The Fall Occasional by Vikre Distillery

Issue 2 - Summer to Fall Transition, 2017

TABLE OF CONTENTS
How I Started My Business
Written By Emily Vikre
We Always Use Our Outside Voice
An Interview With Sarah Lawrence
By Emily Vikre
Cocktails By Emily Vikre
Flash of Genius
Written By Dave Pagel
Noise on Noise
Written By Joel Vikre
Camping Cocktails
An Interview With Jake Boyce
By Emily Vikre

“To say that Lake Superior is the greatest of the Great Lakes
is to say much, but it draws no picture of the vastness of this
haughty queen of fresh water who has a copper crown,
the iron hills for a footstool, and the coldest blue eyes in
creation… Facts and figures are poor measures of true
greatness, which goes beyond reason and
must be judged by impressions.”
—W. Ratigan, “Pretty Tall Water Here,”

How I Started
My Business
It is my nature to explain things. I like to know how I came to be where I am,
why I am doing what I am doing, and what it’s all for. I like to live, at least
psychologically, a pretty tidy life. This is why it’s so deeply unsettling not to be
able to explain how my husband and I made one of the most important
decisions we’ll ever make in our lives: to drop promising careers to start a
distillery in my hometown. For all my efforts to understand it,
I’ve come up with only one real explanation:
a lake made us do it.

“The Lake makes
mystics of all
of us, despite
the mundane
lives we lead.”

I grew up in Duluth, MN, a town of
about 85,000 people, located twoand-a-half
hours north of the Twin
Cities. Duluth is at the very tip of
Lake Superior, the largest freshwater
lake in the world. While Southern
Minnesota is flat, fertile farmland,
Duluth is the gateway to Northern
Minnesota, a great expanse of boreal
forest, clay-bottomed lakes, and
ancient mountain ranges shot
through with veins of iron ore.
Duluth was built on shipping,
steel-making, and lumber processing.
At the beginning of the 1900s, it was
home to more millionaires per capita
than any other city in the United
States, save Manhattan. Located as
it is at the zenith of the Great Lakes,
Duluth is one of the busiest ports
in the country, shipping iron ore,
coal, grain, and other commodities
through the St. Lawrence Seaway and
into the world.

There’s some debate in Duluth about
why Chicago became the great
metropolis on the Great Lakes, given
Duluth held a significant lead at the
turn of the last century. Its utterly
inhospitable weather may be to blame.
The summer rarely gets higher than the
low seventies, and the winter
temperatures are usually below zero.
Many people who come here leave after
their first winter, but those who stay
do so because they fall in love with the
austere, extreme wildness of the place.
They feel at home here; they resonate
at the same frequency as the energy of
the land and water. They never want to
leave.
Duluth is my place, my home, but after
leaving the town to head to college, I
never really expected to move back.
My interests were outsized for a place
like Duluth. In 2011, my husband Joel
and I were living in Boston. We were
newly married and doing fairly typical
people-in-their-late twenties-or-early
thirties Boston things: I was finishing
up a PhD studying food policy and
nutrition, and Joel worked for a large
global health NGO. If you’d asked us
what we expected to be doing in a year
or five, starting a distillery wouldn’t have
occurred to us as something to put on
a list of possibilities. It wouldn’t have
occurred to us even to not put it on our
list. Yet less than a year later, we left it
all, ditched our careers, moved back to
Duluth, and became distillers.
One frigid January evening that winter,
we were visiting my parents in
Duluth. It was –15˚F from an arctic wind
whipping down from Canada across
the frozen expanse of Lake Superior.
We were in the basement of the Kitchi
Gammi club, a social club built at the
end of the 1800s for the amusement
and presumably business of wealthy
Duluthian ore and lumber magnates.
The building hides rumrunners’ tunnels
down to the lake, as well as invisible
cupboards that members used for
storing their booze during prohibition.
A fire was roaring in the dining room, we
were scanning the walls for seams that
might be a tunnel entrance, and my
parents mentioned that a friend of
theirs, a chemistry professor with a
passion for Scotch, had recently let
them sample from his whiskey
collection. Because my mom is a
Norwegian immigrant, he had taken
care to introduce them to a Swedish
whiskey he’d acquired. He explained
to them the story behind it: A group
of friends from Sweden were visiting
Scotland, fishing and drinking, and they
got sick of hearing the Scots brag about
how they had such good water, and
grain, and peat. “We have excellent
water in Sweden. We grow barley, and
have peat bogs. Let’s make a Swedish
whiskey!” And so they did.
We listened to this story, and I don’t
remember if it was Joel, or me, or one of
my parents who said it: “You know, Lake
Superior actually has the best water in
the world. [Case in point: whereas most
distillers have to use reverse osmosis
to clean their water enough to make it
useable for spirits, Duluth city water,
which comes from Lake Superior, is
so clean, pure, and mineral-free, we
don’t need to use any special cleaning
or treatment.] Minnesota grows barley
and rye and corn. You guys, there are
even peat bogs here. Why isn’t anyone
making Minnesota whiskey?” As soon
as those words had been spoken, the
decision was made. The distillery had
been spoken into existence.

Like the ancient Greek conception of the Muse
who works of its own accord through an artist,
both Joel and I were overcome by a sense that
this idea had chosen us—and that it was our job
to do its bidding. We had no reason to want to
start a distillery—we had no background or prior
interest; we didn’t drink whiskey or other hard
spirits; we didn’t even have a sense of whether it
was actually a good idea. Reason had no role to
play here. The idea had surfaced, and we had to
do it.
When you live in Duluth, everything is oriented
around the Lake. She is the largest body of fresh
water in the world: as large as all the other Great
Lakes combined, plus three extra Lake Eries for
good measure; 10 percent of the world’s fresh
water; enough water to cover all of North and
South America in a foot of water. The average
temperature of the Lake is 40˚F even in
midsummer; the average drop stays in the
Lake for 191 years. The water in the Lake, which
scientists have referred to as “a distilled water
ice bath,” is so clear that on a calm day you can
sometimes see 75 feet through the water.
If you look out at Lake Superior, she is as vast
and incomprehensible as an ocean—yet she has
the life-giving intimacy of fresh water. As a friend
of mine once described it, “the Lake makes
mystics of all of us, despite the mundane lives
we lead.” I’ve always felt that the Lake was there
to give me a sense of constancy, meaning, and
direction. And she had whispered.
As a general rule, I wouldn’t advise making
critical life decisions based on advice from a
Lake. But Joel and I flew back to Boston both
knowing that we were going to start a distillery
in Duluth.
Excerpted from “How I started my Business”
by Emily Vikre. Originally published in Lucky Peach online, 2015

Duluth, MN
Superior, WI

Lake Superior
Bayfield, WI
Local
Botanical
Ingredients
for Boreal
Gin

“We Always
Use Our
Outside
Voices”

The vast, horizon-encompassing presence of Lake Superior gives
rise to more than daring outdoor pursuits and nature inflected spirits.
The Lake also inspires incredible art and music made in Duluth.
And, while the town may be better known for Low the Band and
Trampled By Turtles, it is also home to a remarkable professional
opera company called Lyric Opera of the North (LOON).
I sat down with LOON’s General and Artistic
Director Sarah Lawrence to chat a little about
opera in Duluth, and to get some cocktail
inspiration.
How did you come to be involved
in LOON and move to
Duluth?
We moved to Duluth to sing in an
opera that was being produced by
Colder by the Lake, a local comedy
troupe. My aunt Margi was one
of the librettists and we had been
exchanging emails about funny
opera clichés . . . a lot of that stuff
ended up in the opera, which was
also about the “discovery” of Duluth
(and why it wasn’t really the
discovery of Duluth). We got here
just as my aunt and uncle were
moving out of my (top secret)
dream house. So they let us rent it
for a while.
At the end of moving day, Cal (my
husband) announced, “I am never
leaving this house.” At that moment,
we were looking out over the central
hillside, gazing across at the lift
bridge and to the gorgeous view of
Lake Superior. It was a tender
moment and I thought, “Oh my
gosh, we have found our home.” It’s
true that we had found our home,
and we do absolutely love it here.
But in hindsight, I think Cal was
actually inspired to make this
proclamation because moving into
the house meant going up and
down our 58-step staircase to and
from the moving truck at least 50
times that day. . .

Duluth is a really outdoorsy
kind of extreme-sports focused
town. What are the unique
opportunities and challenges
of being a professional opera
company in a place that’s more
known for mountain biking and
snowmobiling than
classical arts?
Sometimes it gets cold here, and
occasionally during those times,
people seek indoor activities.
Also, one of the most appealing
things about Duluth is the
individualism of its inhabitants.
I’ve had patrons tell me they
shortened a ski trip to get to an
opera they absolutely “couldn’t
miss.” We’ve had choristers come
to opera rehearsal in their hunting
orange. We’ve met very few
people here who are just one thing
or another. Sure, lots of people
come here to play outside. The
landscape also inspires lots of
people to come here to paint or
write or create in any number of
other ways. Other people come
here to study, or to practice
medicine, or open distilleries. The
people who live here are creative
and curious and adventurous. It’s a
perfect place for an opera company.
Also, there has always been opera in
Duluth, and in fact we are only one
generation away from opera being
produced in this city every year
for decades.
Also, opera is an extreme sport.
You’ve said before about LOON,
“We always use our outdoor
voices,” which I love. What
exactly does that statement
mean to you, though?
We DO use our outside voices!
Opera is a sort of distillation of the
human experience, sung out loud by
voices trained to be heard in giant
rooms, over an orchestra, usually
without amplification. Even when
we’re singing softly, we have to
accomplish that in a way that is
audible to everyone in the room.
It is, essentially, trained yelling.
Opera is remarkable in the way it
can knock us sideways with bravura
and volume, or it can slay us with
tenderness. Opera takes any – all
- of the most intensely personal
experiences of a human life: new
love, hope, joy, heartbreak, anger,
envy, grief, loss – and sings those
things out loud.
I asked Sarah which arias, or other bits of opera music, would make
the best inspiration for cocktails. She gave me a few of her favorites,
and I ran with it.

Hab Mir’s Gelobt
Der Rosenkavelier by Strauss
Possibly the most beautiful trio ever written. In Sarah’s words: complicated,
gorgeous, and DELICIOUS. The trio is sung by the three central characters
of the opera Der Rosenkavelier, her royal highness the Marschallin, the lovely
Sophie, and Octavian – a young man, but the part is always played by a
woman. Octavian is in love with Sophie and has been working to save her
from a ghastly marriage to a womanizing old man, who is royal but a boar.
Octavian’s plan succeeds largely because the Marschallin arrives on the scene
and sets everything right. This trio follows. The Marschallin and Octavian
have been lovers, and she sings of having always known he would fall in love
with a younger woman but regrets it has happened so soon. Meanwhile
Octavian expresses his confusion between his feelings for the Marschallin and
his love of Sophie. And Sophie is generally bewildered by the whole situation.
The piece develops to a sparkling rainbow of climax, the characters’ voices
unite as they become of one mind, and the Marschallin releases Octavian and
blesses his union with Sophie. Inspired by the power of three women’s voices
intertwining, this cocktail’s three main ingredients are each from a company
that was founded by a woman: champagne from Veuve Cliquot, apricot
liqueur from Marie Brizard, and gin from Vikre. A small dash of rosewater is a
nod to the silver rose that brings Octavian and Sophie to their first meeting.
(Note: You can definitely use a different brand of champagne and/or apricot
liqueur to make this cocktail, it’s just less symbolic.)
1 oz. Vikre Spruce Gin
1 oz. Marie Brizard apricot liqueur, or other good quality apricot liqueur
(Rothman & Winter is excellent)
2-3 drops rosewater
3 oz. Veuve Cliquot, or other brut (dry) champagne
Stir the gin, liqueur, and rosewater with ice to chill. Strain into a flute glass
or cocktail glass and top with champagne.
(pictured on page 1)

Vissi D’Arte
Tosca, by Puccini
Opera is full of heart-wrenching arias, but Vissi D’Arte ranks among the very
best of them. This reflection on a life of art and religious devotion brings the
whole opera to a standstill as the diva Tosca, who has been told she must give
herself to the evil Baron Scorpia or else her love, the revolutionary
Cavaradossi, will be executed, laments the impossibility of her situation.
“I have lived for art; I have lived for love…Why, why Lord. Why do you reward
me thus?” It is rich, nuanced, and bitterly gorgeous. The Bijou, a stiff, complex
cocktail named after jewels strikes me as the appropriate cocktail for Tosca.
This version uses Benedictine in place of Chartreuse and adds a cacao nib
infusion for an extra bittersweet throatiness.
1 ½ oz. Vikre Cedar Gin
1 oz. Cocoa nib infused sweet vermouth*
½ oz. Benedictine
1 dash orange bitters
Stir all the ingredients with ice until well chilled (around 30 seconds).
Strain into a cocktail glass.
*To make: combine 500 ml sweet vermouth and ¼ cup cacao nibs in a
covered container. Allow to infuse overnight then strain and store,
in a sealed container, in the refrigerator.

Sull’aria (The Letter Duet)
Marriage of Figaro, by Mozart
Countess Rosina’s husband, Count Almaviva has become infatuated with
the lovely young Susanna, a servant in their household. (Meanwhile Susanna
is engaged to be married to Figaro.) In this duet the Countess and Susanna
come up with a plot to catch the Count in his attempted infidelity. But really,
I think we should ignore the precise subject of the duet and focus on its
ethereal quality. This is the piece of opera music in the movie The Shawshank
Redemption, about which Morgan Freeman’s character says, “to this day I
don’t know what those two Italian ladies were singing about…I like to think
they were singing about something so beautiful it can’t be expressed in words
and makes your heart ache because of it…And for the briefest of moments,
every last man at Shawshank felt free.” As incandescent and light as a summer
breeze tickling you through an open window, this duet deserves a cocktail with
those same qualities.
3 cucumber slices
6 mint leaves
2 oz. Vikre Juniper Gin
¾ oz. lime juice
¾ oz. St. Germaine
½ oz. simple syrup
Gently muddle the cucumber and mint in a shaker. Add the other ingredients
and shake extremely well. Strain into a lowball over ice. Garnish with more
mint and cucumber.

Largo al Factotem
The Barber of Seville, by Rossini
You would likely recognize this aria because it is the one featuring “Figaro,”
sung over and over again. And there have been plenty of spoofs on it, most
famously one from Bugs Bunny. This piece marks the grand entrance of
Figaro, the Barber of Seville himself, onto the stage. In those days a barber was
useful for much more than simple haircutting, and Figaro sings of all his many
talents, from shaving to lancing boils. All the women want him, all the men
want to be him. Everyone wants Figaro (according to him at least)!
I imagine Figaro to be the type of person who would waltz into a bar and order
the most complicated cocktail possible, namely a Ramos Gin Fizz. In this
version, however, the classic has been livened up with a little Seville orange,
in the form of marmalade.
1 oz. egg white
2 oz. Boreal Juniper Gin
3 drops orange blossom water
½ Tbs. marmalade
½ oz. (1 Tbs.) simple syrup
½ oz. (1 Tbs.) fresh lemon juice
½ oz. (1 Tbs.) fresh lime juice
½ oz. (1 Tbs.) heavy cream
1 oz. soda water
In a cocktail shaker, whisk the egg white a little bit with a fork. Then, add the
remaining ingredients except for the soda water. Shake with no ice for about
25 seconds. Open the shaker up, add a cup of ice cubes, close the shaker and
shake with ice for at least another 30 seconds (legend has it that traditional
Ramos Gin Fizzes were shaken for anywhere from 8-12 minutes!). Double
strain (i.e. strain through the cocktail strainer and through a mesh strainer)
into an 8 oz. glass (with no ice in it). Gently add the soda water down the side
of the glass, and serve.

Sous le DOme Epais (The Flower Duet)
LakmE by LEo Delibes
Another stunning duet for two sopranos, sung by Lakmé, the daughter of a
Brahmin high priest, and her hand maiden. The two young women go to pick
flowers by the river and sing this duet. During a moment alone, Lakmé is
surprised by a British Officer. A tragic (of course) love story ensues. The
flower duet is haunting in its sweetness and heady in its beauty, excellent
qualities to inspire a cocktail. In this cocktail, two strong spirits – cognac and
aquavit – represent the two voices, the mix of vermouths is the supporting
orchestra, and raspberry liqueur imparts a sweet floral quality.
1 oz. Vikre Øvrevann Aquavit
1 oz. Cognac
½ oz. Cocchi di Torino sweet vermouth
½ oz. Dolin dry vermouth
¾ oz. Chambord raspberry liqueur
Stir all the ingredients with ice until well chilled. Strain into a cocktail glass.

Outdoor writer Dave Pagel shares
a story and lesson from
hiking in Scotland after a
whiskey-soaked night.

I saw the naked man
long before we ever
spoke. A myopic rhino could have
picked him out, striding briskly above the
tree line, thin and lanky, like a skeleton
ranging the hills, an impression
compounded by his sallow skin against
the wet grasses and brown heather. I
stopped and stared, nonplussed at such a
confounding apparition, until my glasses
fogged over from the sweaty heat of my
own exertions in the
damp highland air.
More than damp. In
fact, I was immersed
in a rowdy froth of horizontal rain; the
atmosphere was utterly soused—a
condition with which I had some
familiarity. It was a typically bleak Scottish
morning, sullen and streaming, following
a typically bleak Scottish night. There had
been a dismal supper of bitter turnips
and leathery beef brightened only by an
exquisite dram of fine malt. The
heartening glow in my belly prompted
me to attend a whisky-soaked ceilidh in
the basement of the local distillery, where
wizened musicians piped and plucked
their way through a numbingly repetitious
repertoire while the locals two-stepped in
a series of equally monotonous flings and
reels. At last I’d taken refuge in the tasting
room, gripping a tumbler wetted with
precious drops from another nectarous
bottle and with my own tears.
I’d come to Scotland to
revel in its wild peaks,
eroded remnants of an ancient range
leveled into craggy battlements fronting
the North Atlantic. Instead, the region’s
signature foul
weather was grinding me to a nub.
This morning, to forestall the circadian
depression and inevitable return to the
high stool, I had resolved to take
exercise—a hike in the hills, come hell or
high water. It was both those things and
more. I’d anticipated incessant rain, thick
mist, and biting wind. I did not foresee the
nudist. Not until I actually laid eyes upon
the man from nearly a quarter-mile away.
Even at such a distance there was no
mistaking him for a head-on stag or
shaggy highland cow. The man was
as hairless as he was pale. And it was
definitely a man, there was no mistaking
this fact either, even at a distance—even
in the cold. Nor was he completely
unencumbered. He was outfitted with a
small but bulging rucksack, likely filled, I
surmised, with his conspicuously absent
kit. The fellow was also wearing a wool
hat and clutched a sturdy umbrella, very
sensible accessories,
considering the weather.

As the gap between us closed,
I ruminated upon the impetus
for such plucky naturalism.
Maybe he’d lost a wager…or
was engaged in winning one.
The Scots are notorious for unapologetic
displays of virility and a ribald sense of
humor. I only had to consider the sport
of ferret-legging, to which Scotland lays
claim, in which contestants stuff live
weasels down their trousers. Competing
to see how long one can keep a
panicked polecat clawing about inside
one’s pants struck me as similarly bold
and unabashed behavior—
though admittedly a few bends
beyond hiking starkers in the
rain. Perhaps, I easily imagined,
the oppressive weather had
crushed this man, pushing him beyond
the edge of sanity. This opened up a
whole new line of inquiry: Was I, too, on
the brink of such a brazen breakdown?
Was immodesty the zenith of his
madness? Might he also be dangerous?
As it turned out, he was the voice of
rational thinking.

We finally met near a break in the hillside,
on a steep path beside a bubbling burn.
“Hallo…” I huffed, pausing my climb,
rubbing at my clouded lenses while
determinedly avoiding anything below
neck level.
“Guid mornin’ to ye!,” he chirped, and
then, nodding from beneath his
formidable umbrella, exclaimed,
“Damp day for a stroll.”
“Yes…” I stammered, “although you look…
well protected…under there.”
“This?” he smiled, giving his dripping
canopy a jolly spin. “Nae, this is just to cut
the gale. There’s nae escapin’ the rain!”
“Indeed,” I remarked, contemplating my
own state: stewed in perspiration and
drenched from the driving precipitation
leaking freely through the cuffs, waist,
and neck of my rainproof armor. Not to
mention near-hypothermia from the
exertion of dragging all my sodden,
weighty layers up the hill. But even in my
abject misery, I reckoned I must surely
have the upper hand. Moreover, I felt my
fellow traveler had given me an opening
to comment upon the conspicuous
difference between us. “You must be
soaked to the bone!” I tendered.
His reply was nothing less than an
epiphany, a voice possessing the
seasoned authority of a sage rambler as
he proclaimed, “In weather such as this,
ye can be wet inside and oot…or just oot.”
Then, with a wave and a smile, he walked
on, braced behind his parasol, doubtlessly
eager to keep his internal engine revved
against the elements, leaving me,
steaming like a mussel in its shell, yet
shivering wretchedly, to ponder the bare
truth of it.

Noise on Noise on Noise
Noise
The list of things I did not consider
In beginning life as a novice distiller
Is as long as an aardvark’s tongue
As detailed as the mosaic
laid by a devout mosque tiler
forbidden to represent man or God
so geometrizing the divine breath in his lungs
The miracles of light, and of sound
are exponential, not tethered to ground
A few patterns or noises recall neither magic nor our eardrums
But add them to one another, and again
A tiled ceiling emerges into glory
A sound, at first a quiet presence
then a malicious promise
like a mosquito on the roof of your tent
and then, out of nowhere, stratospheric
head-explodingly-loud
An absolute impossibility from a collection of humdrum thrums

This is the problem with noise in a distillery
A problem any factory manager knows
But not every powerpoint jockey, like me
Every motor, every gear, every pump, or condenser
every bend in a pipe
has an acoustic signature
most a bit more elaborate than perhaps necessary
like John Hancock’s
Get enough signatures together for a ratification
The swoopy self-important kind
And you find yourself needing a bigger piece of paper
Or earplugs
Earplugs. We live with you now
The guest we like, just not on indefinite stay
A bit inhibiting
Unspoken thoughts vibrating between us
plus we must wear pants at all times
And decibel meter apps
And a quiet office to go to
to write noisily
Where the second worst sound is the buzz of a fluorescent light
-J. Vikre

The Northwoods of Minnesota is a
borderlands of boreal forests and
interconnected waterways, where
fog and reflections can make it
easy to mistake land, water and sky.
It’s a landscape traversable by canoe in the summer, by foot
in the Spring and Fall, and—for the brave—skis and
snowshoes in Winter. One of the greatest joys of living in
the region is the easy access to the woods and water, the
ease of packing up your tent and camp stove and getting
away from it all. And one of the great joys of camping, of
course, is the innards-warming feeling of having a simple
cocktail at the end of the day.
We asked Jake Boyce, the founder of Daytripper,
a Duluth-based outdoor adventure guiding company, for
his top tips for making cocktails when you’re deep in the
great outdoors. His main point: “everything you bring into
the woods should have at least two uses. That’s why we are
working with limited ingredients.” The good news: “alcohol
is a disinfectant, right?”
So, bring a flask or Nalgene of your favorite spirit and use
one of these simple mixer ideas.

Lemonade or lemon-lime electrolyte drink:
“Crystal Light lemonade is pretty much standard on all our trips, but any water
enhancer/electrolyte mix is good,” says Boyce. Just add some gin or aquavit
to your lemonade once you’ve mixed it up, and there’s a drink right there. If
you have powdered ice tea with you as well, you can combine half lemonade
and half iced tea with some vodka for a spiked Arnold Palmer. Another option
would be to smash some berries you pick along the trail with gin and add lemonade
for a spiked berry lemonade delight. If you use whiskey in place of the
aquavit or gin, you have a trail whiskey sour.
Coffee:
You have coffee with you anyway, so you should certainly try using some for
a cocktail. Add whiskey and brown sugar to a mug of coffee, and voila! Sort
of Irish Coffee! Use aquavit instead of whiskey and you’ll have a Norwegian
Coffee.
Sugar or Maple Syrup:
It’s not a camping trip without supplies for oatmeal and pancake breakfasts,
which means you probably have brown sugar or maple syrup with you. Maybe
both. Mix a little of either with some whiskey and a spoonful of water, and you
have something that’s almost an old fashioned. If you have clementines packed
with you for healthy snacking, so much the better. You can cut a coin-shaped
bit of clementine peel to use as garnish. Now you’re fancy!
And for those cool evenings, Boyce says, “how about a hot toddy with whiskey
or gin?” Smash some berries with sugar. Add a shot of your preferred spirit,
and top it up with some hot water. “Perfect star watching drink.”
Hot cocoa:
Never forget to bring packets of Hot Chocolate mix with you when
camping. The only thing more relaxing than sipping cocoa by your campfire in
the evening while listening for loon calls, is sipping cocoa with an added splash
of aquavit or whiskey while listening for loon calls. Bliss.

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