FROM THE EARTH TO THE VESSEL

NORTHWEST BEER ENTHUSIASTS CELEBRATE FOOD AND BREW UNDER THE FULL MOON.

As I sit outside the idling pickup truck I take a sip from the growler of beer that we brought along for just this occasion. The falling snow begins to increase into wind whipped flurries that bite through our layers of clothing. The lunar force of the evening is clear as the extreme low tide before us reveals the mudflats stretching out like slick sulfur chocolate, cradling the treasure we seek on its surface. The full moon has become completely obscured by the rising snowstorm but with a pull off the growler my companion lays down how our mission is going to work, “keep your light down and make it quick,” he says, “with any luck we can be out of here in 20 minutes.” Without another word we muck our way out into the bay, hands already freezing and the snow quickly accumulating on the soupy gelatin of the mud.

It is the middle of November and the eve of Brewfest, a completely renegade, utterly underground and fantastically one-of-a-kind homebrew festival in the San Juan Islands of Washington State. Tonight as we shiver our way towards the center of the bay by headlamp, we are searching for essential vitals for the coming festivities, specifically fresh wild oysters.

Joe Steel is the founder and host of Brewfest and carries two milk crates slung across his shoulders dangling in balance from a piece of dowel. As we scour the ground for oysters to throw in the crates the accumulating snow makes distinguishing a rock from a mollusk nearly impossible. We fumble with numb fingers to flip over every stone for further inspection trying to decipher in the dim light whether it be a crusty rock or tasty morsel.

It is essential to be quick, not because what we are doing is illegal per-se, but rather because it is much better to be low profile about our activities.

In fact, “low profile” seems to be one of the manifestos of Brewfest which strives to be an un-marketed, off the map celebration for the true Northewest food and brew enthusiast. For this reason, the quicker we can finish our oyster hunt the less chance there is of attracting unwanted attention. After some time, long after out fingers are screaming with cold, the crates have been filled, and we slip back to the truck, take a sip of beer in recognition of the completed mission and zip back towards the wood fired warmth of Steel's house. The final preparatory step has been completed. Now comes the celebration.

Brewfest has been an island tradition since 1989 and is above all interactive. Everyone who comes brings something to the table whether it is knowledge, food, music, beer or cheer. The festival originated as an event to promote the exchange of information about beer brewing and to celebrate the abundant bounty of local food in the Pacific Northwest.

“Everyone comes here to share knowledge and learn, then they can take that knowledge brew their own beer or just be a little bit more aware of what it takes to make beer,” says Steel. “The food is of course also an important aspect,” he adds. “It is about an attitude of we can do this locally.”

Brewfest is also about commitment. The day after the oyster gathering the snow has stopped but the weather remains temperamental and frigid cold. There is a reason that Brewfest is held in the beginning of winter: it weeds out the casual attendee and encourages only those who truly resonate with the ideals of Brewfest to show up at the outside festival. “I am really not into people just showing up to be seen,” says Steel, “There is no red carpet at this event. You have to want to be here if it is snowing.”

Despite the cold the crowd begins to trickle in during the early afternoon. A raging fire is lit against a natural rock outcropping that warms to forms a giant thermal mass, radiating heat into the outdoor festival area. Before long a small wool-bundled crowd has congregated and the kegs of homebrewed beer begin to stack up. Along one side of the clearing a special “beer bench” has been constructed between two trees, the kegs and bottles of CO2 are placed underneath the bench with the taps popping up through the middle of the planks. Above the bench a string is hung and dangling above each keg is the beer’s name and its entry number.

Although Brewfest is ultimately about sharing what you have and contributing to the festivities, for some there is another more competitive undertone. Brewfest is also a beer competition. As the night unfolds, both a formal and informal judging of all the homebrew occurs.

The competitive aspect of Brewfest originally came about in accordance with the virtues of the party: participation. In the early days of the festival renowned glass artist Lark Dalton wanted to contribute his talents and began bringing hand blown drinking glasses and traditional drinking yards to give away as gifts. In order to give out the locally blown glassware the competition was established to dictate who got what. From then on the competition became a Brewfest standard, jovial and informal to be sure, but simultaneously prestigious and an important status gain for the winning participants.

Although Steel acknowledges that the homebrew competition is an important factor in the event, for him the emphasis still lies in the community gathering and the celebration of local food and beers. He points out that there are no categories and the judging is highly subjective since the judges themselves are picked at random from the crowd.

“Lark wanted to offer something and so we had to start judging to give out the prizes,” he concedes, “but the judging part to me is irrelevant, how do you judge a Hefeweizen against an Ale, and an IPA and a Stout?” Plus he adds, “After sampling up to 20 beers in a row how can you compare them all?”

Despite Steel’s apprehension towards the judging procedures he has often done well in the rankings. This year he is particularly proud of his entree, which he has named Kiwi Dark. If Brewfest was to have a mascot beer Kiwi Dark would be it. Forget the hype of a 100 mile beer, the Kiwi Dark is completely sourced within about 10 miles of the festival with the barley grown down the road , then malted on site and the hops grown in the garden. The beer is a crowning achievement for Steel and speaks exactly to the heart of Brewfest being local and self-sustaining.

“I have always had this dream of having a beer that is completely from the island,” he says. Now, after decades of experiments using increasingly local ingredients he has finally achieved that dream completely. The only question remaining is of course the most important one of all: whether the beer will be any good to drink.

As the night wears on the camaraderie and good cheer of the event continues to unfold. Before long the sound of a guitar is wafting through the congregation, soon a harmonica joins in, followed by a washboard and an assortment of percussion instruments ranging from hand drums to forks beating on pint glasses. Eventually there is a full on impromptu jam accompanied by singing and dancing. Platters of succulent food continue to pour in as more people arrive and local veggies, potatoes, carrots and bread are placed on the communal food table.

The raging fire which is the epicenter of the festivities is converted to its duel purpose as the wild flames are manipulated to one side and rubies of glowing hot coals are raked out of the inferno towards the grill. Locally hunted hunks of venison sizzle as they are slapped down over the coals, the bounty of oysters from the previous night are roasted in their shells to perfection, slabs of filleted, succulently marinated sockeye come off the fire steaming and black cod collars, dripping with aromatic oils are served up for anyone who is hungry.

As I wander through the scene I notice that the “official” judges are being selected from the crowd. The judging panel is chosen not for individual brewing prowess, but for the diversity in taste and beer connoisseurship that only a random selection from the audience can bring. This year Kevin Pierce, Head Brewer at Anacortes Brewery, has been given the daunting job of organizing the eclectic group.

“We have a young judging panel this year,” he remarks, “its pretty cool, we have some different faces than normal.”

Pierce has been coming to Brewfest for eight years and has entered homebrew in the festival in the past. “I respect this festival because people put their heart and soul into their homebrew,” says Pierce who has been to a multitude of beer festivals across the Northwest as a professional brew master.

Tonight however Pierce isn’t here to represent his brewery, he is here simply for the pleasure of the experience, “It is always amazing to see these guys get together, it is such a community and such a commitment with people growing their own hops and barley. They really take pride in it,” he says.

Pierce diligently works to herd the six selected judges away from the hubbub of the main festival area into a special tasting shack built above the main party. As the mayhem increases below the judges above start to get down to business, undertaking the great responsibility of drinking with a little more intention.

Eighteen homebrewed beers are officially entered and once the judges are separated from the masses, the beer samples are brought up to the judging area in 18 concisely labeled Mason jars. As the beers are lined out along the table they make an earthy spectrum of color ranging from nearly complete black to a brew of greenish Kombucha color. With everything ready and a platter of specially prepared, piping hot food laid out on the table before them, the judges brandish their cups for their first sample. Pierce pours a shot of beer from Mason jar #1 into each of the six glasses of the judges. With a clink and a cheers the judging begins and the first sample goes down the hatch.

One after another every beer is tasted and given a value of 1 to 5 by each judge, making the total potential score for each beer 30 points. Once all the judges give their assessment the total is marked on a ledger next to the beer’s official number.

The homebrewed beers are impressive. Out of 18 entered about 15 of them are “pretty damn tasty” according to the judges. After a serious sampling marathon the judges are able to narrow down the entrees to 6 beers that received a total of over 20 points each. As the festivities below the judging area continue to get more boisterous the judges begin to get antsy, ready to rejoin the main group and get down to some serious socializing with the main crowd.

As Steel predicted earlier, once everyone has consumed 18 samples, the specifics of the ranking get less important. In the end all six finalist are close in score and a hasty re-taste organizes the top six beers into a semi random hierarchy. Finally the official winner is decided upon and written on a piece of paper.

The party is in full swing when I get back to the main crowd from the judging shack. Everyone is stuffed with unbelievable food and their cups are brimming with beer. Many of the 18 kegs have been finished off, the first ones to go coinciding almost exactly with the top choices from the judges. Although the night is bitter cold everyone is jovial and somehow the frigid night air seems to be warded off by the fire and gathered crowd. The full moon peeks from behind the clouds illuminating everything with a silvery ambiance that dissolves into the glow of the fire. Amongst the clatter and chatter a whistle blows and Lark Dalton, the glass master himself steps above the crowd on a rock outcropping with raised hands. Finally it is time to announce the winners of the competition and I am eager to see how Steel’s 10 mile beer, the Kiwi Dark will fair.

Remarkably the crowd quiets down as Pierce approaches the impromptu podium with the official rankings and hands it off to Dalton. “Number eighteen, lets hear a cheer for number eighteen,” begins Dalton and the crowd erupts into rowdy cheers and applause all for the winner of last place.

Each beer is celebrated regardless of its ranking in the competition as the crowd expresses their thanks to the brewers through applause, jeering and cajoling. Each contestant receives a prize from Dalton who produces beautiful hand-blown vessels one after the other. Each brewer is then pressured into a public speech. Some contestants keep it short and sweet, some are sincere and heartfelt and others dictate drunken and playful stories or jokes to the crowd.

The prizes become more impressive as the rankings go up until finally, for third place beautiful hand blown yards are unveiled. “Coming in at number three, number three,” says Dalton, “Kiwi Dark!” The crowd goes absolutely wild as Joe Steel clambers up towards Dalton to receive his prize. In the blind taste test, the 10 mile beer has made it to the podium.

“I want to thank each and every one of you, without all of us here this would not be what it is,” says Steel as he accepts the hand blown yard as his prize, “this beer is all island, it has been a passion of mine to make a beer that is close to us. We can do it here.” With that, a boisterous applause and three cheers from the crowd drown Steel out.

After the rest of the prizes have been handed out Brewfest gets back to being Brewfest. People continue to eat, drink, make merry and share knowledge of local beer, goods and food late into the night. Long after the full moon has set behind the hills the sun eventually rises to find only a few scattered people left huddled around the fire. The area is amazingly clean with only oyster shells and venison bones left as evidence of the delicious feast and celebration.

Brewfest remains a truly organic festival, a celebration of lifestyle as well as beer and bounty. It is testament to the local knowledge of the islanders as well as their commitment and participation to brewing culture in the Northwest .

“This is a celebration of where we are from” says Steel in the morning, “everything here comes directly from the earth to the vessel, that is what it is all about.”

“Well that and barley, hops and water,” he adds with a sip off his Kiwi Dark.