Stopped in at Titletown Brewing Co. (brewpub) on my way up to the cabin last Saturday (3/27/10). Grabbed a stool at the bar and decided to order the sampler ($9.50) since I had not visited Titletown in four months.
Started out with the Canadeo Gold Kolsch (FG). It was mildly fruity and faintly hoppy, very thirst quenching and quite delicious. Then I moved on to the 400 Honey Ale (FG), which, surprisingly, was also quite good, refreshing and delicious. Not a huge honey presence in this ale. Skipped over the Hopasaurus Rex (for the moment) and slurped down a glass of the Johnny Blood McNally Red Ale (EH+). The Johnny Blood was better than it has been in recent years, but still light years from the beer that Todd Ashman brewed during his tenure as brewmaster at Titletown. The Railyard Ale Altbier (EH- / FS+) was very disappointing, as it almost always is. Titletown really ought to consider abandoning this style, since they do it so poorly. Not even remotely in the class of the better altbiers like Long Trail Double Bag or Uerige Sticke. Unfortunately, they were out of the nitro-draught Bridge Out Stout (one of my favorites) so they substituted the Dark Helmet Schwarzbier (EH). It was just OK. The fresh Maibock was next, and it was rather tasteless, though certainly “clean”. It’s easy for a lager to be “clean” when it has no flavor. A resounding EH. The Bamberg Smoked Marzen was next (FG+) and it was superb. To my great dismay, the bartender indicated that the Smoked Marzen was not selling well, and that they would glad to be rid of it. I had hoped that it would become part of the regular lineup, perhaps followed up by a Rauchbier Ur-Bock. The Procrastinator Doppelbock was pretty good (EH+) but terribly undercarbonated, essentially flat. Finished up the sampler with the Hopasaurus Rex (EH- / FS+). Piney and bitter, lacking in complexity. Bleh. Gave the whole mess a rinse with the Sno-Cap Root Beer (FG, if you like root beer).
All that drinkin’ develops quite the hunger, so I ordered the Fish & Chips (FG+) along with a pint of the Canadeo Gold for a rinse. The fish (Atlantic cod) was absolutely delicious, crispy and dark brown on the outside, tender, flakey and moist on the inside. The pub fries, as always, were delicious. The cucumber salad was “interesting”, although I think I might skip that next time. The three piece large order of Fish & Chips was $13.99, which I found a bit spendy, but I was hungry.
I was so packed full of fish I could hardly even consider additional beers, but I managed a pint of the Procrastinator Doppelbock and a sample of the Dry Eye Stout (EH-). I took a growler of the Canadeo Gold and the Bamberg Smoked Marzen for the road, paid my tab ($63.00 with tip) and waddled out of Titletown Brewing Co.
Arrived up at the cabin around 4:00PM. I had not been up to the cabin since December 2009, during the last four days of deer hunting season. I was pleased that my dilapidated shack was still standing, with no additional apparent leakage from the roof where a large oak had fallen on the place last October. I noticed some acorn hulls on the bed.
Lifting the top pillow, I discovered that a chipmunk had made a nest of my lower pillow, and carefully peeling back the shredded fluff and foam, discovered six or eight squirming pink baby chipmunks, each one no greater than 1-1/2 inches long, the bold white stripe on their sides clearly visible in their downy fur. Their eyes were not open yet. They made tiny peeping and squeaking noises. Although I was “irritated” that they had shredded and crapped upon my pillow, I reasoned that harming them would neither “enhance my life” nor “make me a better man”. I slid an ancient metal serving tray under the pillow containing the squirming innocents, and transported them to the front (unused / uninhabitable) front bedroom. I kicked an old densely compacted foam archery target to the floor, and placed the pillow on top, to insolate the babies from the cold. Shortly, they appeared to resume their slumber, and made no further sound.
I took a drive through the forest, to the area known as the Northfork – Chickadee Wilderness, and parked the Cherokee at the gate. My intent was to retrieve an old kitchen chair that I had used last deer season. I had every intent to remove it at the end of the season, bit it was frozen solid into the ground, and I could not extract it. Now, after the thaw, I extracted it with ease, hiked back to the truck, and drove back to the cabin.
It was extremely enjoyable to slurp down the growler of Canadeo Gold on the screenporch, while watching the sun set blood red in the late March sky. I enjoyed a La Aroma de Cuba Edicion Especiale, which was sublime.
I was awakened the following morning by the scampering of chipmunk feet across the headboard of my bed. Mama chipmunk voiced her displeasure at my relocation of the family homestead by emitting several chirps and squeaks. She then busied herself in relocating the babies to more desirable surroundings.
Since I was up anyway, I drove into town, to the Mountain Bear Diner, where I feasted upon a four egg, three cheese omelet with extra crispy hash browns and toast, washed down with a half gallon of coffee. I chose to hike Thunder Mountain that day, to stretch my legs and burn off some of that omelet. I waddled and sloshed out of the diner and shoe-horned myself into the Cherokee.
Thunder Mountain isn’t much of a mountain, by most people’s standards, rising to only 1400 feet above sea level. From the summit, however, one can enjoy a commanding view of the forest to the east, with the blue waters of High Falls Flowage in the distance. There is abundant wildlife and interesting plant life, and, most commonly, the summit is abandoned on all but the busiest summer weekends. The summit is the eternal resting place of my German Shorthair Pointer, K’Ehleyr, who died in 2007.
I noticed to my dismay that the Thunder Mountain Ranch Company, who owns the western slopes of Thunder Mountain, had chosen to clear-cut the slopes. As I hiked, I thought about the teachings of Aldo Leopold, who taught us all about the land ethic, and how mankind seems to have resumed thinking of wilderness as only a thing to be developed, or exploited, the forests raped of their timber, the soil stripped of it’s minerals.
One particularly poignant verse remains constantly in my mind, and in my heart, when I visit the wilderness, is from Leopold’s seminal work “A Sand County Almanac”, published posthumously in 1949. In this work, Leopold offered:
“There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. Like winds and sunsets, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do away with them. Now we face the question of whether a still higher 'standard of living' is worth its cost in things natural, wild and free.”
I, most certainly, am one who cannot.
I returned to the cabin, polished off the growler of Titletown Smoked Marzen, smoked first a Tatuaje Havana and then a Gran Habano Corojo Vintage 2000, and sadly, pointed the Cherokee to the south, to return to the squalid, festering toxic shithole known as “Southeastern Wisconsin”.
