It was gold in color and smelled like swamp water, but by God, it had a kick. Back then, in Oceanside, CA, I'd take the family RV down to the boat launching site, park it and break out a lawn chair. I'd sip away two quarts, basking in the sun, watching the sailboats go by and drift off into Nirvana. There's great therapeutic values in falling into a drunken stupor on occasion.
Dammit, had to give the stuff up as it started living up to it's nickname and giving me headaches, but it still holds a special place in my heart.
Evidently it is still made, in Texas now instead of Washington, but beer snobs don't think much of it.
I'm now drinking Foster's Ale 
as it appears to me to be the only good tasting ale available that doesn't break the bank ($1.50 per pint can).