Colonial settlers cut their way into the deep woods of Pennsylvania, swinging steel and staking futures among the hemlocks and hardwoods.

Logging camps rise near the rivers and railways, feeding sawmills that never sleep.

After the war, men return to the forests, tired, proud, and thirsty. They pass tin cups around the fire, filled with the good stuff made in secret stills.

The law says stop. The mountains say otherwise. Bootleggers run whiskey through the hills while the axes keep swinging by day.

In the same woods where it all began, the fire is lit again. Iron Axe Distilling Co. is born.