Going for the Gold Rush

Emerald Bay, at the southern end of Lake Tahoe (Andrea Wyner) [enlarge photo]

The former mining towns in California's Gold Country fall into two distinct categories: the half-forgotten hamlets with little remaining evidence of their past, and the places that have been gentrified to look like Hollywood backlots. In early spring, as my friend Kim and I set off from San Francisco to explore the region, our first stop is a spot decidedly in the latter camp. Grass Valley has a very old-timey-looking downtown, but behind the reconstructed wooden façades are pricey boutiques and Pilates studios. Not that I'm complaining. Kim and I are both city girls, from the Bay Area and Brooklyn, respectively. Had we dived right into a ghost town, we might have turned back.

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Grass Valley became a boomtown after gold was discovered in the nearby hills 150 years ago, attracting a mob of hopeful miners from Cornwall, England (there are still Cornish parties every Christmas). Now the land is covered with grapevines—wine is the new moneymaker in these parts. Craving a bit of historical authenticity with our lunch, Kim and I wander into the Holbrooke Hotel, a Victorian inn—President Ulysses S. Grant once slept here—that has the oldest continuously operating saloon west of the Mississippi. The menu at the Restaurant at the Holbrooke, however, is contemporary Californian.

"Do you think Cobb salads were popular with the Cornish miners?" I joke to Kim.

I hate doing touristy things, so I planned to bypass the nearby Empire Mine State Historic Park, but Kim really wants to go. And, of course, it turns out to be one of our most memorable stops. Between 1850 and 1956, when the mine closed, 5.8 million ounces of gold were extracted from tunnels thousands of feet underground. I feel claustrophobic just peering into the shaft where the men were lowered into the earth, so Kim leads me out to the park, now a popular place for weddings. We both find it ironic that people get married on the very spot where miners died, which leads to a lengthy discussion about blood diamonds in Africa. This is the kind of thing we talk about on vacation—when we're not shopping or eating.

Lake Tahoe is about 70 miles to the east. I booked us a hotel in advance, expecting the area to be packed at the tail end of the ski season. But when we arrive, the strip of motels alongside the water is alive with neon vacancy signs. Our place, the Mourelatos Lakeshore Resort, is owned by a friendly Greek family; however, I feel a bit of renter's remorse when I see the satin bedspreads, gold-trimmed pillows, and thick wall-to-wall carpeting. Falling asleep in our gilded confines that night, I dream of Greek gods and sooty-faced miners.

LODGING
Mourelatos Lakeshore Resort
6834 N. Lake Blvd., Tahoe Vista, 800/824-6381, mlrtahoe.com, from $130

FOOD
Restaurant at the Holbrooke
212 W. Main St., Grass Valley, 530/273-1353, holbrooke.com, Cobb salad $9

ACTIVITIES
Empire Mine State Historic Park
10791 E. Empire St., Grass Valley, 530/273-8522, empiremine.org, $3

DAY 2

Across the border in Nevada, Kim and I decide to do some prospecting of our own at the Tahoe Biltmore Lodge & Casino. Kim has never been to a casino and I'm hardly a card shark, so we luck out by sitting at an empty blackjack table opposite Victor, a softhearted dealer who explains the rules to us. (Note to the pit boss: I disguised Victor's identity so you can't fire him for taking pity on a couple of rubes.) Even with Victor's tutelage, we manage to lose $25 in no time—a sure sign that we'd better hit the road.

We know we're back in California when we stop at the Tahoe hangout Java Juice Wraps & Bagels to grab chicken, avocado, and alfalfa sprouts on whole wheat. Picnic in hand, Kim and I drive to Emerald Bay, one of the most photographed sights in the Sierras. We hike down to the water's edge and find a spot where we can see Fannette Island in the middle of the bay. The sun is melting the last of the snow, and the air smells of pine.