The last couple of weeks have involved a tour through South Australia, from Clare to McLaren Vale, followed by a first look for me at the vineyards of the Canberra region.

From there we headed southwards, via Rutherglen, Beechworth, Milawa and Goulburn, to the Yarra. Harvest has slowed somewhat and the weather was preponderantly cool, with heavy rain on March 3rd and 4th in the Barossa, and even heavier rain on the 12th and 13th in the Yarra and Melbourne. (“Beautiful!” is the usual response to heavy rain here.

Heavy rain makes total strangers kiss each other, and gloomy old bachelor farmers smile, with a strange crinkling sound, for the first time in years. I understand it, but I still can’t quite get used to it.)

Raking out at St Halletts
A comprehensive account of the trip will have to wait for the book I am here to prepare – and in any case, comprehensive accounts aren’t really in the blogging spirit.

Who were ‘we’? I was travelling with Arblaster and Clarke guests (http://www.winetours.co.uk). Thanks for the camaderie, everyone.

Let’s begin with a re-definition ...

... of the word ‘valley’. If your mental image of ‘valley’ is something suggested by the English Lake District, by the Mosel, by the Douro, by the Rockies, by the Himalayas, by the Andes or by the Alps, Australia makes you think again.

‘Valley’ in Australia means a flattish place with some sort of watercourse hidden nearby, which may or may not have any water in it. Valleys here may have hills of a sort, but two sides are strictly optional. Don’t forget that much of Australia has undergone 200 million years of erosion or more; the fact that there are any hills left at all is a source of wonder. It’s an old-age landscape. It’s an age-old landscape. Sometimes it seems to suggest the end of all landscapes. Time has stretched out so far here that it has almost lost meaning, and goes round and round endlessly (a notable feature of Aboriginal ontology). The fact that the dominant tree here never sheds its leaves adds to this sense of endurance and endlessness and unbroken circularity. Valleys don’t quite stretch out forever here, and watersheds do exist somewhere or other, but even surveyors could be forgiven for losing them.

Tim AdamsThis helps us to understand Tim Adams’ definition of his home territory a little better. Where is the Clare Valley, Tim? “Clare is a series of gullies high up in the sky.” I like that; it’s true. The slopes come and go; the height makes the place cooler than it ought to be, given its latitude.

This is the land of the gulley breeze. There are actually five watercourses up here, and the rain which falls on Clare reaches the sea at two ports 500 km apart, depending on whether it got there via the Wakefield River or the Broughton River. In between the gullies, some great Riesling comes into being.

Skillogallee 2008 Trevarrick Riesling
Pale gold in colour, with an unusually delicate spectrum of aromas: custard cream, orange flowers, tangerine fruits, a touch of mint. On the palate, intense, searching and pure, with the typical lime citrus note of Clare Riesling swinging in, backed by a little powdery stone. 16.5/20

***

Robert O'Callaghan, Barossa sage“For sale, wine grapes” said a sign wired to a fence at the entance to Tanuda as we drove into the Barossa, under heavy grey skies. Rumour had it that a lot more than grapes was for sale. Half an hour later, the rain was pouring down and I was talking to Robert O’Callaghan in his study, which had the feel of a scholar’s log cabin.

Outside, we could hear the phut! phut! phut! of the old, belt-driven Bagshaw crusher, in action for the 144th successive year. “We’ve had such a lovely time with the boom.,” he said, softly. “That will never happen again.” The days aren’t, of course, as dark as when the government was paying Barossa growers to uproot 150-year-old vines, but Robert felt sure that it was now time again for the “farmer’s mentality” to swing into action. Put profits aside, in other words, to ensure endurance above all, the sort of endurance that had seen the locals through “five generations of hardship”.

He remembered his own beginnings when, as Seppelt’s grape-grower liaison officer, he got to look at all the great vineyards of the Barossa – the gartens, as they were called. “The big companies were paying $120 per tonne, but the grapes cost the growers $350 per tonne to grow. For $600 a tonne, we could take our pick. I said to them “I’ll give you $600/tonne. The deal is ... it’s forever.” Sealed on a handshake.

The Bagshaw Crusher

Rockford 2006 Basket-Pressed Shiraz
Dark black red in colour. A scent of black fruits – but concealed, somehow, beneath a covert of leaves sprinkled with earth. On the palate, that fruit is both deep and limpid but with a streak of black treacle through it, shading back towards dry brushed earth at the end. Graceful contours and soft acidity; gravely drinkable. 17/20

***

Penfold’s Peter Gago was on great form. When isn’t he? I first met him over a decade ago, when he was in charge of Seaview sparkling wines, and he fizzed with communicative enthusiasm even then. Now he’s in charge of everything from Grange downwards, and the effervescence is magisterial. Moreover everthing he said was music to my ears.

He said he would like to see Rawson’s Retreat excised from the Penfold’s range – and put into permanent retreat. He would feel more comfortable with Koonunga Hill as the base camp.

“Food,” he said, "is a fining agent. That’s all food is.”

“You make Pinot Noir before fermentation starts.”

“I always feel sorry for Magill. It’s the only wine in our range which never has anything good added to it but only has good things taken out of it.”

And, best of all ... “This wine has no new oak, no added yeast, no added acid, no pH correction, ferments as hot as you like, five weeks on skins ... the only addition we make to it is a squirt of SO2.” Why? “We have to broaden our base of offers.” Hurrah! What was it?

Penfolds 2006 Cellar Reserve Sangiovese, Barossa Valley
Dark red, with fresh tea and ripe fruit scents with curve and intrigue to them. Lively, fresh, poised, vivid, naturally articulated, deep yet alive. The true Sangiovese tang; a faint Gesualdo bitterness to finish; yet the sense of warm vivaciousness remains. 16/20

There is quite a lot of Sangiovese and Tempranillo entering the lists in South Australia and Victoria; this was unquestionably the best I’ve tasted so far.

I was as enthusiastic about the ...

Penfolds 2007 Cellar Reserve Pinot Noir, Adelaide Hills
“From 17 different vineyards in 10 different areas. Cold soak, wild yeast, 20% whole bunch, only free run, no pressings, no SO2 at all in barrel, unfined, unfiltered ... literally just crushed grapes.”
Clear, dark red. Disarmingly lovely dark cherry scents – fragrant and captivating. Vivid, lively, fresh, bright flavours. Not hugely complex, but the fruit is poised on that cusp of ripeness which is so important for Pinot, yet so hard to get right; and the perfume persisted into the palate ... waftingly, as it should. Delicately textured, too. Just a touch warm at the end, but hugely impressive overall. 17/20

Peter also gave us a treat greater than Grange: the 2004 Kalimna Block 42 Cabernet Sauvignon. This is the rarest of birds – from 120-year-old vines, but usually a component on Bin 707, and seldom bottled on its own. Pitiful yields; joyful results.

Penfolds 2004 Kalimna Block 42 Cabernet Sauvignon
Saturated black-red in colour. The first sniff is almost muddled, an inky stew, though you can sense the life forces in there. A little air soon sees the elements fall into place, and then blackcurrant takes control – pure, spacious, airy, aquiline, riveting. The palate is plungingly deep and intense, with more of that racehorse blackcurrant fruit galloping off for furlong after furlong; soft textures back it all the way. Will it do something different with time? There’s no reason why it should, since this is amply enough, but a little more secondary complexity would nudge it towards perfection. 18/20

***

Dave Powell was holding court at Torbreck.

“If you add acid to white wines, it stands out like dog’s balls.”

I’m not sure I agree with this. I certainly agree that overt acid additions (still far too common in Australia) have the alarming prominence of canine testes, but I think subtle acid additions tend to work better with whites than with reds ... for the simple reason that whites are drunk chilled, and chilling seems to draw the misjudged acid back into the wine. My solution for over-acidified reds is in fact to drink them chilled and try to fool your mouth into thinking they are very richly flavoured and constituted white wine. It almost works.

From the ‘dog’s balls’ remark, I assumed that Dave’s whites based on Rhône varietals might be the luscious, scent-saturated, low-acid sort I like so much. The 2008 Viognier-Marsanne-Roussanne, though, had a fair whack of acid to it -- no malo and presumably picked while the crack of the starting gun was still echoing in the air. What did Dave think of some of the zero-acid whites so common among the Rhône stars? (Someone here told me – though I’ve no idea if this is true – that they analysed a Condrieu Doriane from Guigal and found it had a pH of 4 and titratable acidity of 4 g/l. Who’s up for that challenge in Australia?)

The Powell thumb was down. “It’s like having warm egg white in your mouth.” I don’t agree with that, either.

We did agree on some things, though I can’t quite match Dave’s inimitable turn of phrase. “Most people pick on sugar and acid, but in fact the figures mean f@%! all.”

As a Mourvèdre/Monastrell/Mataro fan, I was looking forward to The Pict, but it disappointed: too bitter, too oaky, too hard, too austere. The Hewitson Old Garden strikes me as a more successful Barossa reading of the variety.

The Struie, The Factor and RunRig are all very good wines, though. Since we were in the Barossa and “The Factor is the most Barossa wine we make”, here’s my note for that.

2006 Torbreck The Factor
(100% Barossa Shiraz, from seven vineyards planted with 60 to 90 year old vines, given two years in French oak of which 30% is new.)
Dark black red in colour, with attractively sweet, brambly fruits dominating the scents. Lush, rich and genuinely low in acid; penetrating and deep; stiffened with a little pepper at the end. Touch dry as it leaves the mouth. 16/20

By the way, it was March 4th in the Barossa – and it was so cold that there was a run on Torbreck quilted jackets. Look out for the next instalment of Roadsongs before long.