The Bone Haus signature beer! The Miner's Debt Black ipa gets its deep color from dark European grains and exhibits both front and center bitterness, but also delights with hints of mocha and a smooth finish. While no beer can be all things to all palettes, we carefully crafted this “black sheep” to bring smiles to the faces of both ipa lovers and self-proclaimed ipa haters.
Alc. 5.0% // IBUs 55 // Cal. 168
Excerpt from The Bone Haus Chronicles
Journal entry by Hans Von Biermann
On occasion when the sun is low in the sky, in a small desert opening at the eastern base of a tall rock formation near a trail I frequent in the Superstitions, I could sometimes catch the glimpse of sparkling gold shimmering in the low light on the desert floor. This intrigued me.
As the sun set, I lit a torch and made my way to the field scrambling over boulders, avoiding cactus, and ducking under the occasional mesquite tree. Upon approaching the perimeter of the field, I was met with a swift and unexpected swoosh above my head. I raised my torch towards the night sky only to find nothing. As I took one step closer to where I thought I saw the shimmering gold in the dusk light, another swoosh closer to my head came from the right side, then another from the left a few seconds after. I stood still waving the torch around in hopes of identifying what was rushing around my head to no avail.
I took another step into the field and was met with even more aggressive swooshes about my head. I had very clearly felt the air move every time the swooshes came by my head. I heard flapping noises from what I deduced as large, feathered wings. I lit a second torch and held each out to my side at arms length such that the flames were level with my head. With a wider cast of light, I edged in further. The flames flickered with each swoosh as they came more feverishly and more aggressively until a piercing cacophony of caws and shrieks blasted toward me stopping my progress with a chilling startle.
In the dim light of my torches, as the creatures were swirling about my head shrieking in increasing volume, I could barely make out a primitive headstone in the middle of the field with what appeared to be a full skeleton slumped in front of it, his back arest the tombstone as if he were longing for air, needing a rest or some form of resuscitation. The skeleton, of course, could not possibly heave nor long for air. That was absurd but I swear it to be so. Maybe in the dim light, the flickering flames made it seem as if the skeleton was urging life to re-enter its form but what I do know is how this now haunted me.
I then felt the swarm of cawing birds shriek even louder as they came even closer to my head and his chest. Seconds later, I felt the piercing pain of talons dig into my back through my leather coat and a small pouch, my coin purse, thoughtfully secured to my belt was quickly torn off. I turned with adrenaline pumping, ready to fight, ready to recover what was mine, but there was nothing there. My coin purse was dislodged and beyond my sight. I looked skyward and saw a rather large raven, black as the night sky, visible only by the sheen of his feathers in the low torch light, soar over me and land onto the tombstone. The black raven placed my coin purse onto the top of the headstone and loosened it with his beak almost effortlessly. He then raised the pouch and my few gold coins spilled out onto the outstretched hand of the hunched skeleton below.
As soon as the coin hit the bony hand, the skeleton began to move, to really come to life. It somehow awoke. The skeleton, dressed in miner’s garb, seemed to stretch, to become animated. It reached down to pick up other coins casted from the raven with its bare skeletal hand. The tombstone began to glow a curious golden hue as the miner skeleton grabbed the coins into his shallow fist. The skeleton became energized and aglow in the night sky, shimmering a golden light outlining his very silhouette. It was at this time, the skeleton appeared to become very cognizant of its surroundings. It looked directly at me with empty, soulless sockets yet withholding some form of expressed anger or disturbance. The skeleton motioned to the ravens that flew about and then pointed directly at me with a dead, cold, outstretched index finger, like it was attempting to pierce my very heart.
I decided to retreat in haste from the area and would have to return better prepared another time. All that I concerned myself with at that moment was escaping the potential wrath and attack of these deep, dark ravens that seemed to do the miner’s bidding, even through and across the line of death.
Beware the thieving ravens that do the bidding of a deserted skeletal shell of a most curious miner. For they are cunning and will fulfill their master miner's debt.