In Gourd We Trust: Saranac Pumpkin Ale

Sampled: Sept. 18, 2010

With a seven-mile run due in the morning, I decided to break my beer embargo after 10 days to sample the season's inaugural pumpkin ale courtesy of Saranac. It might still hit the 90s here on a regular basis, but pumpkin ale doesn't stick around long and rarely tastes appropriate once daylight savings ends. Saranac Pumpkin has a mighty nose of clove, cinnamon, and even vanilla flirting at the edges, within the bounds of pumpkin ale standards, but fresh and lively nonetheless. Cloves can easily submerge competing flavors in a beer (see Tremens, Delirium). Luckily Saranac blends it well with the other autumn spices to avoid such unpleasantness.

The pumpkin is balanced, not overwhelming; it presents itself as more of an expansive backdrop than a punchy, upfront blast of gourd. The deep amber body hides more hints of spice, especially the clove and cinnamon. The vanilla has the roundness of beans instead of the sharp corners of extract, and arrives on the finish. That prevents the pumpkin from blotting out the spices, and a few traces of spearmint add some ruffles to the vanilla.

Light and with little impact from hops or malt, Saranac has created a tribute to the gourd's role in harvest beer. In this fashion, pumpkin works effectively by not doing too much; in stronger ales, more pumpkin presence helps mitigate the alcohol content. Here, it works better in its supporting role.

A year might have passed since my last pumpkin ale, but ages have passed since I taste one with this level of complexity at a session beer's alcohol content. Highly recommended, it's another victory for the venerable Saranac brand from Upstate New York. The leaves are probably turning up there, and I could enjoy this pumpkin ale until they lose their green in Tennessee.

Big Sky's Monk Bucks Tripel Conventions

Big Sky Brewing, Co., Missoula, MT
Sampled: Sept. 6, 2010
Outside of the euphoric holy man from St. Bernardus, it's rare to see monks on a beer label having so much fun. But this powerhouse Tripel hails from Missoula, so a little lightheartedness seems to fit. Creamy with a slight effervescence on its finish, Buckin' Monk shares more with Bosteels' Tripel Karmeliet than other ales in this stable. The malt mixes different grains - wheat, barley and oats - mingle and give it a surprisingly rustic feel.

It has coriander, although not on par with most other American tripels. Besides, there's too much else going on for the spice to put on a strong show. Buckin' Monk proves deceptively smooth and skilled at hiding its alcohol content (10 percent ABV, which could push higher given the amount of sediment present).

Eight strains of Belgian yeast sounds excessive, but it never mucks up the works. The brilliant bitte orange follows the complex grain textures that give rise to cracker and biscuit notes one usually seen in English ales. Creaminess runs from lace to finish, with traces of Hallertauer hops and the effervescent feel also present.

Big Sky takes cues not only from several pale styles to craft a strong Belgian-inspired ale suited for the Northern Rockies.

Down the Street: Madison River Brewing

Rain dashed hopes of walking to the last stop on this Montana brewery tour - Madison River Brewing in Belgrade, the first brewery I saw in Montana (it sits adjacent to Gallatin Field, Bozeman's airport). It would not be missed as long as it was only a mile down the road.

The rain poured as I stepped into the industrial taproom, which contained only a barhand, a patron and a border collie/husky mix lounging on the floor. Behind the bar, a wet-dry board track their "Buy a Beer for a Friend" program - you had to redeem it six months after purchase. The bottling line clanged in the background, and barley perfumed the air. I had sampled most of Madison River's brews in the bottle or on tap at Montana AleWorks, so their chalkboard coughed up some surprises.

Fortunately, they still had the last keg of Saison . Madison River takes some unusual steps with its saison, adding limes to the brew kettle. The lime and honey backbone definitely made for a cleaner experience than most saisons. But the spice and hop on the finish rough it up enough to fit saison's expansive definition. I never expected an encore from my Montana Beer Festival experience in April.

If I had scheduled my trip any later, I might have missed the Parachute Pilsner as well. A new addition to their regular lineup, they were down to four kegs. Balanced beyond belief, this was an assertive take on pilsner brimming with fresh ingredients. Too many American pils fall prey to American brewers' love of hops, but this one manages to pack in beautiful textures of grain and a touch of sweetness prior to the hop bitterness. Domestic pilsner rare hits such heights, so maybe Parachute was the appropriate name.

As I finished the pilsner, the taproom rapidly filled with a surprising age range of drinkers. The husky-border collie began circulating, perhaps in an attempt to herd, but it had no idea what drunk, unpredictable beasts that would soon surround it.

To close (damn state brewery regulations), I returned to Copper John, Madison River's Scotch-Style Ale. The gentlemen at the bar had a growler and a pint, so I couldn't turn down one more scotch ale. This Wee Heavy blew away the Cold Smoke I came to view as the bellwether for Montana Scotch ales. The creamy malt nose bore traces of smoke. Copper John threw out flavors of cherry (very faint yet critical to its appeal), sassafras, chicory and molasses, all of which took brief bows behind the supple red malts defining this mighty ale. It served as a stronger companion to the Charlie Russell Red that started the tour seven days earlier.

The bartender and I chatted about beer a little. He tipped me off the next concoctions under consideration, a quick Oktoberfest (it was already September) or moving onto a fresh hop ale with hops he grew and with some courtesy of Montana State University's hop-growing efforts.

At almost every brewery, they were glad to see faces from across the country. Howie, the bartender at Madison River, was no different, tossing me a sticker with my Salmon Fly Honey Rye T-shirt. I didn't get another Salmon Rye thanks to the law, but I could not forget its delicate yet complex blend of rye malt and honey.

Those pints meant the end of my brief tour, but strengthened my resolve to take another and finish off the breweries missed this time.

I'm Your Huckleberry: Bitter Root Proves Best Beer is Local with Summer Seasonal

Bitter Root Brewing, Hamilton, MT
Sampled: Sept. 8, 2010
Hunting down ale brewed with huckleberries proved tougher than I imagined. Great Northern offered a huckleberry wheat lager, but their standard lager tasted nearly identical Yuengling. While I always enjoy a Yuengling, I craved something a little different, that might push boundaries.

Then I stumbled upon Huckleberry Honey Ale, another lush libation from Bitter Root Brewing of Hamilton, Montana. The brewer only sells its brews in 22 oz. bomber bottles at retail, and the quality shows.

Now, if I had a girlfriend, this bottle would cause obvious problems. Not only is the label provocative, but Huckleberry Honey is a triumphant summer ale, with perfect layers of fruit, wheat malt and honey. If I made its way out of the Mountain States, I would always make room for a few bombers.

At first past, Huckleberry Honey tastes remarkably similar to other perky wheat ales produced with bramble fruit - the Northeast blueberry beers, Sam Adams Blackberry Witbier and Eel River's Acai Wheat. What separates it are the fruit's own properties and the presence of honey. The huckleberry goes in slightly different directions, Sine they are sweeter than blueberries, sharpens the flavors sharpen in Huckleberry Honey until the honey comes to round off the edges.

The huckleberries impart a bitterness that steamrolls most hop aroma and leaves only residual bitterness . The berry doesn't quite pucker the mouth with its tart qualities, the perfect way for a summer thirst quencher to hit the palette. That's where the honey emerges, mingling with the wheat while softening those tart textures with a milder sweetness.

Huckleberry Honey opens new horizons for fruit ales with that local honey. Once again, the skill of Western Montana's best brewery bubbles to the top.

In the Zone: Bozeman Brewing Company

Following an early dinner at the Garage, I turned down Broadway, crossed the tracks for my three pints at the Bozeman Brewing Company. It sat in the middle of a neighborhood (I didn't take a picture, so enjoy the mountaintop Bozeman shot - I'm sure the brewery is in there somewhere). The taproom's exterior radiated an Old West vibe with its dark wood paneling and railed porch.

Odors of malted barley thickened the air of the sparsely occupied space. Four middle-aged regulars held court over the bar, essentially daring anyone else to grab a seat. Instead of jousting with them, I sprawled out at a pub table.

Sucker I might be, the Belgian-Style Wit Bier demanded the first taste. It ran a strong second to Beltian White. The subtle orange and lemon run into pineapple and a trace of white grape (seriously). On the finish, cloves take center stage with a supporting case of wheat malt. Bozeman Brewing doesn’t break new ground on its wit, but nails the style.

Since I had sampled their main brews on previous trips, I switched octanes to Hopsimellia Imperial IPA. I’m not sure if brewers are running short on pun-filled nicknames for IPAs, but if someone calls it imperial, it better have balance amid a strong grapefruit body. The hop is strong, not overwhelming, with equal parts biter and sour colliding on the finish and sticking with the palette. The malts imparted some caramel to soften the mighty grapefruit. This worthwhile high-alcohol IPA avoids the trappings of double IPA to stay balanced and drinkable at nearly 10 percent ABV.

Having missed Harvestfest Lager (their Oktoberfest) and not arriving soon enough for their Belgian Tripel or their fresh-hopped ale, I ended with Watershed Pale Ale, their newest lineup addition. Watershed was solid if unspectacular pale ale, extremely fresh and bitter with a golden body. I could have been suffering from hop overkill at this point, and would probably sample Watershed again.

Bozeman Brewing was not a place for a traveler to belly up to talk craft beer. Everything had a workman's ethic to it, even the bartender. It was still a worthwhile stop for lively pints.

Pints on a Distant Horizon: Saturday in South-Central Montana

Down from the Mountain: Red Lodge Ales
Led by its friendly bartender, Ross, the Red Lodge crew served me pints while obliging numerous families wanting soft-drink refills. Their winter firewood holder has been drafted into service as playground equipment on the lawn of their expansive patio.

It didn’t top the aesthetics of Stone’s one-acre garden in Escondido, but it definitely broke from the taproom template. Old kegs replaced table legs, beer bottles clustered around ceiling bulbs to provide ambient light. Lying north of Red Lodge’s packed commercial district it had the vibe a lazy Saturday afternoon demanded.

Red Lodge’s restaurant status allowed it to avoid the draconian limits placed on taprooms. But its distance from anywhere else (60 miles from Billings, 45 miles from Columbus the next town of any size) made it a risk to pass those limits.

Coming from the Beartooth Highway, only its namesake, Beartooth Pale Ale, would suffice. Proceeding with a nice hop bitterness, it throws off nutty notes, with the citrus extending to lemon and even a grapefruit fringe. The lemon tones tend to coat the palette, preparing it for the hop rush to come. For calming nerves after a mountaintop drive, it worked quite well.

I moved onto the Hefeweizen, poured in proper glassware. It was lighter than many German-style wheat ales, clean and with a crisp grain textures.

Red Lodge's fall seasonal, a robust Oktoberfest Lager, came last, but hardly least. Amber-orange and shimmering, the ruby fruits of this Montana Marzen never messed around. Clean and refreshing, its burnt orange character steamrolls most domestic attempts at the German style. Were I not far from home, I could have finished mug after mug. Red Lodge’s Oktoberfest. Unfortunately, I had to thank Ross and put the Beartooth Range behind me.

Sea Gods in Horse Country
What does Neptune have in common with Yellowstone’s First Gateway? Strangely enough, Romans also regarded Neptune as a horse god, and Livingston’s culture sports deep equine ties. The brewery’s owner also served a stint in the Navy and small bust of Neptune he owns adorns the counter at the small taproom. My grandfather, his twin brother and my great-grandfather all came through Livingston in the 1930s on the Yellowstone route.

My railroad ancestors piqued my interest in the little town on the Yellowstone River east of the Bozeman Pass. Neptune’s brews take different paths with traditional beer styles, defying expectations at every turn.

After closing with an Oktoberfest at Red Lodge, Neptune’s Oktoberfest Lager couldn’t have varied more from the traditional amber lager. With a little smoke on the nose, this dark, malty lager clocks in at 8.9 percent ABV, a little strong for celebrating the Bavarian holiday. Rich with molasses, dates and other dark fruits, a touch of sweetness flares up before the smooth finish that features some dark, distant berries.

The bartender gave me samples of several other brews With a little zing and liveliness, the Reserve Barleywine came out hoppier than the malt-bombs typical of the heavy English style. Skipping the corn, Neptune’s infused Smooth Sailing Cream Ale with lactose to create the sweet, creamy finish. It finished light-years beyond the swlll most Americans think of as cream ale.

The brewery poured its Chocolate Cream Porter and Clipper Nut Brown Ale at the Montana Beer Festival, but a reintroduction from the home tap did some good. The bartender assured me they had been refining the porter recipe, and it showed off. The porter was even creamier than I recalled, its nuttiness and chocolate notes almost decadent.

I returned to red for my final pint. Mermaid’s Tale Red Ale, a malty, pleasant session beer. It has little lace or head, but some easy-going red fruits on the front and a little fire on the finish.

With about 7,000 residents, Livingston didn't lack lively bar patrons. Everyone was chatty and interested in why some guy from Tennessee would drop in. While working on these pints, I talked blue grass with Norm, who was headed to Nashville for the Americana Music Festival. I actually predicted Robert Plant's appearance during the festival (which came true on Sept. 9). I gave him suggestions on top venues (Station Inn, for starters) and even my number if he wanted someone to buy him a beer. He won’t call, but that it was the least I could offer to the friendly taproom crowd at Neptune's.

The first Montana brew: Black Dog Ale

Twelve years ago, at a quiet grocery in Tempe, I black Lab peering off a six-pack carton caught my eye. A decade would pass before I imbibed more Montana beer, but Black Dog Ale from Spanish Peaks Brewing was a strong introduction.

Once legal, I would continue to drink it any time I spotted one at the store in a far corner of a bar’s beer cooler. It vanished from the market for several years, but has begun popping up again in Nashville and elsewhere.

However, taste buds evolve; the palette will not hold. I reluctantly grabbed a six-pack of Black Dog English Style Amber from a Bozeman grocer.

The beer itself is fine, a nice smooth amber with the a little kick of malt. It’s a fine, no-frills session ale with a nice thrust of warming malt at its finish. Not enough brewers dabble in amber, much less one as friendly as Black Dog.

The bottle states the brewery was founded in Bozeman in 1991. Yet these days, Spanish Peaks Brewing Co. operates from Ukiah, Calif. Brewed in Bozeman and later Polson (if my tin sign is correct), this is a disappointment. The first beer I associated with Montana no longer has a home here. Plus the black dog on the label, Chug, is probably long dead.

With Chug in the ground and Black Dog brewed in California, not in the shadow of the Spanish Peaks where I sit now, I can no longer consider it a Montana brew, even though it originated from here.

Capital Brews: Blackfoot River Brewing Co., Helena

With 30,000 residents, Helena supported two breweries, neither of which bottles their beers. The time restrictions placed on breweries meant I had to pick. South Park Avenue appeared on the state map, so Blackfoot River won out over the Lewis & Clark Brewing.

I arrived at a little but lively commercial strip filled with restaurants and a taproom with a crowded second-story balcony. Inside, it had a healthy crowd – most tables full and ample room for solo newcomers at the bar.

By instituting a growler-only line at the bar’s end, Blackfoot River avoided the Yazoo Taproom Line Problemprevalent in Nashville. This wasn’t just an outpost for hipsters, but an community brewpub covering all ages over 21. Parents walked in with children to fill their growlers. Younger people congregated at the bar and the seniors elbowed for an upper patio seat. Like most breweries, they had the requisite Heavily Bearded Due pouring pints.

When the bartender found out about my tour, she supplied me with some information about the brews and a punch card for my three pints.

My Sept. 3 experience with Blackfoot River began at the Swiss Lounge in Many Glacier with its Organic Pale Ale. OPA had nice mellow citrus flavor and balancing hop character. This pale ale veered toward the American variation, using organic Hallertauer and Cascade hopes from New Zealand. Cascade hops are among the strong Pacific Northwest types, but the New Zealand style felt less intense and better suited for pale ale. The ale produces a little lemon and pepper on the finish, and the pale malts make it a pretty solid golden pale. I don’t know if the novelty of USDA organic status separates it from other pale ales. But it went easy and with plenty of character.

At the brewery taproom, I started with their Belgian Trippel, brewed to a intimidating 12.6 percent ABV and served only in eight-ounce pours. The Trippel leads off with a stiff bouquet of fresh coriander, the most assertive spice and the one which hides the alcohol content most effectively. The citrus is clean and trimmed, with apricot breaking from the orange and a little white grape making a cameo. Despite its spiciness, it finished with a palette-cleansing creaminess. I would sample a superior Belgian Tripel on this trip, but Blackfoot River Belgian Trippel clearly showed ingenuity and kept this strong ale drinkable.

Mindful of the 70 miles left on the journey, I switched gears to their Cream Ale, which obliterated any thoughts of the atrocious Genessee Cream Ale from my college days. Slightly hopped with Cascade that doesn’t overwhelm, the key stroke in a cream ale proved that quality ingredients and not shortcuts improve a beer immensely. Blackfoot River uses flaked maize instead of the low-grade corn that sweetens many big-brewery ales. This is a prototypical session ale, it’s a biscuity affair with lots of lemon on the finish. A lot more Cascade rounds out the finish of this triumphant cream ale, but it's never outwears its welcome.

To close my Helena stop, I went with a half-pint of Tartanic Scottish Ale. It had the standard smoke and molasses on the first pass, some tar and tobacco in the body and a creamy finish. Some chocolate emerges as well. Tartanic leaves a surprising effervescence on the rear palette. It isn’t as heavy as most Scottish ales, a characteristic I won’t mourn. Tartanic comes out better for all its intricate parts. With my quota almost met, I shoveled back to Belgrade, with the most rewarding of brewery sites up Saturday afternoon.

Day 1: Fantastic Pints From the Cut Along Belt Creek

“Wait … was that Belt?”

A collection of houses off Belt Creek and two unpaved roads left off the highway. It took two passes to find a proper entrance, then a mile of bumpy road before I could cross under the railroad tracks and enter Belt.

Immediately under the bridge, I glanced the familiar sight of brew tanks, these belonging to the Harvest Moon Brewery, the only craft brewer anywhere near Great Falls and North Central Montana.

Already familiar with their excellent Beltian White, a Belgian-style white ale and probably my favorite Montana beverage, I had to see what made this brewery tick. They only kept their taproom open until 4 p.m. Since I was their only afternoon visitor, I can't blame them.

Laws limit Montana microbrewers to closing at 8 p.m. and limiting patrons to three pints and one growler every 24 hours. To explain the lunacy of this, I can go into the casinos on almost every crossroads in this state and drink much later. But I can’t drink more than three craft beers a day. Yeah, that makes total sense.

The guys at Belt were friendly and more than willing to talk beer. They draw their water not from Belt Creek, but the Madison Aquifer deep below the region. Giant Springs in Great Falls is one spot where the aquifer water hits the surface. Since I was one of their few visitors that day, their operation revolves around bottling and now canning their top brews – Pig’s Ass Porter, Beltian White, and Charlie Russell Red, among others. Bottles and kegs made them known statewide. Now they canned Beltian White, although environmental friendliness slowed the amount of beer they could get out the door every day.

Despite my desire for a Beltian White from its source, I wanted to try new brew from Harvest Moon. The brewery staff started me with a Charlie Russell Red, the only outside product named for the popular Western artist’s (he was also a notorious drinker, so the staff told me his representatives had no problem with the connection). This clean yet spicy red ale almost went down like a lighter scotch ale. The red fruit flavors sat gently on the palette, then built toward a malty finale. It had a slight smokiness which amplified the malts and pushed the limits of what red ale can become.

I went for the typical with the next brew, a pale ale. Great Falls Select fell on the American side of pale ale, with a florid and sometimes nutty nose. The hops only expressed momentary bitterness, producing some nice citrus notes. For the final pint, I switched to their Nut Brown Ale, which was infused with a healthy dose of hazelnut extract. That created a sweet, pleasant finish not unlike Frangelica liqueur. After an initial creaminess, the lighter feel typical of a brown ale takes over. Unfortunately, the extract made me wonder what wonders they could have produced with actual hazelnuts, buty extract made it among the more usual nut browns, a style that often varies little from brewer to brewer.

Size meant nothing in Belt; the guys at Harvest Moon produced top-notch ales from a seldom-seen pocket of Montana. Only two breweries have more remote locations, but Harvest Mon has put Belt on the map.