Beers in the Stream

Xanthus, Nicolai’s 63’ Ford Galaxy, skidded to a halt at the end of the dusty, rutted, undulating, rock covered road. We emerged and stretched, ready. Socks and boots now on, we shouldered our packs and headed up the woodland trail, optimistic about the climb ahead. Some yards along, Nicolai dropped his pack and approached the tumbling trailside creek. Soon we could no longer see him, but could easily visualize his mission. He would search around for the perfect hiding place and stash our six-pack of beer amongst the rocks in the tumbling waters of the mountain stream. For this big climb, the beers would be hefty 16 oz cans of Colt 45 Malt Liquor. This modern mead would be our reward for our heroic quest.

On most of my other mountain trips the beer of choice would be ‘Vitamin R’, Rainier beer, ‘Mountain Fresh’ Rainier beer as their ads proclaimed. Olympia’s slogan was ‘It’s the Water’ but that always sounded pretty lame compared to ‘Mountain Fresh’, so I always chose Rainier over ‘Oly’. Rainier was a pretty decent beer, a local brew, made in Seattle, and their TV ads were pretty damn funny. In one, a herd of Rainier beer cans with legs would cluster nervously near the side of a forest road, a car would pass and then they’d scurry across. There was always an official looking sign in the foreground that said ‘Beer Crossing’. The voice-over would then say something about needing to stay on the lookout for the ‘Wild Rainiers’. Part of the charm was that unlike the bear in the Hamm’s commercials, the ‘Wild Rainiers’ weren’t animated, they were adult people wearing costumes that were king sized beer cans. Their legs were pretty shapely so they must have been female beers.

Another ad featured a thirty something woman talking on the kitchen phone with her girlfriend, pleasantly discussing something, or someone. An unseen voice, supposedly a working man’s voice, rudely shouts out from the living room behind her; “Hey Marlene, get me another beer.” It was easy to visualize this boorish off-screen character, in a t-shirt, leaning back in his easy chair watching a football game, confidently expecting Marlene to drop the phone, scurry to the fridge and dash to his side with another cool one. Marlene, pretty as a picture, politely asks her friend to hold on for a minute. She then cups the phone, turns her head towards her unseen spouse and in a snarling roar, yells back; “GET IT YOURSELF, BOB.” She then turns back to her polite chit chat with her girlfriend, not missing a beat. I always thought it was hilarious and I stayed brand loyal. ‘Vitamin R’ was my usual choice for six packs in the mountain stream.

The climb of the North Ridge of Mt. Stuart had been superb and the stories of it filled our conversations as we hiked out the next day. As we approached the trailhead I was focused on my feet. They were really tired and they hurt. I could hardly wait for the hike out to end. Finally, we stopped at the spot on the trail near the creek where Nicolai had hidden the beers on the way in. He disappeared into the brush and we waited. After a bit he emerged from the vegetation victorious, holding the dripping six-pack high. Hiding beer was an art form and you wouldn’t always be successful. You could hike a good way up the trail and thrash through the brush to some obscure spot and stash your beer in the stream under some rocks where you’d swear that no one would ever find it, in fact you’d have doubts that you’d find it again, and then after some epic climb, yearning for the cool refreshment of your beer, you’d return to that very spot to find that it was gone.

But on this day, we had the beer and we celebrated. I took off my boots and socks, stretched out on a flat granite boulder and warmed my feet in the sun as I slaked my thirst with the ice-cold 16 oz. Colt 45. Rehydrating with beer, it was the right thing to do. Sun beating down and a light wooziness setting in, I was very happy to be alive. After that, I nearly floated down the trail to the parking lot and flopped into the back seat of Xanthus. Packs stashed, boots and socks off, we rolled down the windows and thrust our bare feet out into the breeze. As we bumped down the rutted and rocky forest road on our way to the pavement, I was already thinking about our next ascent.

This is an excerpt from ‘Beers in the Stream,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.