Craft brewers, world-class brandy distillers and pinot wizards are layering the Emerald Triangle with gold, purple and amber. Seeing the writing on the wall for the pot trade, enterprising locals have turned to legal intoxicants to fill their coffers.
From Germain-Robin combining old-world technology with premium Riesling, Columbard and Zin to distill small-batch brandies rated "beautifully crafted...better than most cognacs,"to quirky Booneville's Anderson Valley Brewing Company. The solar-powered brewery derives their quaffs names from the esoteric Boontling dialect-- a blend of Gaelic, Irish, Pomoan and Spanish spoken by a handful of Boonevillians. The buzz is on.
Although a California native, this would be my first trip to legendary Mendocino and the Anderson Valley, called the New Napa by a pumped up Visitors Center. A new friend shared her method for tasting through this narrow valley snaking from 101 to the coast: Hit the wineries going northwest, beer while retracing your path on the way home, with a possible detour to Ukiah for the brandy and elevated corn whiskey (really?).
Sweating through 100+ temps, we twisted our way from umber hills through stately redwood forest to the fog-draped coast. I hoped arriving at the real town would finally dampen the inane tune, "Mendocino" from the Easy Rider soundtrack swirling in my brain. (Here's a priceless clip of Sir Douglas getting a little sweaty serenading the Playboy bunnies with his anthem of teenage seduction.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIaYO3BkJzw.)
Mendocino village perches on a promontory; marine mist washes over the town most days--making it appear Brigadoonesque when approaching from the south. We traipsed through the dog-eared streets where the flood of local marijuana wealth has slowed, in recent years, to a trickle. Among the vacant shops for lease, we found some standout survivors: Moore Books with a bookseller who looks like a cross between Santa Claus and Allan Ginsberg; Moody's organic coffee bar -- carrying Wicked Bon Bon's Whiskey and Gunpowder chocolates; and of course the local head shop, Spark, that stocked Chihuly-worthy blown glass bongs and some lip-smacking pipe tobaccos. While some tourists still come to see where Angela Lansbury starred in "Murder She Wrote," and populate the Victorian hotels and B&Bs, we couldn't shake that eerie feeling of a town nearly time-forgotten.
What to do here in this quiet village besides drink and shop? Kayak, dive, hike--just don't wander into the back country where international crime rings still grow and smuggle massive tracts of weed. But smoke dope with a chill group on the beach enjoying a sunset bonfire? If you want to take in the very mellow mendo of it all.
With the weekend before us, we trudged along the dry paths of Russian Gulch to the waterfall; rambled out to seal rock at MacKerricher; and rode horses on the beach (yes, it is a travel cliche). The Glendeven Inn was a hit with their impressive scotch collection and incredibly well-schooled bartenders.
But the best moments had to be back at the Brewery Gulch Inn, a peaceful, light-filled retreat built from river-salvaged redwoods just outside of town. We say on the deck with a pomegranate-colored Husch 2009 Anderson Valley Pinot Noir and toasted the spirit of Mendocino-- quirky, gorgeous and still a little rough around the edges.
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