Sotol is a distilled spirit made from the Dasylirion wheeleri (commonly known as Desert Spoon or, in Spanish, sotol), a plant that grows in the wilds of Northern Mexico and West Texas. It is known as the state drink of Chihuahua. There are few commercial examples available. It is produced in a manner similar to the more common artisanal mezcals of central Mexico.

History

Local Chihuahua Indians first discovered Sotol's magic intoxicating properties over 800 years ago. The Spanish used European distillation techniques to help enhance the purification process. Sotol is now beginning to achieve international recognition like its cousins, Mezcal and Tequila.

Production

The Desert Spoon takes approximately 15 years to mature, and creates only one bottle of Sotol per plant. It typically grows on rocky slopes in the Chihuahuan desert grassland between 3000 and 6500 feet above sea level. Unlike the Agave, which flower only one in their lifetime, Sotols produce a flower stalk each year. Once the plant matures, it is harvested similar to Agave plants when making Mezcal or Tequila. The outer leaves are removed to reveal the center core, which is taken back to the distillery. The core can then be cooked and/or steamed, shredded, fermented, and distilled.

Types

Age classifications:

• Sotol Moonshine is a short story about the drink by terryfunk.
• Hacienda de Chihuahua Sotol Reposado is the name of one brand that's exported commercially.

Solamente elixir de agave

Pugilist Paul an ex-Marine and his Austrian wife, are restoring and renovating the Kingston Hot Springs, now years later, it's known as the Chinati Hot Springs. Half the adventure of ending up at the oasis in the desert is the trip to it. The usual route is going through Presidio, TX on US Highway 67 out of Marfa, TX, one of the oldest highways in the US highway system. Then one continues along the river road The more adventurous way to get there however, is to take the Pinto Canyon Road, Texas FM 2810. I call it the pucker road.

It takes you past the base of Chinati Peak and limestone outcroppings where peyote cactus and sotol agave grow. Each turn of the road is an Ansel Adams print on steroids and amphetamines. The drive involves a blue highway scenic route that degrades into a dusty dirt and washboard nightmare. At 11 miles the road dives down into the bottom of the canyon, then over a native stone arched bridge. If you take the correct fork in the road after coming up and out of Pinto Canyon, you pass by a precarious and old landing strip, an oasis opens up and you go down into the hot springs. Humans of the area, though long since passed on, have been making this journey for thousands of years.

"This will ease your pain a little", Pugilist Paul shrugs with a bit of swagger. With his huge hands, Pugilist takes the 5 gallon jerry can and fills up the two midget shot glasses. "What's this?" I laugh, while looking in amazement at these two midget-sized shot glasses filled with light greenish-gold liquid. "Pugilist, you're a little fuckin' light on the drinks tonight aren't ya?" He only grins and holds up his glass for a toast.

We click glasses and we both knock back the midget shooters. I am half expecting to resist spitting it out. Pugilist looks at me, "Um...you really need to treat this stuff with some respect." he calmly speaks, "Or you'll end up on your ass." Pugilist is always calm. Then I notice how this is as smooth as honey and it just slithers down my gullet like a liquid rattlesnake with no poisonous bite. Noticing also that Pugilist only has half a thimble left. He waits with a sly grin for my reaction which is surely to come forth.

I slowly realize what an odd sight this is. This huge ex-marine sitting across from a scrawny, skinny legged, dog-bit half-wit, drinking god-knows-what, with two midget shot glasses and a jerry can on a red-checkered table cloth. It reminds me of a twisted Norman Rockwell scene. "Wow! What is this? It's great!" shoving my shot glass towards him. He pours me another. "It's sotol moonshine."

Sotol grows weed-like everywhere around here, it makes for all the mysterious scenery. Up to this point, I am thinking scenery is all it is good for. I start relaxing a bit and knock back shot #2. BAM! easin' it down slowly... "yeah right I am," I think to myself.

hecho en Chihuahua, Mexico

"Where'd you get it?" I inquire. We both know this would be my next question. Pugilist goes on to tell me about a Mexican family across the river that makes this to sell on the U.S. side of the frontier. They are poor ranch workers that, like most here, love the vast Chihuahuan Desert and its mysteries. They've never lived anywhere else. Occasionally, they come across the river to immerse in the healing powers of the hot springs. Every time they come across the river for a stay, they always bring a jerry can of sotol, to pay for their stay for the weekend and drink with Pugilist.

It is smooth as silk. "How much is it? Can you get me a can?" Of course I know the answer but it's worth a try anyway. Pugilist gets a serious look on his Scots-Irish face. "No way, too hard to get it." he tells me.

Indeed, I suppose. This type of agave mezcal is only made in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico. Even then it is confined to Northern Chihuahua along the frontera, the border. Like it's cousin tequila, sotol is made from the same family of plants, the agave. Unknown to most people all tequilas are mezcals but not all mezcals are tequila. Sotol is a regional mezcal and not common. Sotol is a rarity for anyone except native chuahuanistas. That is why this night is a special and rare treat. The light golden-green liquid is superb.

Tequila is made from the maguey plant and sotol is from a related but different plant. Like tequila, sotol is made from a mature plant and I assume that the older the better. The reason being that the more mature the plant the greater the abundance of natural sugars in the root. Some say, this is the reason there is rarely a hang over after drinking tequila, at least under normal circumstances.

I have never seen sotol being made [see NOTES below]. But the process must be similar to that of tequila. I know that like the tequila maguey, sotol starts from the large root of the plant. It is then low baked in earthen ovens fueled by mesquite wood for a number of hours. Then it is allowed to cool and the baked root is pulverized and chopped up. This presumably masticated mess is then fermented for almost two weeks after which it is most likely distilled once and canned.

Visions of mezcalito

I hammer down #3, then #4, then #5 and start talking about whatever shit that starts popping into my head. Hell, I don't even know what kind of psycho babble I'm spewing. I do keep wondering why Pugilist appears to be growing a second head. This stuff loosens your tongue with the result being outbursts of brain farts and a lubricated false sense of deep self-knowledge. Maybe it is my state of mind or my frame of reference. The thought passes through my mind that I might be getting the onset of rabies...wacko thinking indeed. I envision the local paper in the morning headlines! "Rabid man brought in for observation while drinking gasoline from a jerry can and striking a match." Or "Naked Man found wandering in desert claiming to be mezcalito and foaming at the mouth"

I finally decide to listen to Pugilist and sip it slow. Winding up as a headline in a small local paper is not something I want work to find out. Elixer de agave is like that. I know this though, I will never go to a party that has sotol in cans, not without wearing a .45 revolver, an extra six rounds and wear it on the hip. One minute people are standing up and laughing and the next minute those same people having over-indulged in sotol are either laying around passed out and slobbering on themselves or they're chasing your wife or girlfriend. Trust me, the party WILL get out of control.

This strangeness continues when I look up and notice two hours have passed. Pugilist and I have talked and laughed and I can't even remember about what. My body feels like rubber and I haven't moved much of anything but my mouth and bending elbow. I don't feel my legs and I don't care either. With sotol you can saw your legs off and bleed to death in a messy blissful state with a smile.

I decide I've had enough, gone too far with this and turning all of it back is impossible. I am going to lose it into the swirling oblivious chaos. I see Pugilist and I declare to him that he now has two heads and I'm crosseyed. "Let me help you to your cabin" I hear him say, in a voice that seems far off and echoing from a distance. I tell him I am fine, just a little tired from the trip and in need of some desert air.

I stand up from the kitchen table fully expecting to take two steps to go out the kitchen door. As I try to take the first step my knee buckles and I fall backward. I almost land flat on my ass but Pugilist catches me, props me back up. "You sure you don't need any help?" he asks as I step out the kitchen door. Sotol (mezcalito) creeps up on you oh so gentle and then hits you in the back of the head with a bat.

el brujo

In the night desert air, things are clear. All one's thoughts vanish to allow for the next moment of realization. A deep breath of it can clear one's mind of all thinking, the mind becomes peaceful and at rest. In this state, there is always a brief moment when the world stops and the universe is frozen in time, in its vastness. It is then that you see the spirit of your soul and then, just as quickly, it flits away to leave forever.

I trail off to my cabin for a peaceful night's sleep. In my dreams, I dance and I fly.

"Mescalito"
Mescalito has opened up my eyes
Mescalito has set my mind at ease
Mescalito has opened up my eyes
Set my mind at ease!
Ah!

-James Taylor

NOTES:
1. DO NOT go to Mexico and try to score some moonshine. You DO NOT know how it is made and you could go blind and worse DIE. See NOTE 10 instead. You can purchase commercial sotol and not cause serious injury to yourself. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Not to mention getting arrested by the judiciales and getting thrown in a Mexican jail, and getting the daily "soda pop" treatment and trying to figure out Napoleonic Law.
2. Highway map of Pinto Canyon Road. Another map, leading from Marfa, TX
3. Mezcal is not the same as mescal. Mescal will be another story
4. The Mexican state that makes more mezcal than any other is Oaxaca. The most notable mezcal from there is Gusano Rojo, Red Worm mezcal.
5. The best web site for tequila on the WWW is this Tequila web site. It includes a small section on the mezcals. Also included is how tequila is made. Highly recommended if you are interested in the tequila mystique
6. Blue highways are U.S highways that are scenic and NOT part of the U.S. Interstate system. On many service stations' maps they were marked in blue
7. The Chihuahuan Desert is THE largest desert in North America.
8. 102 degrees F == 38.9 degrees C
9. Spanish pronounciations: sotol: soe TOLE accent on 2nd syllable, chihuahua: chee WAH wah, solamente: soe lah MAIN tay - only, de: day - of, elixir: ay LEE here, agave: ah GAW bay, hecho: AY choe - made, en: ain - in,
10. Since this was written (some time ago) I have discovered a sotol mezcal here . I have never tried it, maybe someone can and let me know. I am going to see if it can be ordered locally where I live. My guess however is that 100+ proof (50% alcohol) sotol mezcal takes one to another level.

Most modern drunkards are undoubtedly aware of the Rat Pack, the group of entertainers who swore fealty to booze, broads and the pursuit of pleasure.

Few people, sadly, are aware of the so-called Gentlemen's Clubs that were the Pack's precursors. Although these groups were generally little more than secret societies that elevated drinking and debauchery to the level of religious doctrine, at least one such club essentially controlled the fates of nations and dictated the course of history.

Sir Francis Dashwood's Hellfire Club started modestly enough as a group that met in a pub to drink and indulge in every conceivable form of revelry. When their desire for pleasure began to far exceed the day's mores, they decided to acquire some property far from the prying eyes of the public. Sir Francis purchased a disused abbey in High Wycombe, a site that could be easily accessed from London by sailing up the Thames on a barge.

Dashwood spared no expense in turning his new property into a garden of earthly delights. A landscape artist was commissioned to design topiary shrubbery depicting obscene acts, and hedges were sculpted into huge erect penises. A series of loveseats (literally) were scattered willy-nilly about the property so couples who suddenly became aroused while taking a leisurely stroll could be assured of the most immediate gratification possible. The ground beneath the abbey was honeycombed with a series of caves that became the scene of countless orgies and unspeakable rituals. The caves were decked out lavishly with couches of silk and velvet, and the walls were festooned with tapestries and oil paintings of every conceivable sexual proclivity. Signs bearing libertine maxims and witticisms were posted throughout. The participants imbibed cocktails laced with brimstone (sulphur) and had sex with women beneath signs proclaiming, "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law," all this a century before Aliester Crowley.

Prominent members of Parliament began to show up for the notorious late night ceremonies and even that swinging founding father Ben Franklin found time to become a member during his visit to London—all the while promoting the virtues of clean living back home.

Rumors began to circulate in the town of Wycombe about the goings-on in the Hellfire caves and abbey. The cries and moans of drunken revelry and sexual abandon issuing from the caves were interpreted as human sacrifices and it was whispered that animals set afire were seen running from cave entrances. Whether such rumors were true or not, the effect was that superstitious villagers kept their distance, leaving members of the club to pursue their vices in peace.

The Hellfire Club had by now become something of an institution. Its membership not only included leaders of the British aristocracy, but also foreign power-brokers whose combined influence impacted the entire civilized world. The club's roots, however, were in a far more unsavory underworld, taking its inspiration from a series of Gentlemen's Clubs that were headquartered in various London pubs and were responsible for what was essentially a sustained reign of terror. The credo of these groups were "Wine, women, song . . . and violence." They were generally composed of libertine aristocrats who wanted to drink excessively, fuck excessively and create havoc.

And create havoc they did. When drunk they would rove the streets of London, molesting fair damsels and burning down buildings as a lark. On the infrequent occasions these "pranksters" were caught in the commission of such crimes and brought before a magistrate, their punishment would be something like a fine of 3 shillings. They were, after all, the ruling class.

Such clubs had been around since the 1600s. The most notorious at the time were the Hectors, the Nickers, and the Mims. Later, in the early 1700s, it was the Mohawks who kept Londoners in a constant state of terror with their favorite pastime—Tipping The Lion. This was euphonious for smashing someone's nose with a huge piece of iron and gouging their eyes with thumbs. Few Londoners ventured out at night for fear of "being mohawked."

The leaders of these groups bestowed exotic titles upon themselves, such as "Rape Master General of England" or "Patron of Blasphemy." If their names were a frontal attack on public decency, their deeds certainly lived up to the hype. A group called the She-Romps would abduct women from the street and whisk them off to their pub, whereupon they would be made to walk on their hands until such time their dresses fell down, then have their behinds whacked with riding crops.

When the libertines tired of sex and drink, their fancy turned to pranks. Not the type of fellows to commit small pranks upon the scale of, say, exploding cigars or whoopie cushions, their idea of humor was putting old ladies in barrels and rolling them down the side of a hill. For a real laugh they'd capture a hapless homeless person and nail his hands to a shed. It's a safe bet that at no time in history did practical jokes have as violent an edge as those practiced in 16th century England.

Each successive generation saw the coming of new groups and the fading away of old groups, and of course the younger generation wanted to take things just a bit farther. The old timers disparaged the young breed of libertines, saying the kids today were just going soft. They maintained that in their day they drank more, fucked more, and committed more daring crimes. The younger generation, for their part, turned the focus of Gentlemen's Clubs away from raw violence and toward new levels of decadence. The last of the great clubs, such as the Mollies, the Sharps and the Sons of Violence, actually donned women's clothing while embarking on their drunken escapades. They elevated the practical joke to a fine art and wielded insults with an inspired degree of wit and cruelty. The groups also began to incorporate black rites and the committing of blasphemies into their repertoire. Some libertines started claiming to have pacts with Satan, while still others said the devil himself presided over the soirees.

Unfortunately, the group's dalliance with satanism proved to be their undoing, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. A public that had long tolerated every excess and indignity was simply not prepared to suffer the existence of groups so stridently anti-Christian. An outcry forced the government to crack down on Gentlemen's Clubs, and members of Parliament and the House of Lords who belonged were publically exposed and expelled from office.

The clubs, of course, didn't disappear; they simply went underground (in the case of the Hellfire, they went literally underground, into the caves beneath the abbey) and ceased activities that would bring any unwanted attention from authorities. They continued to flourish as secret societies and no well-known rakes' clubs existed publically again until the advent of the Rat Pack.

Though the Rat Pack was a Vegas lounge version of a Gentlemen's Club, it did possess most of the classic characteristics. In order to attain status as a Rat, one had to be a hard drinker, a cad to women (lots of women), and a master prankster. And if at first glance the Rat Pack seems to lack the darker aspects of its predecessors, think again. Sinatra was one mean SOB, as a surly drunk stepping out of a Vegas elevator soon discovered—after calling Sinatra a scrawny little wop, Frank took him out with a single punch in the gut, then proceeded to his hotel room. If someone really pissed him off, a single phone call could arrange for persons unknown to break the offending individual's legs.

Frank's fellow Rat Packer Sammy Davis Jr. was a member of the Church of Satan, and was known to wear the Baphomet on stage (hail Satan, baby.) Sammy hosted wild orgies at his Hollywood Hills home, attempting to lure Hollywood's most illustrious names into the Church. Many joined, though most kept their membership a carefully guarded secret. Not Sammy. He remained very vocal in his advocacy of satanism until some years later, when he converted to Judaism.

If there is a lesson to be learned from these fragments of history, it would seem to be that western man has really forgotten how to party. Dean Martin was a drunk's drunk. Francis Dashwood was a libertine's libertine. Who today can hold a candle to either of them?

As we advance into the new millennium, every true rake should turn the clock back several hundred years and draw inspiration from those golden days of yore. Never do anything halfway. Moderation is half-baked and half-assed. This new century will offer us more of everything, we need but be willing to reach out and grab it with both hands. More drinks. More debauchery. More. More. More.

Ponder that as you leave your house to go to the bar. Remember the likes of Dashwood, the Sons of Violence, and the Mohawks, and tell yourself: tonight we're going to party like it's 1699.

Postscript: The Hellfire caves and abbey are now maintained as a historical landmark, and can be visited at High Wycombe, about an hour's drive from London. Scandal and blasphemy had little ill effect on Francis Dashwood's standing as a well-respected gentleman and to this day his portrait hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London. A wooden throne which once graced the Hellfire abbey was purchased by Sammy Davis Jr.'s pal Anton LaVey, and now occupies a place of honor in his ritual chamber (wedged between Rasputin's sled, Jane Mansfield's grand piano and a coffin once used by murderess Susan Atkins in the Topless Witch's Review). Along with these other relics, it constitutes a link between history's great swingers, past and present.
—Boyd Rice

Richard Hall:
March 14, 1966: Dexter, MI, 3:50 A.M. Flurry of sightings for two and a half hours. Sheriffs reported disc-shaped objects moving at fantastic speeds and making sharp turns, diving and climbing, hovering. Four UFOs in straight-line formation observed at one point. Seifridge AFB confirmed tracking UFOs over Lake Erie at 4:56 A.M. Following is the log of "Complaint No.00967" signed by Cpl. Broderick and Deputy Patterson of the Washtenaw County Sheriff's Department:

3:50 A.M. Received calls from Deputies Bushroe and Foster, car 19, stating that they saw some suspicious objects in the sky, disc, star-like colors, red and green, moving very fast, making sharp turns, having left to right movements, going in a Northwest direction.

4:04 A.M. Livingston County [sheriff's department] called and stated that they also saw the objects, and were sending car to the location.

4:05 A.M. Ypsilanti Police Dept. also called stated that the object was seen at the location of US-12 and I-94 [intersection of a U.S. and an interstate highway].

4:10. A.M. Monroe County [sheriff's department] called and stated that they also saw the objects.

4:20 A.M. Car 19 stated that they just saw four more in the same location moving at a high rate of speed.

4:30 A.M. Colonel Miller [county civil defense director] was called; he stated just to keep an eye on the objects that he did not know what to do, and also check with Willow Run Airport.

4:54 A.M. Car 19 called and stated that two more were spotted coming from the Southeast, over Monroe County. Also that they were side by side.

4:56 A.M. Monroe County [sheriff's department] stated that they just spotted the object, and also that they are having calls from citizens. Called Selfridgc Air Base and they stated that they also had some objects [presumably on radar] over Lake Erie and were unable to get any ID from the objects. The Air Base called Detroit Operations and were to call this Dept. back as to the disposition.

5:30 A.M. Dep. Patterson and I [Cpl. Broderick] looked out of the office and saw a bright light that appeared to be over the Ypsilanti area. It looked like a star but was moving from North to East.

6:15 A.M. As of this time we have had no confirmation from the Air Base.

Appended to the report is a statement from Washtenaw County deputies B. Bushroe and J. Foster: "This is the strangest thing that [we] have ever witnessed. We would have not believed this story if we hadn't seen it with our own eyes. These objects could move at fantastic speeds, and make very sharp turns, dive and climb, and hover with great maneuverability. We have no idea what these objects were, or where they could have come from. At 4:20 A.M. there were four of these objects flying in a line formation, in a north westerly direction, at 5:30 these objects went out of view, and were not seen again."

Deputy Bushroe told the press: "It would swing back and forth like a pendulum, then shoot upward at tremendous speed, hover and then come down just as fast." Dexter police and Livingston County sheriffs, contacted by Bushroe and Foster, "reported that they saw the same objects engaging in the same maneuvers.

March 17, 1966: Milan, MI, 4:25 A.M. Sgt. Niel Schneider and Deputy David Fitzpatrick saw top-shaped objects making sharp maneuvers. They alternately hovered, rose and fell quickly, darted around at jet like speed, their light dimming and brightening periodically. In a report to NICAP the officers stated that two objects were operating together, circling and flying in formation, while a third object hovered at a lower altitude.

March 20, 1966: Dexter, MI. About 8:30 PM. Frank Mannor and family and dozens of other witnesses, reported that a domed oval object with "quilted" or "waffled" surface and lights in the center and on each end had landed in a swampy field. Deputies David Fitzpatrick and Stanley McFadden parked car #34 adjacent to the area and began a search with Frank Mannor.

"While in the woods area," their report states, "a brilliant light was observed from the far edge of the woods, and upon [our] approaching, the light dimmed in brilliance. . . . The brilliant light [then] again appeared, and then disappeared. A continued search of the area was conducted, through swamp and high grass, with negative results. Upon returning to the patrol vehicle, the undersigned officers were informed that one of the objects had been hovering directly over the area where our flashlight beams had been seen, and then [it] departed in a west direction of flight, at high rate of speed."

As he and other officers were rushing to the scene, Officer Robert Hartwcll of the Dexter Police Department saw a luminous object buzz his car. Robert Taylor, Dexter police chief, said he watched an object in the field from Frank Mannor's home on a knoll overlooking the area. It appeared as a pulsating red, glowing object. Through binoculars he saw "a light on each end of the thing."

There were additional sightings on March 21 at Hillsdale College, with Civil Defense Director William Van Horn as one of dozens of witnesses, and March 24 in Ypsilanti, MI.