon stayed below us now as we rode around boulders and through sandstone corridors. About a mile from the lookout, we reached the climax of the ride, a short fin that gave us one last long range view before beginning the descent down. As the trail wound its way over steep and very rapid switchbacks, I had to be careful not to lose my balance while looking at the amzaing details of the canyon walls that closed in around us. After making it down the fun, but technical switchbacks, the environment changed back to a green and pale lowland forest that followed a dry wash back to the highway. This section really allowed for some opening of the throttle, but conditions were still too loose for me to be entirely comfortable. Besides, I was still thinking about the golden city I had just ridden through, now seeming like a world away.

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Temptation Ridge (White Pine) paired with Avery IPA

Posted on June 13, 2012 by BrewSki

A can of Avery IPA on Temptation Ridge, Utah.

Temptation Ridge is a long, traversing shoulder of rock that slouches off the side of American Fork Twin Peaks above Snowbird’s Gad Valley, which, it turns out, is an excellent place for a Summit Brew with a can of Avery IPA. The name Temptation Ridge, I assume, comes from the fact that incredible-looking ski lines spill down from this ridge, but none of them are ever open, yet they tempt skiers every time they ride up the Little Cloud and Gad 2 lifts. In fact, any backcountry skiers who get there from the other side of the ridge would be in big trouble if caught by ski patrol (who calls this ridge White Pine Ridge.) But on a sunny June day, I set out with buddies Justin, Sean-Zilla and Ben to ski Baldy Bowl below the ridge, as well as to enjoy a can of Avery IPA.

Our mission objective was not just for hiking and drinking fine hand-crafted ale, but also so Justin could notch his 30-somethingish consecutive ski month before heading to Argentina where he spends his summers ski-guiding in Patagonia. With his flight leaving in two days, this ski trip had to be now or never. To keep the streak alive, we all agreed to join him, not only for the chance ski long after the lifts stopped running, but also to say goodbye.

Our destination - Temptation Ridge (White Pine Ridge) above Snowbird.

We began at Snowbird’s 2nd Entry parking lot, where we crossed the bridge over Little Cottonwood Creek. The early morning was warmer than expected, considering that a cold front had moved in the day before. This bit of chilly air was welcome, however, as it froze what snow was left, perfect for the makings of sweet corn skiing. On the other side of the bridge, we hiked up the Dick Bass Highway with hiking shoes on our feet and our skis strapped to our packs.

Bootpacking to the top of Temptation Ridge on Baldy Bowl.

Ski lifts hung silent above us as we ascended up the Gad Valley to the base of the old Little Cloud ski lift. From there, our objective came into view: a series of couloirs that spill down from White Pine Ridge, just to looker’s right of Baldy Bowl. We scoped out some lines from below, and chose a wide chute with a choke in the middle that gave us some concern. But the potential for rockfall seemed less likely there, so we strapped on our helmets, put our ski boots on, and started bootpacking up the line.

The snow had already softened up by mid-morning, making toe-pointing and side stepping easy enough to make good time to the main headwall. Then things got steep and a bit sketchy. Sean, who was in the lead, chose to traverse to a band of rocks where we could find better traction. But the stone was loose, and whatever was held into place required 5.4 climbing moves – not easy with skis strapped to your back and plastic ski boots on your feet.

As soon as the rocky bit was behind us, a short bootpack up the remaining headwall put us atop the ridge where an expansive view of the Salt Lake Valley lay below, framed by the sawtooth peaks of the Wasatch. White Pine Lake hunched frozen below, and the Pfeifferhorn called to us in the clear distance. After picture taking, we began the ritual sharing of hand-crafted IPA, in this case the excellent IPA from Avery Brewing Company, which was safely carried in my pack.

Avery IPA

IPA in a can from Avery Brewing Company

Avery Brewing Company, based in Boulder, Colorado, has the honorable distinction of brewing the state’s first packaged IPA. So how does Avery IPA stack up considering it’s Colorado’s original? Damn hoppy, that’s how!

Drinking an Avery IPA high in the Wasatch Mountains.

At the top of Temptation Ridge, I passed the can around, and Ben, upon taking his first sip, exclaimed at the hoppiness of it, even taking a second look at the can to make sure he wasn’t drinking an Imperial IPA. Nope, just a typical, run-of-the-mill IPA that’s anything but pedestrian.

This IPA, as you can imagine, is all about the hops, so much so that there isn’t much malt profile to balance things out. Fine by me. I’m a serious hop-head by trade, and appreciate that smack-you-in-the-tastebuds flavor of citrusy, piney and dank hop aromas. But to say it’s a bit unbalanced is not a knock on the beer at all, as this can of sweetness is very drinkable – dangerously so.

In the glass, the beer pours a very light color, almost as light as a pilsner or lager. Do not be deceived! This beer packs a punch. A nice, foamy head that literally breathes hop smells disappears quickly, and leaves minimal lacing on the glass, perhaps due to how fast one can drink this brew.

Avery IPA in the glass.

The taste is all hops, featuring the aforementioned grapefruit-style citrus, pine and dank flavors that come from liberal use of Columbus, Chinook, Cascade and Centennial hops. For a beer that is so light yet delicious, and comes in a can, this is about the best beer to bring along on outdoor adventure that I’ve found so far. That being said, I think this is one of those rare IPAs that actually taste better out of the can than in the glass, but maybe that’s just the mountain air talking.

Avery IPA has an ABV of 6.5% and features 69 IBUs. It comes in six-pack cans and bottles. For more information, visit www.averybrewing.com

Sean-Zilla skiing Baldy Bowl after quaffing a Summit Brew of Avery IPA.

After making good on our Summit Brew promise, it was time to ski. Surprisingly, June snow was quite good, and we could make easy turns on soft corn that gave in underneath our edges. We all leapfrogged down to the apron below West Twin Peak to Baldy Bowl where we could open up and make turns at speed. Justin whooped and hollered, his cries echoing off the cliffs of Baldy Bowl as we all skied into a tunnel of rock that ended back where we began at the dismantled chairs of Little Cloud, which was being taken apart to make way for a new high-speed quad. From there, it was just a matter of hiking back down across springs swollen with snowmelt and mud-covered jeep roads to our waiting cars in the lot far below. Once back on asphalt, we tossed our gear down and cracked open more beers where we toasted our adventure.

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