Each time I visit Perth I feel older, much older than the last time I came. It’s akin to catching up with an old friend and their children have grown six inches since you last saw them. You see the jump, but none of the in between. That’s what takes you by surprise. How can things have changed so much. Where did the time go?
With the exception of the Bird, Perth City & Northbridge generally irks me these days. I feel uncomfortable and like an outsider. The Northern urban sprawl comes across as if someone hit copy and paste 25 times, the nuances lost on me. I find the Western Suburbs eerie, full of almost forgotten memories that no longer seem real. Outside of the glorious beaches and the river, it remains a strange universe, full of people who never leave. They share the spaces with the ghosts of people who grew up there and have since left, more often than not losing their appetite to ever return. Absurd money fills that void, and the whole place feels like the split in an iceberg. Slowly drifting away, detaching itself further from reality with each passing day. Victoria Park is familiar and vibrant, but only Fremantle, and the surrounding suburbs feel welcoming. The stretch of High Street between Market Street and the Roundhouse its zenith. Timeless old buildings, record and book shops, fancy op-shops. The distinctive pale green entrance to the Buffalo club, the waft of freshly ground coffee every half block or so. The calming rhythm of people not in a rush, ticking and swaying at the same tempo I hear in my head. Only here, in Fremantle does my unease at being in the city become enveloped in a calm sense of things being the way they should be. And long may it live. There is solace in the knowledge that no new-wave architect would dare destroy the soul of this stretch of the road.
Yearning for calm seems futile anyway, when it seems like the whole entire world is stuck in a tiny room talking over each other. I can empathise with people whose solution is to join in, and start shouting loudly rather than get drowned out and slowly wither: you either join in and raise your voice or you make a run for it. Mentally I’m so far gone I’m halfway across the Pacific Ocean, but physically I’m fumbling trying to tie the laces on my running shoes, or splutter out the secret password for the exit.
Well written novels about meandering upper-middle class lives from seventy years ago, nature and a well-stocked cellar seem to be the best form of escape at the moment, but even those are not without trouble. As I go through my cellar and tuck into bottles buried for ten or fifteen years I’ve had what must have been one of the dullest wine epiphanies of all time. How dearly I wanted to be properly seduced by the Nerello Mascalese wines from the mysterious, volcanic slopes of Etna, or fall head over heels for the Zinfandel field blends from vineyards that survived prohibition in the Alexander Valley. Or shed a tear for those Syrah vineyards that capture the perfect bend in the river in the Northern Rhone valley, or the fine boned Rieslings of Mosel, so sharp you could cut a diamond with them. But alas, as much as I enjoy those wines and everything in between, as I go through my cellar I find myself increasingly drawn to the classic old ‘aged Cabernets’ genre of wine. How boring! The words ‘have the courage to be the person you really are’* echo in my head, and so be it. Those days in Perth have convinced me I’m getting far too old to be waiting for an epiphany that will likely never come.
None of this detracts from my love of Western Australian Pinot of course, which remains a major fascination. The best operators do things very well down here – and I feel like if I were to plant I’d be clumsily attempting to do basically the same thing with younger vines and less talent. So as for my own vineyard, which all going well will have its first vines in the ground come spring, I’ve decided to follow my heart and plant boring old Cabernet, going against some very sound advice it must be said.
I’ll articulate my plan here, if for no other reason than to look back and shake my head at my own stupidity. Nothing I’m not used to. Ripening Cabernet in Pemberton is a marginal prospect at best, and the longer grapes are on the vine here the more likely disease, bird damage, and in particular smoke damage from the large amounts of autumn fires are likely to ruin a vintage. The best wines in France are planted where the chosen varietal will only just ripen. Vines need to struggle a bit or the outcome is generally mediocrity. Maybe I’ll only make a decent wine every three years or so. The other years they may struggle a bit too much. But there are positives too.
My site, at the highest point on my property is barely twenty kilometers to the coast as the crow flies, cool, and almost maritime. The chance of a frost is slim. The gentle slope catches the last glimpse of the afternoon sun. An East – West orientation should give me flexibility when it comes to canopy management. Gravelly Karri Loam sits underneath. They’d kill for these soils elsewhere, I’m sure of it. I am hoping these stones retain some heat to maintain an even ripening process – as it does in other sites in the area. My inspiration, both in bottle and in the vineyard is left bank Bordeaux. The cordon wire will sit at 400ml above the ground, to keep the grapes in proximity to those stones. Both the rows and the vines themselves will be planted far closer together than is conventional. 1.25 meters between rows and one metre spacings between vines – close to what is standard in a classed growth vineyard, yet for some reason seen as cutting edge unique and trendy here in Australia (sigh!). Having seen the incredible quality of fruit in ‘Bills block’ at Picardy (which is even lower and closer than what I’m thinking) I’m confident that though a bit more work, this is the way to go to achieve even ripeness and quality fruit.
The Bordeaux styled wines of the Southern Forests (some of which have turned out very, very well with age) tended to be based predominantly on Merlot and Cab Franc. From what I can deduce, the plantings went in on a hunch that Right bank blends might suit the region, and the percentages in the vineyard ended up the same in the wine. I’m not a big fan of the Merlot clone that abounds, nor Merlot or Cab Franc as varietals in general. Drinkability young isn’t of much interest to me. With that in mind, the starting point will be 100% Cabernet Sauvignon. It works in Coonawarrra (which climatically, from a temperature perspective at least, is very similar). In the better wines in Margaret River and cooler vintages in Bordeaux the Cabernet percentage jumps up in the blend, often quite close to 100%. How much Merlot (or Malbec / Franc / Verdot) the wine needs to round out can be worked out at a later date rather than doing the guess work now. So who knows, but that’s the plan as it stands on this cold winter morning.
Back to the Pinot’s then. I gave a little vintage run down a few posts ago, but here’s a refresher given that the Southern Forests 22’s are basically all released now with the (excellent) Picardy Tete. 2022 Batista will follow soon: I’ve tasted it and it’ll require some patience in bottle anyway. If I had to generalise, the 2022 wines are generous, with plenty of upfront fruit but lacking a bit of structure/shape. Your classic 8/10 vintage. My gut feel is they will close up at some stage, perhaps soon, but should ultimately cellar long term reasonably well. Just don’t expect perfectly balanced, harmonious wines. The 23’s are going to need more patience and understanding, as the vintage was difficult in spots and quality won’t be homogenous. Tasting the 23 Lillian Lefroy Brook side by side with 22 was a resounding win for the (quite spectacular) 23. The reverse may be true elsewhere. The 24’s fill me trepidation just thinking about them, whilst going on the five or six properties I spent time at during vintage, the 2025’s are going to be good-to-very good. I doubt anything will surpass the 18’s or 20’s though. Indeed there is certainly room for another humdinger of a vintage. Hopefully I should get around to writing up some of the two dozen or so local Pinots I’ve got on hand once it warms up a bit.
* Dick started Grace Family vineyards in the Napa valley and speaks very well in a podcast episode of ‘I’ll drink to that’. He repeats this line a fair bit and it stuck with me.
The Wine Accomplice 