We have a rotating catalog of seasonal beers. as well as guest taps from some of our favorite breweries. Call, e-mail, or stop by for the current selection.
The Rogues Gallery:
Painted Hills Pilsner
4.7 ABV - 24 IBU
Sutton Mountain IPA
5.2 ABV - 53 IBU
“We’re lost, you know that, right?”
He did, but he knew something the pilgrim, the “outdoorsy” one, didn’t know. He knew that it didn’t matter. He knew it was good that two men with their senses could still get lost. He watched as the one that claimed to love the wilderness frantically ran about, looking for a designated trail. He knew the pilgrim wasn’t going to make it, and that was okay too. Sutton turned his back on him and wished him well.
OMR Amber Ale
6.7 ABV - 23 IBU
Three men came to kill him one time. The best of them carried the rifle he now had on his lap. He sat at the back and watched the pretty barmaid skitter back and forth and then turn to him with her pitcher of rich, malty ale. She smiled, bent lower than she needed to, and refilled his mug. He accepted the beer, but that was all he’d ever accept from her. She was a dangerous one. That’s why you never kiss ‘em on the mouth.
Twickenham Tawney English Mild
3.2 ABV - 12 IBU
She leaned over the railing and watched the river flow under the timbers of the ferry as it moved across to the other bank. She looked up just as a hot blast of wind whipped out of the canyon, blowing past her face, shifting her golden hair slightly. She glanced sidelong at the ferry man as he cursed again and wiped his brow, his thin shirt soaked through. Smiling, she returned to watching the river. Some were born of the desert, and some only lived here.
Hall Of The Dunkel King Dunkelweizen
5 ABV - 12 IBU
The throne he sat on was made of limestone, smoothed by his arms and the arms of the ones before him. He might well be the last. Most men didn’t pray to the Old Ones anymore. He, though, was the Mountain King, and the men who sat at the base camp taverns looking up at him, quietly lacing their boots and inspecting their harnesses, they prayed to him. They quietly prayed before, and then after, when they allowed themselves drink and to tell the story. That was enough for him.
Willie The Wild One Smoked Porter
5.5 ABV - 54 IBU
Faster. Faster! Faster!! The black road poured under his tyres as fast as his Vincent could drink it. He was outrunning his headlight, his brakes, and his fear. This was his road. He would drink deep every bend and curve. He’d drink the smoke and the gravel and the white line.
Doc Hawk IPA
6.5 ABV - 65 IBU
They came for his healing, the white men did. He smiled inside, knowing that his medicines didn’t heal. Well, not really. His medicine was strong, and when he put it in the little bottles for them, he wasn’t bottling a cure, he was bottling their memories. The dogs that fought in mens souls were confused by all the new sounds in the mens heads. They couldn’t tear the men apart that way. That’s all the men wanted, not to be torn apart.
His medicines were made of a soothing song for the dogs. Also, red flannel.
Étoile de Mer Saison
6.7 ABV - 23 IBU
His canvas boat shoes made no sound on the cobbled streets that led down to the pier. His sea bag in his right hand was full of fresh clothes, of tobacco and pen and paper. He had a book he hadn’t finished reading. The street urchins ran around his feet, squealing and laughing, and even the old widows were smiling as they leaned their thick arms on their window sills to take in the warm salt breeze and the sun. He looked to the dock and saw the masts of the tall ships swaying, as if to say “ Hurry, hurry, drape a sail on me. Lets be gone.” So we shall. Nous Allons.
Pappy Schrick AltBier
5.0 ABV - 34 IBU
The shoulder harness kept him tethered to his gun seat. It was comforting. The thrill of floating above the clouds in his belly turret waned the first time the German fighters came out of the sun. Now he was glad to be strapped to the droning B-29. He was bound to the great steel beast, a base camp, a flying fortress, as they called it. At altitude, all he had to focus on was his side of the riveted perimeter. They might get to the underbelly, but that would be after the fight.
Dweller At Hill Of The Cuckoo Scottish Ale
4.8 ABV - 17 IBU
Danger Melon (Watermelon Wheat)
7 ABV - 18 IBU
Russian Imperial Stout
8.5 ABV - 55 IBU
The velvet high-backed chair he was sprawled in was starting to soak up his blood. There was a hole in his uniform, he’d have to have that repaired. Those he vanquished were all about on his rugs, he’d have to have those cleaned. He knew all that came for him this night, he knew their families, he’d have to have them visited. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, he was busy prevailing.
Boris The Bastard Black Ale
3.8 ABV - 20 IBU
It’s cold. Bitterly cold. He stares into the window of warped glass at the yellow light of a fire warmed den, one that he could have been sitting in if he’d wanted. But he knew. It was cold out here, but not nearly as cold as it was inside at his fathers hearth.
He flipped the collar of his ratty pea coat up past his one ear and turned down the street. Minutes later, he was sitting at the dark corner table, with Her next to him. Warm.
Lone Rock American Wheat Ale
Black Canyon Black Cream Ale
5.9 ABV - 21 IBU
The soft sand of the canyon floor underfoot belies the harshness of the rocks and scrub, even its name. Its beauty is found in the ease of travel, taking you gently into the wilds.