Details:
Hells Frozen West Coast IPA is back! From the ashen silence of a world consumed, we drag this relic of fire and frost. A vision of evergreen needles snapping in the brittle air, where resin drips like molten glass across the cracked face of the Earth. Bitterness reigns like a forgotten god, sharp and unrepentant, a cruel winter sun reflecting off black ice. Mosaics of citrus peel fracture the tongue, a chorus of grapefruit and pine, each shard a reminder of what it means to thirst in the wasteland. Hells Frozen exhales like the ghost of summer, orange blossom buried beneath the rubble, the faintest echo of tropical fruit breaking through the smoke. This is no comfort. This is defiance. A clear, golden spear driven into the heart of the void, reminding us that even in endless cold, there are flames that refuse to die. Victory triumphs. Hell has frozen.
