How to Make Birch Sap Beer

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My husband has made his own beer for several years, and this spring, we decided to make our first batch of birch sap beer, inspired by a couple whose B&B we visited near Talkeetna.  It was very tasty. Below is our experience of collecting, making, and tasting the result. 

(At the bottom of this blog entry, I list several useful resources for readers who may be interested in exploring their own beer making). 

Bryan bought four taps at Alaska Mill and Feed (www.alaskamillandfeed.com), which look like slim, metal spouts, each one about ½ inch in diameter and 3 inches long. Our mentors indicated that the sap starts running around April 20, but the winter of 2012-13 lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r, including three snow storms in May, so it wasn't until about May 15 that Bryan tapped four birch trees. To do so, he used a ½ inch drill bit to cut an upward angled hole through the bark to the sap layer and inserted the tightly fitting tap. Under this spout, we hung a cleaned vinegar bottle, because the mouth is narrow enough to limit entry of debris and also because we could string a bungy cord through the handle and around the tree to hold it in place.

Each afternoon, we tramped through the increasingly soft and slushy snow surrounding the trees to collect that day's accumulation.  We strained the results through paper coffee filters before pouring the sap into wide mouthed jars that we froze. This was a fun endeavor, especially at that “hold-your-breath” time of year waiting for the winter to finally end and spring to burst forth, as it does here. The running of the sap represented the first discernible sign of spring!  Since we enjoyed this process (and the result) and live in a spruce and birch forest, we plan to involve more trees next year (so we are saving additional vinegar bottles and malt jars!) 

I was surprised how variable the output was. One tree was the champion producer, two others dribbled out negligible results, and a fourth was in between. When the big producer slowed just before the trees started to green up, about ten days later, we removed the taps and caulked the holes. Altogether, we collected about 2.5 gallons.  Over the course of the summer, we will check those holes to make sure that the trees are not "weeping" there.

Alaska Bush life : Winter Spit Baths; No Shower

On May 30, I took my first shower in 3 ½ months. (That's how long it had been since a trip to Anchorage, waiting for the ice to thaw enough along the lake shore to insert a lake pump).

Do you know how difficult it is to wash long hair standing up in front of the kitchen sink, pouring small pots of snow melt water warmed on the wood stove over one's hair? My hair never felt clean; just dirty or soapy, so I never looked in a mirror all winter to check out the results. (I probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein). Furthermore, can you imagine how LOW the motivation is to undertake this l-o-n-g and c-o-l-d process in a dark and cold cabin?  From our effortful experience, I totally understand why old timers bathed only on Saturday nights and I absolutely pity those poor mining camp hookers.

I figure that my husband can have a wife who has clean hair, shaves her legs, and wears high heels, OR he can have an unkempt wife willing to live in the boonies with no running water all winter, but he can't have both at the same time. So neither of us shaved for 3 ½ months. My joke was that the leg hair was so long I could have told wind direction IF I had pulled my pants legs up, but who would do that in an Alaskan winter when I routinely wore two layers of socks INSIDE the cabin. When I finally did shave in that blessed shower, the drain pan looked like some poor poodle had drowned and was circling the drain. Did I care? Oh no! I lingered under that fantastic invention called a shower head, appreciating that other noble device called an on-demand heater, just daring our 55 gallon drum of shower water to dribble to an end before I was finished.

In such a setting, it feels downright decadent to take a shower every single day. Dirty? Shower. Hot? Shower. Bored? Long shower. Because the mosquitoes are at their hungriest and most aggressive in June, we keep a smoky fire burning in the front fire pit, stunning the pesky creatures into welcome lethargy. As a result, we smell like firemen and scratch like a pair of primates. Guess what. Shower. I'll drain the entire lake. It is better than penicillin for fixing what ails me... until the lake freezes again in October.