This may become an annual tradition for me, an early morning, late Summer bike ride with backpack or panniers, accompanied by someone dear, to my not-so-secret wild-hops vine. By the time the sun is up, we have harvested a few pounds of fresh hops flowers, packed them up and we're riding home, without having seen a single person. By mid-morning, with a cup of hot coffee at my side, the grain mash is underway, and by noon, several bags of fresh hops have been layered into the boiling brew, giving it a composition of beginning flavors, for the yeast to color over time.
I don't know what variety my wild yeast is, but I do know it is low on the alpha-acid scale. It has a mild bitterness, but an intense floral character. Using heavy amounts of this hops ~ alone ~ in a 7% pale ale, results in a flavour palate more like shoving your face in a bridal bouquet, than having your cheeks caved in with the bitterness of an IPA.
It lives in a semi wild place, along a riverbank, fairly far from the ranch where it probably originated, during the settler era, a century ago. Rhizomes wander over time, and my harvesting habit will surely begin to chase this flower further along the riverbank, away from me, the ale predator.
Cheers!
MT