STEPTOE, Wash. — David Benscoter honed his craft as an investigator for the F.B.I. and the United States Treasury, cornering corrupt politicians and tax evaders. The lost apple trees that he hunts down now are really not so different. People and things, he said, tend to hide in plain sight if you know how and where to look. 
 
 “It’s like a crime scene,” Mr. Benscoter, 62, said as he hiked down a slope toward a long-abandoned apple orchard planted in the late 1800s. “You have to establish that the trees existed, and hope that there’s a paper trail to follow.” 
 
 About two-thirds of the $4 billion apple industry is now concentrated in Washington State — and 15 varieties, led by the Red Delicious, account for about 90 percent of the market. But the past looked, and tasted, much different: An estimated 17,000 varieties were grown in North America over the centuries, and about 13,000 are lost. 
 
 From New England through the Midwest and the South to Colorado and Washington, where small family farms were long anchored by an orchard, most apple trees died along with the farms around them as industrial-scale agriculture conquered American life a century ago. 

 Craig LaBan has been the restaurant critic and drink columnist for the Inquirer since 1998. He has won awards from the James Beard Foundation and Association of Food Journalists. 
 
 Before Prohibition squashed the hard cider industry like a bushel of rotting fruit, the Golden Russet was a cidery star dating to the mid-1800s prized for its unique balance of tartness, sweetness, and tannins. But the Golden Russet, despite its gilded name, is a homely fruit with mottled skin that looks more like a misshapen Asian pear than the kind of rosy hued cliché that on your teacher's desk might win you brownie points. And so, when the 18th Amendment was enacted, the Golden Russet practically vanished, like so many other heirloom varieties with no grocery store future that had been grown for a product that was no longer legal. Fast-forward nine decades. Hard ciders are suddenly, finally resurging. And Pennsylvania's new generation is busy reclaiming their heritage of orchard-grown booze with an artisan spirit that draws equal inspiration from the craft beer and wine industries. Among the state's most impressive makers has been Big Hill Ciderworks from Gardners, Adams County, which, after half a decade of growing has begun fermenting and bottling all manner of heirloom apple ciders from its 35 acres of orchards. Among my favorites has been the Golden Russet, which, unlike many other apples, does not need to be part of a blend to hit a perfect balance and smoothness on the tongue. The added character of several months in old red-wine barrels adds distinct notes of caramel and vanilla that frame this golden juice as a Champagnelike fizz dries it out on the palate. No, it may not be a beauty on the tree. But the Golden Russet has returned to gorgeous apple glory in the bottle. 
 
 — Craig LaBan 
 
 Big Hill Ciderworks Golden Russet, 8.4% alcohol; ranges from $17 to $20 for a 750 ml bottle, available from the cidery at Clark Park Farmer's Market (first Saturday every month), the Beer Yard (Wayne), Pinocchio's Beer Garden (Media), Local 44, Bru, and Bella Vista Beer.
– Long before the advent of abominations like the Unicorn Frappuccino and the Whopperito, America, it seems, used to have nice things and some of those things were apples. Limber Twig apples, Rambo apples, Mother apples. If those names aren't exactly ringing bells in your noggin, consider that some 17,000 varieties of apples have been grown on our continent across the centuries; of those, only about 4,000 varieties remain. The New York Times visits Washington state, which is home to about two-thirds of an apple industry that's worth about $4 billion—and built on the cores of just 15 varieties, most prominently the half-correctly-named Red Delicious. But those lost varieties linger: In abandoned orchards, in forests and parks. Which brings us to the people who hunt them down. "It's like a crime scene," says former FBI investigator David Benscoter. "You have to establish that the trees existed, and hope that there’s a paper trail to follow." Benscoter has tracked down one lone Arkansas Beauty tree, thought to be the last on Earth and "twisted with age," writes the Times. He prunes it to stimulate new shoots that can in turn be grafted onto other trees, allowing it to survive another generation. Often, these varieties were good for a very particular purpose: Philly.com notes that the Golden Russet apple, "a homely fruit with mottled skin that looks more like a misshapen Asian pear," was the perfect apple for hard cider, no blending with other varieties needed. But when Prohibition hit, "the Golden Russet practically vanished, like so many other heirloom varieties with no grocery store future." Now, with the re-emergence of craft ciders, the Golden Russet is enjoying a rebirth, but don't expect that trend industry-wide. "They're hard to grow," says one grower of heirlooms, and "land costs money." (Americans used to booze all day.)