Into the Valley of the Vines
Cowley, Jason, New Statesman (1996)
The afternoon I arrived in the Barossa Valley, in the state of South Australia, I was warned that an unusually severe storm was forecast in what was proving to be a turbulent summer of unseasonable rain and floods. Driving north from the serene city of Adelaide, I'd already passed through a violent hailstorm that left parts of the road flooded and then, as I arrived in the Barossa and the temperature rose rapidly, locusts swarmed and thudded against the windscreen. "If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense," said Alice. "Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't."And so it seemed to me just then.
I was in the Barossa to attend the annual, pre-Christmas Generations Lunch, when the region's winemakers come together to drink each other's wine and talk business. The previous day I'd been touring the vineyards up in the Adelaide Hills and I'd been struck once again by the freewheeling, can-do attitude of Aussie winemakers.
They like to experiment, blend and plant whatever they want wherever they want. There are no appellation laws, no restrictions on which varietals can be grown. They like to speak of "label integrity": forget terroir, the market and the weather will decide what succeeds. In the Barossa, I met a winemaker who had stubbornly tried to make a good Pinot Noir - which usually thrives in cooler climates - and only eventually conceded defeat; the relentless sun scorched the vines.
Later that night, the forecast storm tore through the valley. I watched from my hotel window as forked lightning struck the surrounding hills like some angry god in the act of wreaking vengeance. Power cables and trees were brought down, roads and tracks were rendered impassable, rivers surged and swelled. The next morning I was told that the lunch was off because of a power failure, but then shortly afterwards it was back on again.
When I arrived, late, at the cavernous barn where everyone had gathered on a warm and cloudy afternoon, I was put on a table with the Henschke family, whose ancestors arrived in the valley from Silesia in the early 19 th century and planted the first vines. …