caribou crossing single barrel

Caribou crossing single barrel


What’s eating Deborah Cliff?


Simon Belmont was losing friends. Simon was a pretty simple fellow, he was one sided, with a one track mind. When he got together with friends, he was all ‘kill Dracula this’ or ‘destroy the prince of darkness that’. His narrow-mindedness soon wore thin on his friends and companions. They would try to intervene with simon by saying ‘dude, don’t you remember that time you already killed Dracula? I mean, you got really fucked up man. You got bit by bats, pumas, werewolves, giant bats, mermen, slugs, spiders, leeches, beetles, vampire bats and bees. Don’t you remember that shit? You died, like 40,000 times. You kept getting resuscitated with 25 cent pieces.’

‘hmmm,’ simon recounted, ‘funny, I don’t recall that.’

‘what?!’ simons best friend, grant, was getting upset. ‘what do you mean, don’t recall? You kept listening to that shitty 8-bit soundtrack looping over and over again. You killed like, a few million creatures with a fucking whip.’

‘nope. Can’t remember.’

‘ok, you know what? Im done. If you go hunting Dracula again, I’m out.’

‘you know?’ simon said. ‘I’ve got some time off work coming up, I’m going to go find different parts of Dracula and piece him back together again. If I bring him back to life, maybe we can go catch a whalers game or something…’

‘oh no you’re not!’ grant retorted. ‘you’re gonna go out and fuck him up again! You know what simon? I’m out dude. I can’t keep watching you die several thousand times, it’s like, you just continue to get killed and you don’t care. I can’t keep hanging out with you bro. I want my silverchair cds back.’


‘Especially frogstomp. And freak show.’ With that, simons friend turned his back and walked out.


A couple weeks later and simon found himself (down five albums) and (no. you know what? silverchair had 5 albums. 5. 5! What the actual fuck? How the hell did they put out anything past freak show? Silverchair was Australias worst export! Ahem, sorry, so anyway, a couple weeks later and simon found himself) in the town of jova, with a nice, shiny new whip. After talking to a couple villagers in the town, he decided to follow some advice and go pick up a white crystal.

’50 hearts?!’ simon yelled at the merchant. ‘the price for this shitty crystal is 50 hearts? I’m going to have to go out and kill 50… things and go rip out their hearts and return 50 hearts to you? Where am I going to store 50 hearts? I’ll get blood all over my clothes. I’m trying to go meet a friend of mine and you’re really holding me up. Don’t you guys deal with money around here? I mean, the guy on the ferry wanted me to pay him in garlic, what kind of currency do you use around here?!’ the pleading never worked. The merchant would receive his 50 hearts in full for the white crystal.

Simon traveled through forest and marsh before he encountered a large mansion. The sign out front read ‘berkley’. Simon walked in and bullwhipped everything he saw. Candles, sets of armor, gargoyles, whatever, he just destroyed everything he could. He even poured holy water all over the ground, making sure to start some mildew stains on the carpets. When he got to the other side of the mansion, simon threw a giant stake through a crystal orb, just for fun, then he stole a single dismembered rib from a pedestal and made his way back out.

‘curious,’ simon though to himself. ‘I thought there would be some tough monster or a sort of boss of the house… but I don’t see anybody…’

Things would go like this for a while, weeks, months. Simon walked, whipped, died from lycanthopy, incineration, bloodletting or drowning and he would just resurrect himself as if nothing happened. Simon found himself burgling plenty of mansions. He found a rib, a ring, a heart, eyeball and even a crusty old fingernail.

‘oh man!’ simon thought out loud to himself. ‘draculas going to love it when he sees I grabbed all these body parts to put him back together. I wonder what it would look like if he were completely constructed by a heart, eyeball, a single rib and one fingernail(ill save you the detail, it doesn’t look nice).’


Simon the home invader found himself in the town of alba. After a long journey he was almost ready to make his way to draculas castle to reconstruct him, take him to a Hartford whalers game and then whip him to death in the parking lot after he spent all of draculas money and pawned draculas ring.

Simon approached a local villager and stopped for directions.

‘hit Deborah Cliff with your head to make a hole.’ The villager told simon. Puzzled, simon shook his head and asked for directions again. ‘hit Deborah Cliff with your head to make a hole.’ The man repeated and just, sauntered away.

Simon was confused. Who is Deborah Cliff, where could she be found? Did simon have to headbutt the fuck out of Deborah Cliff to make a hole in her face and reach into her brain for directions? Was Deborah Cliff thirty feet tall and when you coco-butt her to skull to mush, would simon have to crawl inside her because she was a mansion and not a person?

Simon was overwhelmed. He sat next to a lake and stared into his new found blue crystal orb. After sitting for approximately ten seconds, the lake had shifted and parted, opening a path through to a stairway. Simon walked down the stairs and continued his way west until he approached a giant mountainside.

‘ah ha!’ simon jumped with joy. ‘this is a mountainside, or as some would say, a cliff. It’s all so clear now. Deborah isn’t a person, or a dwelling. Deborah is a cliff! I have to hit this to make a passage to enter the mountain to get to Dracula!’

Simon Belmont stood in front of the mountain and squared his shoulders to the cliff side and smashed his forehead against the cliff, repeatedly.


On top of the cliff, a caribou named crossley was about to stroll over an old wood bridge, constructed at the families caribou crossing. Crossley heard some loud banging and stopped to look down, where he witnessed a blood smeared simon Belmont smashing the side of the mountain with his head. Occasionally, a heart would fall out of simons pocket, so he would bend to pick it up, replace the heart into his pocket and continue to smash his head into the mountain wall. He watched this strange man hit his head at least a dozen times. The man at the bottom of the cliff was losing blood and stammering around in a semi-conscious haze.

‘hey!’ crossley yelled down to simon. ‘you gave yourself a concussion you idiot! Stop that!’

Simon looked up to see the caribou shouting at him. ‘shut up snuffaluffagussasaurus.’ Simon mumbled spitting out blood and broken teeth. Simon stumbled to the mountain sheer, squared up and delivered another head butt. Simon would fall down, get up and attempt another blow on the wall.

Crossley knew he had to run down to help this poor, confused fellow. Crossley scrambled to turn and jarred up some stones on the cliffs edge. The heroic caribou slipped on the pebbles and regained his balance, just as the entire edge of the cliff came loose from the mountain itself and sent crossley plummeting towards earth, towards a hemorrhaging simon Belmont, stammering in circles on his feet.

As fate would have it, Crossley fell face first, down ten stories onto the head of simon Belmont. Crossleys antlers impaled the skull of the vampire hunter and killed him, making holes all throughout simons head. Crossley, shaken, shook his way loose from the perforated skull of simon Belmont. The caribou stood up on all fours and looked about. Crossley the caribou was lucky to be alive, without injury. Crossley peered over simons broken carcass and noticed a blue crystal orb had fallen from simons purse and was laying next to him. Crossley the caribou bent down to pick it up and looked into the perfect blue sphere.

‘It captures my reflection perfectly, wouldn’t you think?’

Alc. 40%


The bottle is a clear glass decanter which is almost shaped as a cube, with tapered shoulders. There is some frosting on the sides of the bottle depicting a field of caribou and some writing on the back about the origin of the whisky itself. The face of the bottle is elegant, clean with white and gold lettering. There is a picture of a caribou grunting into the air for a mate, all captured in a tiny blue circle, which is where the inspiration for the leading story originated. The topper is a heavy door knocker maple leaf made of pewter with a cork. The lip on the bottle is too wide.


Light and delicate. Some dust, rye and a good impression of oak. A touch of egg nog, mini wheats cereal, strawberry and tender stone fruit like peach or apricot. Caraway and honey. A touch floral and springy. The nose is very reminiscent of my grandfathers liquor cabinet, or just some old school Canadian rye. Very light, spicy and dusty.


The palate is more of the nose, but it’s richer with corn and char. Dusty, sweet, spicy, touch minty. A creamy mouth feel bound with nutmeg and clove. The fruits are light and upfront, with the rye spice taking up the finish. Egg nog, peach and ice cream finished with sawdust, chilies and spice cake.


This took a while to grow on me, but it has grown. Top notch.

Please note:

Sazerac is an American bourbon powerhouse. They’re also known for their Canadian whiskies exported to the American market. This particular bottle is a select barrel from the sazerac inventory that made an impression from its quality profile.

First released to the American market, after some positive reception, caribou crossing had made its debut in Canada to more positive response.

Being from one single barrel, rather than a blend of different barrels to create one harmonious mix, this will have a profile which may be unbalanced to some; it may have more spice or more vanilla, and consumers will have fun comparing different barrels to judge the different profiles.

Unfortunately, there are no serial numbers for comparison.

This is bottled at 40% alcohol to please Americans impression of a Canadian whisky. this is bottled at a low abv to keep a light bodied flavor, while most single barrel whiskies are bottled at a higher abv to keep the flavor more true to the taste of the barrel without dilution.