Mountain Goats was pitched to me as a competitor to Can’t Stop. Let me be upfront. It’s not. Can’t Stop has pure tension and excitement in the push your luck mechanism. The moments when you’re rolling and rolling and rolling, crawling towards the top, the table chanting to keep pushing, just two more “5’s” and you’ll hit the summit, only to cheer when bust. Mountain Goats on the other hand, is a more directly cutthroat. It’s more deliberate in its malice, relishing in the pain you inflict on others, rather than revelling in your opponents own bad choices. Let me explain.
In Mountain Goats, you’re sending your climbers up six different mountains, one tied to a different die result from 5 through 10. Just like Can’t Stop, you make combinations from four dice, then move the goats to based on those combinations, and slowly (or quickly) climb the numbered tracks. Once you get to the top, you start scoring. Stay there, and you can keep scoring, so long as you continue to sink die rolls into that goat. But if someone else reaches the summit of a number after you, they boot your goat off back to the start. It’s important to note that the only space that you can boot off and get booted from, is the summit, any number of climbers can bide their time on the penultimate tile. So Mountain Goats becomes less about reaching the top and more about reaching it at the exact right moment. Summit too soon, and you’re a sitting goat. Too late, and someone else has already plundered the number for all the points it offers.
Mountain Goats is a game of gentle aggression. It’s king of the hill with goats and pastel dice and a serene backdrop. You’ll constantly scan the table, trying to gauge how close someone is to the of the 9 mountain? Can I afford to park a goat on the 6 and hope for two quiet rounds before someone rushes up and usurps your spot? Or should I spend my time throwing my own goat at their goat, just to keep them from scoring that last 9-point token? This isn’t really push-your-luck, it’s tactical goat placement with some luck elements.
The dice selection is more forgiving than Can’t Stop. You don’t have to pair the dice off, if you roll low, you can choose to use all 4 dice to move a single goat. Similarly, if you happen to roll four 6’s, you can run that number 6 goat up four spots in a single turn. I do like how simple the rules are. You roll, combine, then move. It’s lean and easy to teach, which makes it perfect for family nights, casual settings, or winding down after something meatier.
That said, Mountain Goats falls short for me, especially when comparing it to the thrill ride that is Can’t Stop. There’s less tension, less holding your breath and waiting for your opponent to bust. There’s more straightforward math. Most turns, you’ll just do the best thing your dice allow, and that’s that. You can make choices, deciding which number combo to pursue, or whether to block or take a slightly less efficient turn to earn SOME victory points, but it rarely feels like the game hinges on a specific turn. It’s more about who rolls the numbers they need, when they need them.
And while there is player interaction, it’s narrow. You only knock players off the top tile. You can’t block progress, you can’t deny paths, except for exhausting a number from all its victory points. I’ve found it plays best at 3. Two-player feels oddly slow and open, while four players is too crowded. But even at its best, this is a game that peaks early. You’ll have fun getting one of your goats to the top, perhaps smirk when you punt someone down who just summited the turn prior, then you’ll wait. You aren’t that invested in other players turns, just waiting to see what they choose to do.
Still, It’s a quick dice game in a small box with some actual player agency, and just enough interaction to keep things lively. Mountain Goats earns its spot on the shelf, if only because it’s easily portable, and especially if you need something you can teach to just about anyone in three minutes.
It’s not Can’t Stop. But I can’t haul that plastic stop sign everywhere I go, so Mountain Goats does have something going for it.
Unless you’re reading The Last March of the Ents, trees are not often associated with violence. In most media, forest scenes are often accompanied by slow woodwind instrumentals, quiet moments of reflection, with gentle, babbling brooks nourishing the woodland animals who happen to be passing by. Nature, however, is far from protective and nurturing. It’s ruthless, amoral, and truly neutral. And yet, if I had a nickel for every cutthroat tree game in my collection, I’d have two nickels. Which is not a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.
Photosynthesis by designer Hjalmar Hach and published by Blue Orange Games in 2017 is deceptively gentle. You’re growing trees. How bad can growing trees be? You earn light points when your trees bask in the sun and spend those light points to cast seeds, grow trees, and eventually “harvest” your most majestic specimens for victory points. It’s the circle of life, in cardboard form.
The central hook of Photosynthesis, the rotating sun, is quite an elegant mechanic. The sun moves along the edge of the forest board, changing the direction the sun is shining down at, so with every turn, the tactical landscape changes. What used to be covered in light is now cast in shadow. The trees that earned you so many light points just a few rounds ago, are now fallow and useless. I don’t know if you picked up on this rule, but trees cast shadows, and any tree sitting in the shade of a bigger or same size tree does not earn light points. So not only are you plotting your trees and their shade patterns to maximize your light point generation, you’ll be purposefully trying to shade your opponent’s trees, to deprive them of the light they need to flourish.
There’s a moment, somewhere around the start of the second revolution, where you look down at the board, past the whimsical canopy of cardboard evergreens, and realize you’ve become the thing you despised: a cutthroat botanical tyrant. You didn’t mean for this to happen. You were drawn in by the colours. Seduced by the promise of a quiet, serene forest, the relaxing energy of trees basking in the sunshine as you sit in their shadows. But then the sun moves, and your opponent’s prize sapling suddenly casts a long, greedy shadow across half the grove, and you feel something twist in your heart. That’s not just shade, that’s purposeful sabotage. And you swear. Out loud. At a cardboard tree.
People generally come to Photosynthesis with one of two minds. They either want to maximize their own light, or, purposefully, try to minimize the light their opponents get. You’ll find yourself stunting enemy trees on purpose, planting your own just to create shade in exactly the right spot. Not because you need the space, but because it’ll choke out a rival’s main income. I’ve ended friendships for smaller things.
Mechanically, Photosynthesis is as sharp as a monkey puzzle tree. It’s totally deterministic, with absolutely no luck involved. It’s all down to planning. It’s the kind of game where misreading the board state two turns ahead will leave you gasping for light while it feels like else is rolling in solar power. The rules themselves are straightforward, the rulebook is only 4 pages long. But the decisions Photosynthesis offers are dense. It’s chess-like at two players, while being crowded and choking at four. It feels like a different game at every player count.
I do want to mention that the process for buying and growing trees feels a little disjointed. You collect sun points on the south end of the board, but the trees on the north end are the ones that grow? You can’t grow trees unless you unlock them from your player board, and when you replace pieces on the main board, the pieces go back into the locked spots on your player board. There are some interesting cadence decisions, as the size of the tree determines how many light points it collects, but only the biggest trees can be harvested for points. You finally finish your 7 turn project just to pay light points to lose your ability to earn more light points. The timing considerations are intense.
And while I admire the no-luck, pure strategy design, There’s always the potential of someone getting the short end of the proverbial stick. Bad starting positions and cutthroat players can kneecap someone’s ability to earn sunlight for most of the rounds. While everyone else is pulling in 7, 8, or 9 sunlight, one person is only bringing in 1 point. When you have no income, you can’t pivot your strategy. The rich get richer in the worst sort of way.
And then there’s the downtime. Especially at higher player counts, because the game is so deterministic, every turn can become a grind of analysis paralysis. The board state shifts constantly, And because turns are solitary, as in, one player takes all their actions for the round, then the next player goes, players can be considering 5 or 6 actions at a time. You’ll spend a lot of time in silence waiting for someone to make their decisions, before you start considering what you can do, based on what they just did.
If it sounds like I’m being down on Photosynthesis, it’s not on purpose. It’s clever, elegant, and unique. The aesthetic is gorgeous. It’s the rare abstract strategy game that has a genuine presence on the table. It looks like a dream and plays like a knife fight in a phone booth. I quite enjoy my plays of it, even if I come away feeling like I fell from a height and hit every branch on the way down.
I’m never quite sure whether I prefer reviewing light games or heavy ones. Light games get to the table more often. They’re easier to teach, quicker to reset, and rarely leave your brain excited. But sometimes I wonder what is there to really say about them? Then I play something like Juicy Fruits, and I’m reminded that simplicity doesn’t always mean shallowness.
Juicy Fruits, designed by Christian Stöhr and published by Capstone Games in 2021 under their Family Game line, at first glance looks to be a simple, childish game, with its bright art, the fruity theme, and chunky wooden pieces. But what lies beneath the friendly exterior is a satisfying tactical puzzle that the whole family can enjoy.
Each player starts with their own little island grid, blocked in by boats and populated with five fruit-crate tiles. The core mechanic is basically a slide puzzle: move a crate in any direction a number of spaces equal to how far it slides, then collect that many fruits of that type. Use those fruits to either fulfill shipping contracts (by sending those pesky boats away) or build shop tiles that grant points, bonuses, or the ability to deliver ice cream for mega-points!
At first, you’ll feel accomplished when you manage to squeeze just 2 or 3 goods in a single turn. but as you send those pesky boats on their way, earning 4 or 5 goods every turn will seem trivial. What really makes Juicy Fruits feel satisfying is that every turn feels like you’re building towards something; that sense of incremental progress. You’ll send a boat away, giving up two of your bananas, and you’ll combine your extra banana on your next turn with the grapes you just picked up to send another boat away, all the while opening up your board to chain into your next tile slide to earn more fruit to earn more points. The action chain is what gives Juicy Fruits it’s bite.
As you spend resources to send boats away, your island gradually begins to open up. What started as a 3 x 3 grid now has some 4 or 5 square rows and columns, giving you the opportunity to make some real big slides. I tend to focus on sending those boats away as I like having an open playing field, but the big points lie in either delivering ice cream, or refilling your island board with large, point scoring attractions.
The only interaction between players comes in the form of a race. The first player to deliver ice cream or milkshakes will earn the most points. In one of my games, a player manged to deliver 5 of the most valuable ice cream in a single turn. It took him most of the game to set up for that turn, and that represented most of his points at the end of the game, but he managed to come in second overall. In some games, I’ve won by clearing out the island, while in other games that strategy leaves me in the dust as the other players rush building contracts and force the game to end early.
While it might look friendly, Juicy Fruits has a special kind of tension. It starts mellow and chill, turns fly by, but there’s an undercurrent of pressure that builds steadily. Players achieve more with every passing turn, and suddenly you can feel when the pace is about to snap. That moment when someone suddenly starts clearing boats or spamming shops and you realize: “Oh no. I’ve got, like, three turns left, and I have so much left to accomplish!”
The player scaling can feel a bit off. At two players, that race-to-the-end vibe is very palpable. More than once I’ve found myself able to rush the game’s conclusion with minimal resistance, and win, not because I was really the better player, but because I saw the machine my opponent was building, and decided to crash the game before their plans came to fruition.
And while I’m being honest, the game does show most of itself in just a handful of plays. That core loop, while satisfying, is really all there is to Juicy Fruits. It doesn’t have a ton of replay variability, especially once you’ve tried the solo mode and the played with the Juice Factory mini-expansion. It’s not a dealbreaker, not every game needs to be eminently replayable, but if your shelves are already crowded with gateway titles, Juicy Fruits might not elbow its way into regular rotation.
Juicy Fruits features simple, satisfying turns. The actions are easy to understand, and the ramifications of your decisions are obvious and apparent. Once players are in the flow of the game, it manages to move along at a decent clip so you aren’t feeling bored in-between your turns. There’s enough tactics and strategy for avid gamers to dig into, but it’s also accessible enough for kids to play alongside the adults. Juicy Fruits won’t change your life, but a game only takes 30 minutes, making it a perfect choice to wind down with after something more complex, or as the starting experience during family game night.
I have to admit something. Uwe Rosenburg has always been one of my favourite board game designers. From simple classics like Patchwork, to resource management farm simulators like Agricola and Caverna, and even weird hex tile placement games like Applejack. That said, I haven’t gone out of my way to play everything he’s ever designed, but if a board game box has his name on the cover, you can be sure I’ll be at the very least, interested to try it.
Ora et Labora is Uwe Rosenburg’s big game from 2011. It’s a resource conversion game at heart, which you might realize when you see the 450 double-sided resource tiles sprawling across the table. Beyond the mess of cardboard, Ora et Labora features a large resource wheel overloaded with large wooden tokens, and each player has a flimsy, thin player board with a couple of cards covering some of the spaces.
Gameplay is very simple. On your turn, you take one action. You can either place one of your three pawns on one of your buildings to activate it, pay someone else to put a pawn on their building to reap the rewards, or harvest resources from one of the cards on your tableau.
Right off the bat, Uwe shows off his nonintuitive yet elegant design chops. Players take turns clockwise around the table, but to move the ‘first player’ advantage around the table, each round has the start player take two actions. In a 3 player game, it goes A, B, C, A, then round shifts, so B is the first player. B takes their turn, then C, A, and B again. It sounds complicated and obtuse, but in gameplay, it’s a pretty smooth way to keep the flow of actions moving around the table.
At set points during the game, new buildings are added to the supply. Similarly, a pair of resources aren’t available right at the beginning of the game, but get introduced a bit later. Some buildings do give you access to those resources, but they’re prohibitively expensive. If you can make it work to get access to stone early, I’m sure it would pay dividends, but never in my plays have I had the gall to chase down early access to stone.
There are just under 20 resources to play with. Some, like wood, stone, clay, and straw are used to build new buildings. Wood, peat, straw, and coke provide heat. Wine, sheep, mutton, wheat, flour, and bread all provide food. You may have caught that some resources carry double duty as both a building resource and heat source. Most of the buildings will have you spending certain resources to generate new ones, with the end goal generally being to create resources that generate the most victory points.
Ora et Labora is a sandbox that lets you choose which mix of the 20 resources you want to goose to generate the most points possible. You and your opponents can all chase different paths, and end up at nearly the same space. The freedom to choose which way can be a bit overwhelming, however. During our first play, we all spend a fair amount of time reading over each of the cards, and trying to piece together some kind of engine to chase. While there are two different sets of cards depending on the mode you choose to play (French or Irish), all the cards come out every game, so if you find an engine you particularly enjoy, you can run it in future games fairly reliably.
Interaction between players appears in two ways. First, when you take a resource, you move the resource token on the central dial. The number of rounds since that resource has last been actioned on. There is that feeling of playing chicken with your opponents that’s palpable in Uwe’s other games, such as Agricola. The pile of wood is growing larger and larger each round, how long can you let it build before using your action to take it?
The other point of interaction is the worker placement mechanism. What sets Ora et Labora apart is that everyone has the option to use everyone elses buildings, in a nice twist of friendly player interaction. Just because someone else stole the building that would be the linchpin to your engine, you can always just toss a coin or two their way and use the building anyway. There is a bit of tempo to consider when you use someone else’s buildings, however. Because you only get to take back your workers when all 3 have been deployed, choosing when to use someone else’s building to tie up their workers can be the difference between victory and defeat.
It’s kind of fascinating, returning to some of Uwe Rosenburg’s older titles. Ora et Labora features ideas and mechanics that have been reworked, reimagined, and fleshed out in newer games. The resource wheel getting an upgrade in Glass Road or Black Forest, or the dozens of resources coming in from Le Havre. These familiar mechanisms have a very distinct style to them, a brand that when you interact with the mechanism, it’s like greeting an old friend. I think Le Havre is the closest cousin to Ora et Labora, specifically with the emphasis on building buildings to give players access to a confusing tech tree of resource conversion that after 17 turns, manage to turn a lump of coal into something resembling victory points.
I really enjoyed playing Ora et Labora. At the end of each play, I felt satisfied, my brain not completely cooked, but feeling well-worked. I enjoyed building an engine, mathing out the best possible locations for my buildings, and cutting off my opponent’s access to actions or specific resources a moment before they were going to leap on them makes for some very satisfying moments. And yet, Ora et Labora doesn’t demand to be replayed. Because it feels very Uwe Rosenburg, if I have a craving for his style of game, I’m still much more inclined to pull Agricolaor Le Havre off the shelf. Ora et Labora lacks features that make it unique, it doesn’t stand out from the crowd of farming themed resource management Euro games that Uwe Rosenburg has filled the niche with, all by himself.
As a conclusion, Ora et Labora is a fine game, a good game. But it doesn’t do enough to get out from the formidable shadow of Uwe Rosenburgs titans, especially Le Havre. I do think Ora et Labora stands the test of time, at no point during my plays did I feel like “this feels like a 15 year old game!”. The only thought that came through my brain was comparing how each of the mechanisms that make up this game have made appearances before and after Ora et Labora‘s initial debut.
I have a bit of a history with designer Daniele Tascini. I bounced off Teotihuacan years ago (although can’t quite remember why), and while I initially disliked Tzolk’in: The Mayan Calendar, I have to admit that it has grown on me more each time I’m coerced into playing it. Tascini’s games tend to feel like intense cerebral puzzles. Dense and demanding, but rewarding to those willing to put the work in to gain some mastery. So when I sat down to play Tekhenu: Obelisk of the Sun, I braced myself. Would it push me away again, or pull me in?
Let’s start with the obvious: Tekhenu: Obelisk of the Sun is a looker. A towering plastic obelisk dominates the board, casting a literal shadow across the action spaces, and in doing so, dictates which dice are pure, tainted, or outright forbidden. It’s an immediate table presence, big and weird in the best way. It kind of serves a gameplay purpose, but it kind of feels like it just exists to create that table presence. As the sun shifts (the obelisk rotates every two turns), so too does your ability to draft dice. This mechanic is actually a decent metaphor for the game as a whole, what’s good now won’t be good later. you’ll need to adapt, or be left behind.
The core loop of Tekhenu is a six-action dice drafting puzzle. Each turn, you take a die from around the spire, and either generate resources or activate the associated action space. The value of the die affects how many resources you gain or the potency of the action you’ll take. Adding to that, each die also has moral weight, giving your soul points toward the pure or tainted side, and must be placed on your karmic scales before the end of the round. Lean too far toward imbalance, and the game will punish you. Strive for harmony, and you’re rewarded with points. It’s a clever twist that keeps you constantly recalibrating all of your decisions.
And you’ll need to be constantly adapting. Tekhenu is a game about forward planning in a system that refuses to cooperate. That perfect plan you spent 10 minutes building? Gone, because the die you desperately needed turned forbidden, or someone else snatched it first. Tekhenu demands backup plans, backup backup plans, and when all else fails, throwing caution to the wind and just taking the action that you gut says ‘feels best’. It’s a brain-burning experience that constantly asks you to throw your plans out and pivot.
The actions will have you building statues for passive bonuses, erecting pillars in a shared temple grid, expanding your city with buildings that boost your income and end-game scoring, and throwing lavish festivals to increase the happiness of your population. There’s a card market featuring cards that give you either end-game scoring benefits, or ongoing gameplay effects, and your ability to access those cards is tied directly to how happy your people are. The interconnectivity of the actions here is impressive, like a gear from Tzolk’in, everything touches everything else. Make one good decision, and it pays dividends. Make a bad one, and the whole thing wobbles like a Jenga tower.
I don’t think there’s that much theme to the actions here, but I don’t really mind. It’s Ancient Egypt in aesthetics only, lots of sandy browns and beiges on the board, but that boring-ness is offset by bright player pieces in purple, pink, orange, and blue. The dice are chunky and satisfying, and the graphic design of the board helps players compartmentalize the actions very well. Tekhenu has a rhythm, every four turns, there’s a karmic Maat phase. After two Maat phases, a scoring round. Then repeat, and the game is over. This cadence, once learned, feels smooth and intuitive.
By the end of each game, I was exhausted, and impressed. Tekhenu is one of those games that doesn’t show you its brilliance upfront. You need to unearth it’s brilliance. At first, it feels like a mashup of mechanics you’ve seen before. But over time you start to feel the harmony. If you like games where you’re constantly wrestling with your own plans, desperately trying to keep Plan A alive while Plan B, C, and D scramble into action, Tekhenu is for you. It’s crunchy. It’s tough. And it’s immensely satisfying. It’s my favourite game from the T-series, but I’m alone in that opinion. Everyone who’s played this with me prefers Teotihuacan or Tzolk’in, but that’s okay. They’re all great games in their own right, and I’m just happy that I found one that really sings to me!
My wife and I recently had the opportunity to check out a new board game café that opened near our house. I love going to new board game stores and seeing what weird or unique games they have on their shelves. I generally assume the majority of the games come from the owner’s personal collections, or at least the ones that aren’t the owner’s absolute favourites. I suspect that’s how IOTA, designed by Gene Mackles and published by Gamewright in 2012 made it onto this shelf. The sole reason my wife picked it off the shelf was because it was JUST SO SMALL!
IOTA contains a deck of 66 cards. 64 of the cards are unique, displaying a symbol, colour, and number. Each player takes 4 cards into their hand, and on your turn, you play cards onto the shared play area to create lots, which are rows or columns where every aspect of the cards in a particular row and column are either completely the same, or completely different. A row can contain cards that all have the same colour, but different shape and number, or they can be the same number, and colour, but have different shapes, you get the picture.
Each time you play cards, you score all the lines you create or extend by the value of the cards. If you happen to complete a set of 4, it doubles your score for the round. There are 2 wild cards that will assist, but other than that, every card will appear only once. So if you’re holding out hope for that blue sqaure with a 3, and you notice it’s on the table somewhere else, well. You’ll be waiting for a long time.
The game that immediately sprung to mind when playing IOTA was Qwirkle. The similarities are immediately obvious, playing lines of shapes and colours that either all match or don’t match to score points. IOTA adds a 3rd dimension for players to consider with the value on the cards as well. It creates some depth, especially when it comes to scoring. Playing two cards next to a 4 is better than playing three cards next to a series of 1’s. IOTA pares down the symbols from Qwirkle‘s 6 shapes to 4, which is both a blessing and a curse. There are less shapes to keep in your head, but now all the lots are stubby. You’ll likely end up creating tiny staircases that sprawl all over your table.
The whole reason IOTA even made it onto my radar was because of it’s comically small tin. The tiny square cards don’t feel great to hold, and more than once we had to awkwardly slide the entire shared play area so that the game didn’t run off the table. For a game that comes in such a tiny tin, I did not expect it to be such a table hog. Furthermore, the shorter rows and columns made it surprisingly difficult to expand the play area at times, if you just so happened to not be able to play off anything. If you and your opponent have been competitive and pairing cards off well, not being able to strike off into a different direction is frustrating.
While my wife was a pro right from the start, I had a strange amount of trouble figuring out how to play my cards. I kept trying to play a series of cards that were not completely the same or different in all aspects. Adding that third element really seemed to throw me off my game. A lot of “I’m going to put these down right here, except I can’t do that!” “How about over here? Nope, can’t go here either!”. It’s no fun having the wind constantly taken out of your sails.
As more cards got played and the number of lots grew, the analysis paralysis grew in turn. There were more and more places to play cards that were worth almost the same amount of points each. I kept checking over and over for which lots needed that fourth card to get a double score turn, only to realize that a lot of the necessary cards were already on the table. It slowed the game down to a crawl, and I’m sure if we were playing more than 2 players, the wait between turns would have been atrocious.
At the end of the day, IOTA offers a more cerebral experience than Qwirkle. The potential for huge turns is much higher, if you manage to play 3 cards in a turn, and complete a lot, doubling your score for the whole round. But it’s less satisfying to play. Tiny cards are annoying to hold and likely to slide around, versus wooden blocks that are a joy to touch and click together are obviously the superior component. IOTA was more frustrating, as so frequently the cards in my hand just didn’t fit anywhere because one of the three elements were wrong. The scoring was much more mathy, which slowed the game down when players are trying to puzzle out which placement will earn them the absolute most points. These points of frustration all prevent me from really ever recommending IOTA. It should be said that I would like IOTA quite a bit more if Qwirkle didn’t exist. IOTA tries to build on the foundation that Qwirkle built, but misses the simple joy and charm that made Qwirkle such a hit to begin with.
