There are many reasons why I live in and love Orange County:
The weather is almost always perfect, there’s a Starbucks on every corner and almost any store you could name that exists west of the Rockies is within a 5 mile radius of my office.
Any those same reasons are why I need to get out of the County every few weeks:
You’ll hear people whine on local radio during one of our 3 rain storms every year, “I moved to Southern California so I wouldn’t have to deal with the rain!” Realty-TV attitude dripping from their mouth; there’s no unfamiliarity in this bloody place and all of those stores mentioned above have created a materialistic culture matched by no county that I’ve ever been to.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the weather, I love my
coffee and the stores come in handy – but sometimes, all I really need is friends, family and some “anlerale”.
The idea for the trip had been berthed months earlier as my little sister Ali and her husband Mike decided they were road-tripping to Colorado over spring break to see my other sister Annie and her husband Pete. Pete and Annie live the life that most adventurers dream of: As the directors of the adventure sports ministry at camp Ad-Ra-Ha-Je in Bailey, Colorado, they live in a cabin at 9,000 feet in the Rockies and spend their time ministering to youth and taking them on all sorts of adventure sports adventures in the Rockies. My friend Katie was on spring break as well and the two of us flew out from California and rounded out the group of six.
Our itinerary was simple: pack as many outdoor sports as possible into
our 4 day stay in the Rockies and experience some of the much-heralded “anlerale”
We piled into two cars and headed out for a day of climbing at “Bucksnort”. We crossed the freeway and taking the “back way”, we found ourselves on a dirt road following a meandering creek which cut its way through a canyon. Time hadn’t moved in this canyon in 50 years. Old log homes were perched on the hills, some occupied and some looking as though they might tumble down the slope and at a passer-by’s sneeze. Homemade bridges that looked like they wouldn’t support a squirrel running across doubled as driveways over the creek to the creek-side homes. As we rounded one corner, Pete pointed out “Ther
e’s the Bucksnort”.
Now, the rock and the saloon are both named the same – I’m not sure which came first. As we drove past the rickety old shack with neon signs in the window, I couldn’t help but salivate in anticipation of whatever the “anlerale” might bring me. We made our way to the rock for a day of 5.7 & 5.8 crack. Crystal-clear skies and 60 degrees made for some fantastic climbing, arm-wrestling and pipe-smoking. Even Ali got on some rock.
After a day of climbing, we drove a couple of miles back up the dirt road, pulled up to the saloon and made our way inside. The old wooden door creaked as we stepped inside. We were greeted by a moose wearing lipstick and a pool table that sat idle waiting for our post dinner game of cut-throat.
We walked in the dining area and were sat by the old German woman that I had heard so much about. We made her repeat every sentence she uttered at least twice. She combined almost every word she said. Sometimes we di
dn’t know if she was speaking in German with an English accent or the other way around. Trying to decipher what she said reminded me of the time I saw a Japanese guy who spoke no English try to special order something from a Polish speaking vendor in O’Hare airport in Chicago. To this day I (nor the Polish guy) knew what he wanted. At any rate, no one really knows how our German friend got to America or what she is doing at the Bucksnort.
“Wha’llyouguyshave?” she asked.
“What kind of beers do you have?” I asked.
“BudMillerLightH
eineken[blah, blah, blah, blah…] Anlerale…”
I interrupted – “You have Anlerale?”
“Suredo” the old German said.
“We’ll have a pitcher of that” I said.
No one really knows of the origins or composition of Anlerale. Our best guess is that what our German friend is trying to say is “Antler Ale”. She informed us that the brew was locally brewed in Golden, Colorado. However, having a pitcher we were unable to confirm this by an address on the bottle. A Google search will reveal a plethora of different breweries with an Antler Ale. Which one our German friend served us will forever remain a mystery. Slightly hoppy and tasting similar to an amber – it was like Sam Adams meets Alaskan Amber: a full-flavored beer that fully satisfied our cravings after a day of hard climbing. We ordered burgers and stuffed our faces until completely sated and waddled our way
into the pool room. We took photos, played pool, rubbed our bellies, discussed why the moose was wearing lipstick and thoroughly enjoyed our adventure at the Bucksnort
The Bucksnort Saloon is not a place you’ll find in Orange County. It’s not a place you’ll find on the side on any well marked road. To find places as authentic as this you have wander, or know people who have wandered.
So cheers to wandering and cheers to leaving Orange County and cheers to Anlerale.
The weather is almost always perfect, there’s a Starbucks on every corner and almost any store you could name that exists west of the Rockies is within a 5 mile radius of my office.
Any those same reasons are why I need to get out of the County every few weeks:
You’ll hear people whine on local radio during one of our 3 rain storms every year, “I moved to Southern California so I wouldn’t have to deal with the rain!” Realty-TV attitude dripping from their mouth; there’s no unfamiliarity in this bloody place and all of those stores mentioned above have created a materialistic culture matched by no county that I’ve ever been to.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the weather, I love my
coffee and the stores come in handy – but sometimes, all I really need is friends, family and some “anlerale”.The idea for the trip had been berthed months earlier as my little sister Ali and her husband Mike decided they were road-tripping to Colorado over spring break to see my other sister Annie and her husband Pete. Pete and Annie live the life that most adventurers dream of: As the directors of the adventure sports ministry at camp Ad-Ra-Ha-Je in Bailey, Colorado, they live in a cabin at 9,000 feet in the Rockies and spend their time ministering to youth and taking them on all sorts of adventure sports adventures in the Rockies. My friend Katie was on spring break as well and the two of us flew out from California and rounded out the group of six.
Our itinerary was simple: pack as many outdoor sports as possible into
our 4 day stay in the Rockies and experience some of the much-heralded “anlerale”We piled into two cars and headed out for a day of climbing at “Bucksnort”. We crossed the freeway and taking the “back way”, we found ourselves on a dirt road following a meandering creek which cut its way through a canyon. Time hadn’t moved in this canyon in 50 years. Old log homes were perched on the hills, some occupied and some looking as though they might tumble down the slope and at a passer-by’s sneeze. Homemade bridges that looked like they wouldn’t support a squirrel running across doubled as driveways over the creek to the creek-side homes. As we rounded one corner, Pete pointed out “Ther
e’s the Bucksnort”.Now, the rock and the saloon are both named the same – I’m not sure which came first. As we drove past the rickety old shack with neon signs in the window, I couldn’t help but salivate in anticipation of whatever the “anlerale” might bring me. We made our way to the rock for a day of 5.7 & 5.8 crack. Crystal-clear skies and 60 degrees made for some fantastic climbing, arm-wrestling and pipe-smoking. Even Ali got on some rock.
After a day of climbing, we drove a couple of miles back up the dirt road, pulled up to the saloon and made our way inside. The old wooden door creaked as we stepped inside. We were greeted by a moose wearing lipstick and a pool table that sat idle waiting for our post dinner game of cut-throat.
We walked in the dining area and were sat by the old German woman that I had heard so much about. We made her repeat every sentence she uttered at least twice. She combined almost every word she said. Sometimes we di
dn’t know if she was speaking in German with an English accent or the other way around. Trying to decipher what she said reminded me of the time I saw a Japanese guy who spoke no English try to special order something from a Polish speaking vendor in O’Hare airport in Chicago. To this day I (nor the Polish guy) knew what he wanted. At any rate, no one really knows how our German friend got to America or what she is doing at the Bucksnort.“Wha’llyouguyshave?” she asked.
“What kind of beers do you have?” I asked.
“BudMillerLightH
eineken[blah, blah, blah, blah…] Anlerale…”I interrupted – “You have Anlerale?”
“Suredo” the old German said.
“We’ll have a pitcher of that” I said.
No one really knows of the origins or composition of Anlerale. Our best guess is that what our German friend is trying to say is “Antler Ale”. She informed us that the brew was locally brewed in Golden, Colorado. However, having a pitcher we were unable to confirm this by an address on the bottle. A Google search will reveal a plethora of different breweries with an Antler Ale. Which one our German friend served us will forever remain a mystery. Slightly hoppy and tasting similar to an amber – it was like Sam Adams meets Alaskan Amber: a full-flavored beer that fully satisfied our cravings after a day of hard climbing. We ordered burgers and stuffed our faces until completely sated and waddled our way
into the pool room. We took photos, played pool, rubbed our bellies, discussed why the moose was wearing lipstick and thoroughly enjoyed our adventure at the BucksnortThe Bucksnort Saloon is not a place you’ll find in Orange County. It’s not a place you’ll find on the side on any well marked road. To find places as authentic as this you have wander, or know people who have wandered.
So cheers to wandering and cheers to leaving Orange County and cheers to Anlerale.
