I’m up here in the beautiful Anderson Valley, which more than 30 wineries call home. To those familiar with trafficky Highway 29 in Napa Valley, or even the much less densely clogged roads of the Russian River Valley, Anderson Valley’s Highway 128 will seem blissfully free of cars. You can drive from Boonville past Philo out to Navarro, in the Deep End, with no one on your tail. But empty as the valley is, it’s not empty enough for some people.
That, at least, is what a longtime vintner-friend told me yeserday. I had related to him how, when I arrived in the valley on Monday evening, I couldn’t find the key to the Edmeades guesthouse, and for a while, I feared I’d have to find someplace else to spend the night. Not exactly the most pleasant prospect in Anderson Valley, where accommodations are scarcer than encryption in the cloud, which is to say: pretty scarce. The lady at the local market directed me to enquire at the Philo Inn; alas, there was no room there, nor at the Boonville Hotel, which pretty much represents everyplace there is to spend the night. The guy at the Philo Inn told me I had two choices: to head back to Ukiah (Not! Under! Any! Circumstances!) or to drive another 40 minutes out to the resorts on the coast. And even then, I’d need a dog-friendly place. I was feeling pretty glum at that point.
Fortune fortunately came to my assistance; the long-sought key was found, and I am now safely ensconced in the beautiful Edmeades guest house. But as I explained to my vintner-friend, it made me wonder if there wasn’t an opportunity for someone to add to the valley’s existing lodging stock, perhaps by building a charming little B&B. After all, it wasn’t just I who was looking for someplace to stay that Monday night; two leathered-up guys on motorcycles, who by their accents sounded like they were from Germany, maybe Holland, also were desperate. Doesn’t that sound like Anderson Valley could use more places to stay?
My vintner-friend laughed. “The locals would never allow it,” he smiled.
“Not even for a little seven-room inn?”
“Nope.” It seems like the Anderson Valleyites like the lonely remoteness of their slice of heaven, and are determined to keep it that way.
And who am I, or anyone, to challenge them? It’s their place to live, and I would think that many of them headed up here in the first place in order to escape the evils of traffic, noise, pollution, crime and all the other ills that accompany dense population centers.
Does remaining pristine impact the quality of the local wine? I think to some extent it does, and for the better. Local winemakers here, less subject to the demands and whims of the tourist trade, are able to focus on their land, their vines and their personal visions. Of course, just because Anderson Valley isn’t swamped with tourists doesn’t put it off the grid (although many people here do live off that proverbial matrix). With the Internet and social media, they’re very much tuned into the outside world, and lots of them sell a goodly proportion of their wines to club members, whom I guess you could call virtual tourists.
Still, there’s something unspoiled and rustic about the wineries in Anderson Valley. As Ben Salazar, the young winemaker for Edmeades, told me, most of the growers are local guys who are true farmers, depending on their crops to pay the mortgage and put their kids through school. “It’s like a glimpse into the past of how Napa and Sonoma used to be,” said Ben, who previously made wine in both of those appellations.
Anderson Valley is a great place to visit if you’re a wine tourist, but you do have to keep in mind the lack of amenities, including a place to stay. You definitely do not want to arrive here at the end of a long day, only to find yourself homeless. If you’re looking for wine country, and great wine, without the hassles, you can do no better than this beautiful, isolated place of Mendocino County. But plan ahead.
I didn’t throw up, but Gus did, three times, on the loopy drive up to Mendocino, which included many twisting miles on a dirt road leading to the Gianoli Ranch, a spectacular property founded in the 1800s by Italian immigrants, whose new owners grow Pinot Noir and Zinfandel, which they sell to Edmeades and a few other brands. I was on my way to visit Edmeades, in the Anderson Valley, but the appellation up here, at Gianoli, is Mendocino Ridge, one of the few AVAs in California based on elevation; you have to be at least 1,200 feet above sea level, and ay Gianoli, you’re well above that. Here’s a picture from a clearing in the Redwood forest.
It’s a remarkable place to grow wine. The vineyards on Mendocino Ridge are few and far between, often separated by miles of mountainside forest impenetrable to all but cougars and deer and other critters. It always surprises me to find places where Zinfandel and Pinot Noir grow side by side. You’d think they require totally different climates, the former warm, the latter cool; but in this case, the vineyards are so high in elevation that the weather is warm and sunny enough (Gianoli is 2,000 feet or so, well above the usual fogline) to ripen Zin, but that same elevation, as well as the northerly latitude, makes it cool enough to grow Pinot. Granted, it’s a distinct Pinot Noir, not silky and delicate like, say, Monterey, but with plenty of stuffing and tannins, a big Pinot, almost brawny, with the peppery spice you also find in the local Zinfandels. These are rich, flashy Pinots, but they really do need six years in the cellar to come around.
Pinot in these parts is picked early enough to usually avoid the Autumn rains, which come to Mendocino well before they hit Sonoma or San Francisco. Amounts are significant; the average annual rainfall at, say, Gianoli, is 80 inches. In this drought year, they’ve had only 40 inches (still twice the average in San Francisco), but a wet year can bring 120 inches, or more. That’s the risk for Zinfandel, which is picked far later than Pinot. With its tight bunches, it tends to develop botrytis. As Ben Salazar, Edmeades’ winemaker,
told me, they have to be very severe in cutting out the botrytis-infected bunches.
Back down in the Anderson Valley, Boonville looks pretty much the same as it ever did.
Five miles further, Philo, population 349, where Edmeades is, is even tinier. Blink, and you miss it.
But people don’t come to the Anderson Valley—to the extent they do, for it’s pretty remote—for the amenities. They come for the wine. As do I. I’m staying at the Edmeades guest house, a spectacular property in the hills above Philo. Here’s a shot from one aspect of the property. How lucky am I?