#in my defense i used to work at a liquor store where customers telling me they wanted to marry me

[valcanous]

my tolerance is higher for my male superiors who literally punch walls at my job than it is for a kid who asks me mildly inappropriate questions at 8 am in the morning. this does say a lot about me and the unique way in which i am an issue.

[cryptechhq]

CrypTech: A Cultist Conundrum

I’m throwing up the first story written in the CrypTech universe. Fey wrote this one out and I love it so much. Minor editing was done by me, but it was her creation and it’s great. I’m only uploading it because I work nights and was awake while building this blog. Enjoy!

The bookstore was wedged like a cut of cheese between the buildings as he glanced up from his book. Shelves like honeycomb and the air thick with the scent of liquor. Tonight was game night, the night he waited for since the last blue moon. The night where the eye over the world flickered and he saw what lay deep within. Those who were never allowed to walk in the daylight, those who hid themselves.

Fixing his favorite shirt, the one with the flowers, palm trees and surfboards, he remembered his vacation. He had walked around looking for a certain book he never did find, but instead he found this shirt under a pile of blue and neon pink button up shirts. The ocean scent on the air, it had been the last time he saw his mentor.

Tails, claws, eyes and sharp teeth were upon him as he smirked. Here at this bookstore, that had stood since the old days, he felt at home. The store had always been here, along the veins of the earth that ran beneath it. The energy that twisted its inner blood throughout like highways. This small piece of land hid secrets under the dirt, where runes were once carved and people left the dead in the sea of dirt.

Playing with his phone, he went to take a picture of his dungeon and dragons group as the flash went off and he saw a woman hiss as she took off towards the back. Staring at the picture he saw the green like smoke that was around her and those cat like reflective eyes. A whisper she was, as he tried to recall her. Had he met her before? Grasping at his memories, he tried to think, but nothing was coming to him.

A sharp pain came to his mind as he got out of his seat and chased after her quickly. As he caught up, he saw she was in the small alley looking around. Time slowed as he went to say something to only be caught by what he was seeing. The mirror like shards around her slowly coming back up as he saw the pointed ears, reflective cat-like eyes and those sharp teeth. They reminded him of a dream, as he saw the mirrors take whole as she appeared human. As if the image he had saw before was nothing but a dream.

“Wait!” the word vomit hit the air as she stopped tilting her head looking at him.

“Why?”

What was she? He had seen creatures and monsters in the city before, but she was something new. Something different from the typical creatures he saw. Was she a witch too?

“Are you-” He went to ask, but he saw her eyes go wide before she took off down the alley. Turning around he noticed the shadow watching them, and as he looked back she was gone.

He had seen her at the bookstore before, on game night. But recalling her name was hard. He knew nothing about the others, aside from that a few worked in the city. But the dead zone was theirs. The area the city forgot about, with the cenmatry(?) building that once held patrons. Now it was just an empty shell, wrapped around with a grass fence.

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Entering the dead zone, the huge white shelter stood there in the middle of the street. No bus ever stopped here, only rushed down the road like a roach when the lights were turned on. The sign stapled to the boarded up window said “not in business.” as he fished for the keys in his pocket. The city forgot about a lot of things. Here in the center there was nothing, except boarded up shops and stores. Not a living creature dared to come through unless they were quickly passing through. No one ever stopped, unless they were like him. Those who have seen in the back of the eye and know the eyes does not see all.

Popping the door open, he kept trying to figure out what she was. Reflective mirrors, was it a spell or an enchantment. He was still learning more than his craft. Scribbling in his notebook, he came up with ideas, but was interrupted by a dripping sound. A single drip that tattered against the floor, the note played over and over again. As he searched for the source, he hoped a spring would not form from the ceiling, creating a waterfall.

A crash came from upstairs, and he rushed towards it. as he reached the top he saw her there, soaking wet and sniffling. Raising an eyebrow, he went to ask a question, but stopped as he saw blood running down her arm. He went to her side as she took a step back.

“Don’t.” It came out a hiss, and he raised his hands defensively

“I think I have a spell for that.”

“What?” She asked, as he flicked his wrist, and the cut on her arm slowly healed. Looking around she heard a noise and shivered.

“I gotta keep going, bye.”

“You’re safe here, warded the place myself. I’m Jakz, and you are?” He asked, as he looked around. Grabbing up an old shirt, he tossed it towards her. The shirt dropped like a dead bird as she watched him.

“Fey.” One word as she went to the window looking outside. Left, right, and up. Nothing was there. She crumpled near the window, taking in a breath.

“This is stupid, you aren’t CrypTech.”

He raised a hand, gesturing to the room. “This is CrypTech.” She ran a hand through her hair.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

Leaning back against the wall, she let her shoulders drop. “You’re one person, and you state you have supernatural solutions. Ever dealt with pissed off cultist?”

“First time for everything. So what type of cultist?” He looked out the window before shutting the blinds, leaving the room dark. He went over and turned on a lamp. Sitting down in a chair, he looked at her as if telling her to come sit at the table. With a foot he tried to clean up the water on the floor.

“Also where did the water come from?” He asked. She sat down across from him wiping her nose with her arm.

“It was raining in Arcadia.”

“The city?” He asked as she made a face.

“For supernatural solutions you don’t know much. Arcadia is another name for…you know right?” She asked as he looked at her shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t tell me I am your first customer….” She let out a nervous laugh as she took in a sharp breath.

“Well, I am fucked. You’re what a warlock? Mage? Made a contract with a good neighbor?” She kept playing with the black rubber band on her wrist as she looked around taking in the room. The TV, the computer set up with four screens and the carved runes.

“No, I am a witch...and you are?”

“Give me your full name and find out?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.” He replied in a deadpan voice. Smirking she nodded her head.

“But yet don’t know what Arcadia is. Wow, didn’t get into Hogwarts or something?”

“Listen here, Tinkerbell.”

“Oh, so you do know what I am?” He made a face, she could be or couldn’t be, glamour magic was very common, especially around creatures that lived in the dead zone.

“You said cultist and you needed help. I do know some stuff about them.”

“Oh really, Mr. Potter.”

“Tell me everything, Tink.” He saw her smirk as she let the glamour drop.

“Kay, Jack?” She questioned as he shook his head. “Jack isn’t your name, how about another one with a J? Jake?”

“You said you needed help, Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.”

She laughed as she wringed out her hair. “Cthulhu cultist.”

“In the desert?” He blurted as she nodded her head.

“Yes, they been recruiting out here and weren’t happy I called their old one or whatever sushi.”

“You must have done more for them to come after you.”

“I also took something, humans didn’t and shouldn’t ever have, maybe.”

“Easy. give it back, no more cultist.”

“Not so easy, that’s why I am here. If I wasn’t desperate I wouldn’t be here, I would be home googling answers.” She placed a book on the table as he went to touch it, she slapped his hand.

“Don’t touch, it’s the Necronomicon. It does stuff to humans.”

“How-?!” He saw her pull it back. Yet as her hands crossed over the book, it disappeared.

“You think they would have hidden it better. Also they never said I wasn’t…” She paused before finishing her sentence.

“Wasn’t what?”

She shook her head, “So help me deal with them and I’ll pay you.”

“I need more information.”

“I just told, you I took the book and now they are after me. When you took that stupid picture earlier it messed up my glamour, and one of them found me.”

“So that’s why you ran.”

“Why else would I run? We were in a middle of a campaign. And now my poor tiefling rogue is stuck unless you continued game. “

“You play Azura!” She rolled her eyes as he tapped his fingers against the table.

“We will go talk to them.”

“No.” She blurted, “Are you nuts, they are cultists and not the average cultists. They still use blood.”

“Like I said I need more detail.”

“Urgh.”

“Look you give me information about them, and your kind, and you don’t have to pay.”

“I can pay, no problem, but giving information is rather hard. Especially ‘cause your human. How do I know this isn’t going to end up like a episode of the x-files or something. I don’t want Trump coming after us.”

“Even creatures are scared of trump?”

“More like scared of what he can do. Like, hello, you live on this planet too.” Rubbing her eyes, she tapped her fingers against the table, before speaking.

“Fine. Ask and I’ll answer, but you have to help me get these sushi cultists off me. And no, I am not returning the book.”

“Why do you need it so badly?” He watched her as she looked at the mark on her wrist.

“Mostly, no human should have it. It’s like the ultimate necromancy field guide. Bet they can’t even read this.”

“You’re a necromancer, and?”

“You can ask more than one-word answer questions, you know?” Rubbing the back of her neck, she watched as he scribbled more stuff down.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Ever hear of good neighbors?”

“What, like State Farm?” he asked looking up from his notebook.

“Fairies, fae folk, elves, trolls, ringing something in that head?”

“Heard of them yes. So you’re a fairy?”

“sort of.”

“Arcadia is what. fairy land?”

Nodding her head, she glanced out the window. “Faerie it used to be called. But with all the fae names and stuff Arcadia was the best. So, Jacob how you gonna take care of the sushi cult?”

Glancing at his notes, “Well Wanda, we are going to go talk to them.”

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“We are going to die.” She stated as she dried herself off downstairs. He grabbed a backpack and a few items from the desks.

“Good thing you’re a necromancer.”

“Can’t re-animate myself, blondie.”

“What type of witch are you? Water, an element?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Locking up the shop, he stopped as she cracked her back. Quiet like always but something felt off.

“They hide in downtown, near the old church.”

His car chirped as she stood near it. “How did you get into my place? I warded it.”

She froze, her eyes never meeting his. “Ever have things go missing in your place?”

“Yes, but answer the question.”

“You left a welcome sign in the window. What does that do?”

“Stop with the riddles, Fey.”

Leaning against the car she crossed her arms over her chest. “You welcomed anyone who needs a welcome in. I am shocked you didn’t know about that rule. So pretty much any fae folk are welcomed, along with blood suckers. Also it's easy getting to places through Arcadia.”  

“Wait, have you been taking my stuff?” She got into the car as he got in the driver seat staring at her.

“Who knows? Could have been anyone in Arcadia going through the dead zone.”

“You better not have taken my Runic black dice set.”

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“Left up here.” The street lights guided the way. There were people out this night, walking along the shops. As he drove into a small parking lot he could see the huge black iron fences surrounding the old church. Large, grey and white stone, it used to tower over the city Now it was just a small building in a shadow of a corporate office.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he parked the car.

“There’s iron, if there’s a fight I am screwed. Also there’s not much dirt. More concrete than anything.  If I need to raise the dead I need dirt, they can’t break out of concrete. Modern coffins are bad enough.”

“We are talking not fighting. Let me handle it.”

Her eyes shifted as she curled her hands. He opened the fence, and she followed behind him, trying to not touch anything as she kept an eye out. Fixing his shirt, he ruffled his hair a little as he looked back at her.

“Where to from here?”

Shrugging her shoulders, “Not sure, I came from Arcadia to here. I didn’t have to enter the church this way.”

The door was falling apart as he pushed it open, letting it fall. Inside was a heavy layer of dust and spider webs.

“No one here.”

“We need to move the altar.”

“I thought you said, you never came in this way.” She started trying to push the altar as dust flew all over the place.

“This usually causes something to happen in action movies. Also I can use an extra set of hands.” The altar moved as she was huffing.

“Don’t work out much?”

“Shut up, Blondie.”

There were stairs leading down as she looked at him and then started down the stairs.

“You can see in the dark.” He whispered as she felt the walls as she walked.

“No, I am following the wall.”   A light was flickering as she stopped, and felt him bump into her. She stumbled as she saw cloaked figures running around like she saw before. “Uh.” It came out as she went to take a step back to stay there.

“Go.” He stated as she looked back at him.

She took one step as she saw a hooded head look towards her. “You.” A growl came out from the hooded person as she smiled and waved, “Hi. Sorry about calling your octo god sushi?” She walked slowly as she felt Jakz get in front of her.

“We are here to talk, nothing more.” The hooded figure glanced at him before sniffing the air.

“A human.”

“Middle man.” Jakz explained before grabbing Fey’s arm. She turned to look at him as he mouthed two words Trust me.

“She took something of ours.” The hood was pushed back showing a human with fish like skin. It took Jakz a thorough effort to not start humming a Lovecraftian Christmas Carol.

“Is there somewhere we can talk? Instead of right here? Like a café or something?” he asked. as he took in the hallways and lights.

“The chamber, Elder Craft should be there. This way.”

Following the fish like man, Jakz held on to Fey’s arm as she curled her fingers. The chamber was huge, and looked as if they were under the sea. Blues, greens and the scent of sea salt. A man was pacing as he stopping locking eyes on them. The fish man bowed his head,

“Elder Craft, a human brought the thief.”

“Good, reward him.” Elder Craft stated. As Fey looked at him the green smoke started to form around her.

“I am not here for a reward. Here to talk, Elder Craft, right?” Jakz stated as the smoke started to disappear, still lingering. “Why don’t you tell me about the book she took?”

“It’s none of your concern human.” Craft hissed as Jakz let go of Fey’s arm.

“It is my concern when you start hunting down my client.”

“She’s a thief.”

“Then how come the book belongs in Miskatonic University library? Is a thief a thief, if she took it from a thief and returned a lost library book?”

The elder walked quickly to Jakz face as he was a few inches away, hissing. “She did what? No.”

Fey glared, her eyes locked on the elder. As she glanced around she saw there were bloodstains being cleaned. The elder went to grab her, but stopped as lighting crackled from Jakz.

“Don’t touch my client. We done here? If you want your book, you’re going to need a library card.”   

Fey rubbed her wrist as she heard foot steps coming quickly. A growl as the elder looked at her.

“Sorry for calling your god sushi.” The elder made a face as he turned his back to them.

“Never come back here. Else when he wakens, you’re going to be the first sacrifice.”

“Bye.” Jakz went to say something she grabbed him as he felt sea sick. Everything was turning as he saw trees and lights and then they were back at the car, Fey taking quick breaths as he looked at her dizzily.

“What was that?” He tried focusing on something to stop the feeling of being at sea. She looked beat.

“A glimpse of Arcadia. I didn’t like that they were surrounding us, and they looked ready for a new sacrifice. Couldn’t have the guy helping me end up a soul for some sushi god.”

“Now to get the book to the library.”

She glared as she looked at her wrist. “No, our deal was I keep the book.”

“I have a plan. But more questions.”

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Smoke danced from the coffee cups as they sat in the studio apartment. Morning crept through the window, and Fey added another spoonful of sugar to hers.

“What now?”

He took a drink from his cup as he placed a hand on the table. “Can I see the book again? I am not going to touch it.” Crossing her wrist over the table, it appeared.

“I need it for a day.”

She took a drink as she glared. “What are you planning? You can’t touch it.”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “It corrupts human minds. The whispers of it often causes people to kill and, well, you saw the cult.”

“Then how come you can touch it?”

“Fae blood. Also, that library…”

He smirked as she looked at him, “It doesn’t exist.” She looked shocked as she took a spoonful of sugar and placed it into her mouth.

“You tricked a cult…who knows, maybe you have fae blood in you.” She smirked as he saw her rub the cover.

“Why didn’t you hide in Arcadia instead of coming to me? You said you were desperate but yet you seemed to be taking note of everything? What are you hiding?” She tapped the spoon against the coffee cup.

Cracking her neck, she had a smile on her lips, “It’s a long story as well...” She flipped out a knife, as crackling could be heard. She looked at him as she craved a symbol into the window’s glass. She put the knife away as she sat back down. “To keep other fae from entering. And blood suckers. And it’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“Trade you a tale for your full name?” He let out a laugh as she put another spoonful of sugar into her mouth.

“Hey.” He blurted as she looked up at him shrugging. “You’re going to eat all the sugar.”

“I need to get my strength back, jumping to and fro is tiring.” He looked at her as she leaned back in the chair. He stared at the cover as blue lighting danced from his fingers. She saw him point his hand, and the sparks went to the computer.

“What are you?” He looked at her as he was focusing on the book.

“Hey.” She blurted as he closed his eyes. Sparks dying out as he smiled as she leaned over the table looking at him. Before slapping one of his cheeks like a seal  “Don’t be possessed. Come on I don’t need another corpse.”

“Boo.” She almost fell back as she glared like a house cat.

“What did you do?” She grabbed the book checking it over as she opened it looking at pages, flipping through them quickly.

“I made a copy.” Raising an eyebrow, she hugged the book to her chest.

“You downloaded the book…that’s new.”

Putting the book away she finished her coffee with a yawn. “This has been one hell of a night. Still can’t believe you ended that conflict with a lie.”

“I do that sometimes. How long were you running from them?”

“Four months. Any other questions, tech wiz kid?” He let out a laugh as she looked at the desktop screen to see the typed words moving as if alive.

“Want a job?”

“I don’t know, let me check my schedule.” She pretended to flip through a book as she nodded her head, “I can move grave robbing to tomorrow at midnight, and... oh no. Well, I can move that to next blood moon.” She looked at him. “I figured you were going to need help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked

“You don’t know everything. Some things, yes. And you got yourself a silver tongue.  I did say I would answer any question. We made a deal.”

“What does that have to do with a job?”

“Don’t know much about fae folks, a deal is a contract. You’re looking at you new co-worker, Jules.”

“That’s not my name, try again co-worker.”

[boozedancing]

Mesquite is a quirky and prolific species of plant. Native to the American Southwest, Texas, and northern Mexico, it’s a plant or tree in its numerous varieties that conjures up cowboys, vacqueros, and Spaghetti Westerns. Part of the legume family, the tree grows funkily and wide with twists and turns, elbows and dog legs, plus thorns for defensive purposes all making them great for postcards, tough little birds to perch in, charcoal making, and firewood.

Stephen Paul figured out something else to do with mesquite wood. Make furniture. A few decades back, he started taking this weird wood and carving out home furniture in Tucson, Arizona. Tables, chairs, armoires, and the like. And he got pretty damn good at it. Arroyo Design became synonymous with high quality, unique home furnishings even though mesquite is not the easiest component to work with. Take all those funky twists and turns, add knots, bullets, barbed wire and whatever else that has found its way into the limbs and trunks, and you have something far more complicated to work with than, say, your friendly, homogeneous, and monotonous Home Depot 2×4 of Douglas Fir.

It takes a great deal of persistence and creativity with the various shenanigans that mesquite wood brings to the table saw and lathe. But Stephen took on the challenge and built Arroyo Design up as their handmade fine furniture became well known and award winning. No one else was using mesquite in furniture making to this degree and Stephen saw it as something intrinsically Tucson and the Sonoran Desert.

That lack of homogeneity with the wood brings with it a fair amount of waste. Scraps are thrown into the dumpster by and large, and Stephen would bring buckets of it home for the fireplace and barbecue.

Behind almost every successful man is a woman with a better idea, which might bring on an argument (not to be confused with a cargument), or better yet, something worth pursuing. Or both. Stephen’s wife, Elaine, wondered one evening around the fire while burning up some of those wood chunks if barley could be smoked with mesquite to make whiskey. See, the Pauls were casual Scotch drinkers and knew the basics of the whisky making process. Drying out barley with peat or some such. It was probably a more complicated process, but it made Stephen intrigued nonetheless. Very intrigued. Mesquite smoked barley.  That might be a thing.

So, like all good would-be distillers, Stephen bought himself a tiny “tabletop” 5 gallon alembic pot-still from Portugal, experimenting with the process and admittedly making really horrible… well, something that barely was distinguishable as whiskey. “Blech” might have been a good name for all of the experiments. But he wasn’t giving up. The little still became a bit of a conversation piece at the furniture factory as visitors noticed it not exactly hiding in plain sight.

Bit by bit the experiments got better, Stephen dove in deeper, learning more about the whole process of creating a flavor, and his daughter, Amanda, got involved with the project. Amanda told her father (after he bought a 40 gallon pot still from Europe) that they need to do this the right and legal way. The Pauls were not going to be moonshiners. Amanda, now Hamilton’s creative director, is a good daughter and my two should take notice of this good daughterness of watching over her father. She probably just didn’t want to go to jail.  Be that as it may, this foresight back in 2011 started the process of getting properly permitted so the bad whisky making could continue legally!  Well, not exactly.  A little bit of knowledge and practice went a long way, and somewhere along the way the juice started tasting good. Really good, in fact. Stephen figured out the malting technique plus the barley smoking with that mesquite and he finally hit on something.

But why? Why make the effort? Why figure out how to malt barley in 100° weather? Why buy a copper still and learn all the intricacies of using it? Why smoke said barley with the aforementioned mesquite on your own? Why try and make single malt whiskey at all?  In Arizona?

For Stephen, it’s closely related to his fine furniture making that was still going strong at the time. Making a whiskey that spoke of Tucson and the desert was something that no one was doing. If you’re crazy enough to make furniture out of a desert wood, why not make whisky in the desert with that same wood and the same spirit of the land?

Now malting the barley on your own is off the deep end of one of the many pools dotting Tucson backyards, and a whole different story when making whiskey. Why not call a commercial malting house, tell them to malt barley and dry it with mesquite smoke and just order some? Oh, if it was so easy, we’d all be doing it, right? Under the big banner of “handmade”, Stephen decided to do his own maltings. Now, mind you, there probably aren’t 20 distilleries doing that in the world. In the world! And one is in Tucson. Arizona. Which puts into the company of Laphroaig, Kilchoman, and Highland Park, to name just a few. Those are in Scotland, by the way. No one waters lawns in Tucson, and there isn’t a lot of barley getting soaked either. Granted, there aren’t many lawns in the area that aren’t maintained for golf but that’s beside the point.

Stephen probably would be farming his own barley, but that’s definitely not a thing in the arid Arizona climate. We’ll give him a few years to figure that one out. Currently the barley comes in from Colorado ready for Hamilton’s soak and dry sauna treatment.  Arizona’s few barley farmers are agricultural forward producing high protein grains for livestock feed.  Whiskey making needs barley on the other end of spectrum �� high carb with all those starches. Hamilton’s grain makes for a rich, sweet and creamy malt.  But the long term goal is locally grown variety to make Hamilton even more Tucson, Arizonan.

An 8,000 square foot space in a nondescript multi unit warehouse building on the east side of Tucson houses Hamilton Distillers. I-10 parallels the business park that is home to the whiskey maker producing under the Del Bac brand. The front door and face of the building is like many industrial spaces. This glass door differing with only the words “Hamilton Distillers” on it. The back of the building is the “business end” of this shotgun. Next to a loading ramp behind the warehouse is a fenced off area with a squarish metal smoker for lack of a better term. Chunks of mesquite wood were stacked up on pallets next to the smoker and its three interior shelves opening to the north. A venting system takes the sweet smoke from the smoker back into the warehouse for its part in the Del Bac birth. Not long ago Stephen walked me from through the Hamilton process: malting to glass, fire and smoke to whiskey.

On that day with Stephen as the guide, I was treated to a detailed look at how Hamilton does what they do. An unassuming man and avid listener who seemed to be as intent on my words as I of his, Stephen happily brought me up to speed on the Hamilton story. We traced the route that the smoke would take back into the warehouse as it wafts into a large but squat custom made stainless steel cylindrical shaped vessel. This unique custom-made unit doubles as a malting AND kilning container. A big space saver, yes, but in reality it gives Hamilton more control over the details. When you’re making fine furniture or high quality single malt, details are everything.

The little things are crucial in this hot, dry environment that becomes hot and humid then bone-chilling cold at a moment’s notice. The Angel’s have skin cancer from taking their share in the excoriating sun and heat. The process has to be tailored around and with the desert in mind. It’s a world where there are two distinct rainy seasons, where temperatures drop forty degrees in a day or never drop below three digits.  Don’t fight it; just live with it. Casks are stacked up in the middle of the building but not for too long as the summer heat takes it toll. We won’t ever see 5, 10, 25 year old single malt whiskey from Hamilton unless they add a climate control system, move casks elsewhere to age, or put up a really big shade. But then it wouldn’t be truly Tucson.

New American White Oak with a #3 char is the preferred barrel for the mesquite smoked juice to age in. How about a mesquite barrel? Stephen tried that with awful success. Too much of something can be a bad thing it seems. But experiments are ongoing with wine and sherry casks.  In fact a Pedro Jimenez sherry cask is aging Hamilton juice as we speak.

My first visit last August 2017 was short and very sweet. Stopping in a local liquor store, Plaza Liquors and Fine Wines, I saw Del Bac on the shelf for the first time and was very intrigued yet saddened as the Dorado – Hamilton’s mesquite smoked version (there’s also a non-smoked one called Classic) – was out of stock. Tears and/or sweat trickled down my face. It was 106° outside.  The store manager graciously called the distillery and asked if I could come by to pick up a bottle since he wasn’t getting more in for a few days. Dale Riggins, Director of Sales and PR at Hamilton, sold me a bottle, gave me a quick tour, and allowed me to play with the distillery cats and Guero, Dale’s uberfriendly Golden Retriever, aka @guerotheperro on Instagram. And there was a promise of a longer visit on my next stop in Tucson.  Dale’s background brings another multifaceted toolbox to Hamilton.  Wine sommelier and cocktail pro with a more than a twist of tiki in her toolkit, she sees Del Bac as a whiskey with many possibilities.  Neat, with water, in an Old Fashioned, in tiki cocktails, Del Bac’s curious mix of smoke and savoriness lends itself to spinning traditional drinks in directions most wouldn’t think of venturing, and opens up a crayon box of flavors to experiment with.

On my second stop in May of this year, Stephen went above and beyond with his hospitality. We sat and chatted around a large table in the warehouse after the hardcore tour and digging around the casks. The space between the cage of casks and office area is a nicely furnished one. A mesquite hutch with various American whiskies and a few Scotch ones sits along the wall. A bar of sorts on the opposite wall is ready made to pour samples for visitors. In between are various small counter high tables and two long rectangle ones for tastings and special events. Most of the furniture is handmade, of course. There are other distinctly southwestern furnishings including a large picture of Emiliano Zapata just so you don’t forget where you are. ¡Viva la Revolución! And that 40 gallon copper still is in one corner, now a piece of Hamilton history.

Stephen and I settled along one of the long tables and kibitzed about all thing whiskey. This little hobby has become a full-time job, the furniture business now in the past. There’s a grain silo out back that can house 60,000 lbs of barley. Production is continually growing as is distribution. Del Bac is now found in at least a twenty-three states with global distribution into Canada, Japan, the UK, as well as a few other western European mesquite loving countries.

The process is run by only a couple of people. Head distiller Nathan Thompson-Avelino and his assistant Ramon Olivas mind to all the of the details in this simple, efficient, hands on distillery. Hamilton uses a double distillation method with its 500 gallon computerized system. It’s a Scotch style for this Arizonan whiskey in it’s custom made stainless steel still from Oregon. Malting, smoking, mashing, fermenting, distilling, aging and bottling are all done on the premises by Stephen’s small crew though anyone can sign up to help out with the bottling part.

Del Bac Dorado is a mouthful of sweet smokiness that lingers on the tongue for a good long while. Chewy and barbecuey, rich and tangy, the basic Dorado is an eye opener. At cask strength, it’s a robust whirlwind taking your mouth through a bonfire at dusk on a quiet mesa with the bursting sun on its way to the horizon. This is a whiskey built for the desert by people of the desert.

The quarterly released Distillers Cut is a varying experiment clocking in around 60% ABV.  The current batch is finished in an ex-Woodford cask, the last one in a Madeira cask.  Same distillate aging in different woods to see what will happen.

And they also bottle a non-aged version of the mesquite Dorado called Clear.  It’s Hamilton’s new make with a bit more “tails” to it and rested in the bottle for a few months to mellow.  It’s a perfect spirit for cocktails that need a little something extra without going over and into a slot canyon.

The Sonoran Desert is a landscape like no other on the planet. The colors change with the time of day and season. Purples, browns, blues, golds, oranges, grays and whites explode, glisten, and cool as the endless number of stars come out. It can be an eerie mix whether in the roasting summer sun, frigid winter, or end of summer, early fall wet monsoon season. This is the southwestern desert bathed in oppressive sunshine and heat and blackened night skies. Mountains rise up from the cracking terra surrounded in saguaros and patrolled by screaming hawks hunting for prey.

To live here means learning to live in the desert’s extremes. Survival and adaptation are the watch words. Becoming part of this vast land of plenty where some see nothing but dry dirt is vital.  Hamilton Distillers are Tucson and the Sonoran Desert. They’ve taken mesquite – an ancient tree of the land – felled for other uses, and coaxed it with fire to make Hamilton’s “water of life” in a place where water either is a scarce commodity or cascades in frightening torrents depending on the season. If you smoke the barley, they will come, and for Hamilton Distillers the legions are growing, finding this bold whiskey on a growing list of shelves and bars.  Stephen Paul and company are bringing Tucson to the whiskey masses one smoldering mesquite log at a time.

Our man in #LA, @AaronMKrouse, takes us on a tour of Tuscon's #HamiltonDistillers. #whisky Mesquite is a quirky and prolific species of plant. Native to the American Southwest, Texas, and northern Mexico, it’s a plant or tree in its numerous varieties that conjures up…