Do you like to fish in bad weather — cold air, frigid water, piercing wind, rain, ice in the guides, or with snow piled on your eyebrows and frozen to your nose hair? If so, Pyramid Lake in the winter can answer all of your prayers in one morning. A group of 10 from the Gold Country Fly Fishers in Grass Valley experienced these conditions on the first day of a planned fish-out. We struggled and tried to adapt all morning.
As suddenly as the wind and snow had come up at dawn, though, in the midafternoon the weather changed, and the water inside Warrior Point and to the west became calm. Those who craved the drug of the tug from those Pilot Peak cutthroat trout and hadn’t given up launched float tubes into 43-degree water and probed the point and farther inside. Most had already moved their vehicles back from the outside point for shelter. One fish, early and teasingly, kept the rest of us in the water.
I worked the area for an hour with chironomids under an indicator, switched to a fly Dan LeCount had given me, and cast and retrieved with a counted-down clear intermediate line. I missed my only take, and my toes gradually numbed and started to tingle . . . not a good sign. It was time to get out of the water.
I was marginally functional, very stiff, and chilled to the bone. I struggled to disengage the snaps on top of my Force Fins and then reached underwater to slide the safety straps off, tossing the fins high up on the shore, lest they sink and be lost. An aging body needed help from a long-handled net to stand up and start moving, fearful of taking a bath in the frigid water. It’s slicker than snot on rock for the last two steps. I left my float tube safely on dry ground. Wind gusts were known to relaunch tubes and send them to the Paiute Nation 12 miles across the lake. I moved toward my vehicle, increasing my stride as my joints loosened.
Imperceptibly at first, and then gradually awakening my senses, an enchanting smell of sizzling lamb wafted toward me. I turned and saw a guy grilling racks of lamb on his tailgate barbeque. I didn’t recognize him, but wanted to initiate a friendship very quickly.
He rose from a camp chair, walked toward me, and thrust a Riedel lead-crystal wine glass into my hands. It was filled with a generous pour of an early Dragonette Cellars pinot noir. How did this guy know that Tony Dragonette had been the best man at my wedding? He motioned me toward his camp, pulled up two chairs, and handed me a plate of roasted, medium-rare Australian lamb ribs . . . the lollipop kind, accompanied by slightly seared, garlic-scented asparagus spears. I gobbled everything and didn’t have to ask — he bought more of those lollipops, topped off my pinot, and poured a glass for himself. We introduced ourselves and found we were with the same group. It turns out we had met, but in street clothes, not layers of winter gear. This was his first visit with the club.
Over the years we have broken bread and shared good wine, stories, and a special camaraderie. He became addicted to fly fishing and traveled with us to the Yucatan and Belize, as well as to campsites all over the West.
A restaurant owner, he brought one of his chefs to an outing at Lake Davis, where the misplaced gentleman labored all day on a camp stove to prepare beef bourguignon for 30 and, as others watched its slow simmer and drank good wine, caught and released his first trout ever, using a fly rod.
Those lollipop lamb ribs remain my favorite. As the winter season warms and heads into spring, a group, including folks from that gathering at Pyramid, meets on the lower Yuba. We fish through the morning and into the early afternoon. A fabulous potluck follows. The rules allow only a family’s best recipes: your mom’s favorite chile relleño, lumpia with three sauces, wontons, deviled eggs that pucker your lips, fresh porcini ravioli drizzled with earthy extra-virgin olive oil, grilled spring vegetables, Russian fingerling potatoes roasted with that same olive oil and herbs de Provence. Tiramisu for dessert . . . along with early-peach cobbler and marionberry pie. There’s always a coastal chardonnay and more pinot noir, sometimes brought in from Oregon, acquired on steelheading trips by our always foraging friends.
Some prefer to grill a rack of lamb in its entirety, then slit between the rib bones to serve. Others cook the lollipops individually. As with driving, there should be designated grillers, because delicate cuts can be dried out and quickly ruined by overcooking. You get thrown out of our camp if you ask for anything other that medium rare.
Another red wine that pairs beautifully with lamb and other grilled meats, as well as just about anything, is barbera. Barbera and pinot noir are not heavily oaked and don’t have the bombastic tannins of rich cabernet and zinfandel. Early California barberas didn’t have a good reputation. Newer ones, especially anything made from Cooper Vineyard grapes in the California Shenandoah Valley appellation and a few Lodi vineyards, are being discovered and appreciated for their foodworthiness. Bray Vineyards won a double gold at the California state competition a few years ago with a dry barbera rosé.
It shocked some wine snobs that a rosé was given the cherished double gold. Bray has slipped a bit, though their Brazen Hussy wine club party is one of the best — you definitely need a designated driver for that, or a limo. But foraging can turn up some wines as good as that original double gold. Rosé is the wine of Provence. It works with everything and is especially good chilled with lunch on a warm afternoon, because the alcohol content is lower than most red wines, doesn’t blow your palate, and rarely brings on a nap, if you hold yourself to one glass.
If you are visiting the Shenandoah, try dinner and a night at Taste in Plymouth. The husband-and-wife owner team owns an inn called Rest on the same sleepy block. Reservations are needed weeks in advance. Taste is known for their meats, game, and locally sourced organic vegetables and cheeses. If available, their lamb comes from Colorado and is among the best found in Northern California. Chasing this quality, I buy from a rancher friend, George the Greek. His lamb “babies” are fed as carefully and as well as some humans — no antibiotics or hormones, either.
Across the street from taste is Beth Sogaard Catering. It’s also a delicatessen where you can get yummy delicacies, whether sandwiches or a full gourmet picnic basket. Order the morning after your stay at Taste, and don’t forget two bags of their special tortilla chips . . . one to eat on the spot, another to take home and ration out slowly.
Why Shenandoah? You’ll find mesmerizing foothill scenery, quieter wineries than Napa and Sonoma, more reasonable prices for equal quality, and lakes, bass ponds, and trout streams in all directions. My wife and I reserve two nights at Amador Harvest Inn up in the valley a few miles through the vineyard trail from Plymouth. With permission and a room reservation, they allow you to fish their ponds. We book at Taste one night and bring our own food for an outdoor barbecue on the inn’s covered patio overlooking vineyards and rising fish across their manicured lawn. Our protein is often rack of lamb, which hits the spot after getting out of the water at dusk and will complement any wine you found in the valley that day. Another choice is a grilled, skin-on, fresh from-the-sea Chinook salmon filet, whose oils marry beautifully with a glass of pinot noir.
A second cut of distinction is a boneless leg of lamb. Butchers remove the leg bone and make slits to produce a butterflied piece of meat, then repackage it in a string net, followed by sealed plastic. Costco has Australian lamb and sizeable bone-in racks in vacuum-sealed packages. Butterflied legs roll out for even cooking on a grill, perhaps needing a deft slice here and there to flatten out the cut. On a charcoal or gas grill, these cuts reach the desired 125-degree internal temperature in 20 to 25 minutes. Watch a butterflied leg of lamb closely, lest you dry out and toughen the succulent meat. As with anything outdoors, temperature, humidity, charcoal quality, and wood type affect cooking times. Use a quick-read digital meat thermometer to stay on top of what’s going on.
If we don’t grill a leg, we cut the meat into one-and-a-half-inch cubes that we marinate in Basque Meat Tenderizer and cook on skewers. Another option for a marinade is Meyer lemon juice, garlic salt, and some ground rosemary paste. I find it best to fill some skewers solely with lamb and others with onions, tomatoes, and red, green, yellow, and orange bell pepper slices. Try skewering the lamb on rosemary sprigs. Rosemary’s flavors and scents were made for lamb. I use garlic salt and a small bit of freshly ground black pepper as my only spices. Remember, high-quality ingredients require only simple preparations. An easy and quick side dish is a platter of grilled sweet peppers, with their mild taste, mixed with the more spirited, smoky padróns and Japanese shishitos, which can be cooked on the side of the grill simultaneously.
A dozen years ago, I paired with a friend at a fly-fishing banquet. We bid on and won a trip to Argentina, which has the highest annual meat consumption per capita in the world — 190 pounds. I told our Argentine operators that we wanted Argentine food, not American. In Argentina, “Argentine” can mean Italian, German, Swiss, or Spanish, but also grilled meats unlike anything you have experienced. Lakeside and streamside lunches always included grilled chorizo, small steaks or organ parts, obligatory bread, and malbec.
The highlight of our trip came on the first evening on a three-day float on the remote Aluminé River south of San Martin de Los Andes, which lies east of Bariloche. A freight raft went ahead and set up camp. We proceeded at a more leisurely pace, fishing for wild, stream-bred rainbow trout that originally came from California. The weather soured gradually during the day’s float. We arrived at dusk as pampas storm clouds rolled in and prematurely darkened what was left of a fading sky. Our gaucho friends in the freight raft had arrived hours earlier and had killed and cleaned a large red stag as well as a young lamb. The lamb was tied to an Argentine “iron cross” parilla that leaned over the coals, and the stag forequarter was staked and tilted toward the same five-foot-square bed of glowing embers, supported by iron stakes. The technique is called al asador. Corrugated iron sheets reflected heat up and toward the roasting meat.
We swigged Argentine malbec that locals never let leave the country and nibbled on empanadas made by our host Dario’s grandmother. Our majordomo’s brother owned the only wine shop in San Martin. Winds rose and shrieked, sending embers skyward in a show like the Fourth of July. We moved inside a kitchen tent, taking several hours to finish our meal between tall tales, and we ended with pastry treats after gnawing on dripping foot-long Red stag ribs, lamb lollipops, and crusty slabs carved from the stag’s forequarter.
Those on that trip who are still with us meet in a few months at Henderson Springs to honor two departed comrades who shared that tenting night on the Aluminé in Argentina. There will be glowing embers rising from a lakeside fire pit that has a Stonehenge-like backdrop built by our host. You can bet that lamb lollipops will be on the menu and toasts will be raised.
If You Go…
Taste, 9402 Main Street, Plymouth; (209) 245-3462; https://www.restauranttaste.com.
Beth Sogaard Catering : 9393 Main Street, Plymouth; (209) 245-3968; https://www.bethsogaard.com.
Amador Harvest Inn, 12455 Steiner Road, Plymouth; (209) 245-5512; https://www.amadorharvestinn.com.
Henderson Springs Private Waters Trout Fishing; (530) 337-6917; https://www.hendersonsprings.com.
