For many in the wine sector, plotting the journey to take over the next few years looks especially challenging. Navigating a sustainable route through the choppy waters associated with a post China, post pandemic world should be the top priority for all. But what will that journey look like and who will plot it? What the future needs to look like is, predictably, exactly the opposite of what is likely to happen. Speaking to a major UK buyer last week, their major concern was that the combination of losing the Chinese market, a large harvest and Brexit pressures would mean that Australia returned (some would argue it never left) to being the whipping boys of UK multiple buyers. The grim inevitability of this immediate future is only balanced off by the gastric gnawing I feel for all those whose futures will be directly affected. After a brief period where the Chinese enthusiasm for all things Australian allowed warm climate, inland growers to sell fruit at profitable levels, the reverse position that we now find ourselves in, is likely to lead to a situation where many growers are forced into a position where selling fruit is loss making. The temptation in such circumstances may be to increases yields and cut costs per ton, but the increase in water usage required to do so is not only damaging to the environment but also economically unsustainable given the price of water rights. I’m empathetic to the situation that many growers will find themselves in. When times were good, it was too easy to accept high prices for mainstream varieties and the need to diversify into alternatives or re-focus on climate appropriate varieties already in the ground, was too distant. But, and it is a big but, this is a cycle that we have seen before, albeit, the scale of the Chinese problem dwarfs anything we have experienced. And, this time, the economic situation is accompanied by an environmental crisis which means that we simply cannot ignore the need to change. As with all change, some of it will be uncomfortable and there will be losers, but we must resist the human desire to bury one’s head, ostrich like, in the sand. Only this last vintage, I visited a Riverland grower who wanted to sell me his old vine Grenache. It looked terrific – small yields, gnarly trunks, well balanced canopies, planted just post 2nd World War I’d imagine. “This will be the last vintage though……we’re getting older and can’t be bothered with having to hand pick. We’re ripping it out and replacing it with Shiraz which we can machine…” My jaw almost touched the dirt. I pleaded with him not to do it, offered him more money, offered him a 5 year contract with us paying for the picking. I tried to convince him that now was not a good time to plant more Shiraz. I failed. I do not blame him, or the many others that think similarly but, as an industry, we have failed to provide the support needed for people such as these to make bold choices about their future….our future. When we began winemaking in Australia, the challenges, as we saw them, were rather narrower than those we face now, but can we learn anything from how we overcame them? At this point, I should add that I fully acknowledge that nothing that we do individually is going to change our world but equally, the failure to act on an individual basis while waiting for collective action isn’t the answer either. McLaren Vale Grenache growers (Grenache growers in any region would have been the same) back in the early 2000’s were not a happy band. The decline in Grenache plantings, already set on their way by faltering demand, Govt incentivised vine-pulls, and non-appealing wine styles, was met head on by people such as ourselves who could not countenance the further destruction of Australia’s viticultural history. We set about buying and specialising in Grenache. A few principles guided our way: make wines that people want to drink ; pay the growers and pay them well ; tell the story to benefit all. It has not been easy but 10 years later Grenache is the most expensive variety in McLaren Vale and people are talking about, if not actually, planting more. After establishing ourselves in some of the best sites in McLaren Vale, we turned our thoughts to the wider sustainability of the variety. It’s all very well making small quantities of high quality single vineyard wines that sell for high prices, but for the variety to turn the corner nationally, we have to make a wine that can be produced sustainably in larger volumes, at a more accessible price. We turned to the Riverland where older plantings of Grenache were largely neglected but capable of making delicious wine. We agreed to pay the growers more to incentivise them to keep the vines in the ground and we showed the fruit a bit of love and affection. The result was Gorgeous Grenache and the lessons are incredibly important. While regenerative agriculture is now more widely discussed, the principle of using an existing resource and creating more value for it is one that made as much sense to us then as it does now. Grenache is arguably much better suited to many Australian climates than varieties such as Shiraz or Cabernet and the older vines crop less, using less water and the fruit has shown itself capable of making delicious wine. What I want to say is that, like most subjects, we have to start with money. There’s no point brow-beating people into submission over sustainability unless they can see a way of it sustaining themselves. To do that we need to be creative – we need to view existing resources through new eyes and help them to see their resources as we see them. Work with them to change how they work, demonstrate what that could mean for them, us and the environment. We need to be open to risk, but support those, as best we can, who we expect to take the risks with us. We will need to accept that hoping for a cycle to turn positive is no longer sustainable business practice – there is no guarantee that what worked in the past will work again. To enable sustainable change, we must enable and work with those that tend the land for, if we see choppy waters, they will feel raging seas. Only by working together can we part those seas, charting a course to a more sustainable future.

Veraison (when the grapes soften and turn colour) is either well under way or has completed in most areas, and we now begin the nail-biting run in to vintage. So far, the season has been benign. After a wettish winter, the vines were well set-up and this has been followed by a relatively mild season so far. Canopies look lush and while fruit yields vary from vineyard to vineyard, and from region to region, things look a whole lot more positive than this time last year. But we all know that we can take nothing for granted : This time last year, we had just endured the devastating fires but were only hearing the first reports of a possibly contagious disease spreading through China. While Australia has handled Covid-19 much better than most, it is a timely reminder that we must constantly be alert to all challenges. Not relying on received wisdom and challenging the norm' has always been part of my psyche and that of Thistledown. Without generations of experience, we have listened to those that know more, but mostly we have listened to nature. Walking in the vineyards, tasting the fruit, visualising the wines to be made from them and not being afraid to take a few risks, is far more valuable than expertise that might be out of date or not relevant for our vision. This philosophy has served us well so far but around this time of the year I really get the jitters. We're well prepared, we have great fruit sources and our logistics are organised. But, we never know what nature will throw at us at the last minute and I guess that's what makes me most nervous - and most excited about vintage. In the face of nature, I guess we are all equal.

Absentmindedly, my mother had left me in a pram outside the baker’s shop in Brightlingsea, Essex. Walking, hand in hand with my two elder brothers, she was accosted by a lady who asked whether the screaming baby outside the baker’s was hers. The rest is history. Though my mother liked to take the credit for my career in wine, the result of her having briefly been the p.a to Ronald Avery ( a legend in the history of the UK wine trade), I’d suggest that the senses that have proved so valuable, were awoken that day. Consequently, my earliest memory is that of the smell of baking bread. And not just any bread. Oh no, it wasn’t the rich, complex woody aromas of sourdough or the herbal, briny tang of a focaccia but more the sweet, biscuity warmth of a tin loaf. You know the one. Now generally found wrapped and sweating on a supermarket shelf, but back in the 70’s the mainstay of the local baker and delicious only when warm and forgiving in its gentle crustiness. So profound was that memory, and so intense is our ability to link memory and smell that when I go back there now, my view of the scene is 360 degrees. Smell and taste are all encompassing. And so it is with wine. My world is dominated by smell and taste (please keep Covid away), the equilibrium subtley changing from what wine would go with this food to what food can I get to go with the wine that I really long for. Great bread doesnt really need anything else, it is sustaining and wholesome. Made using a natural sourdough fermentation, the process is as joyous, frustrating and unpredictable as crafting wine using wild ferments. Both are very much a waiting game, the results more irregular but immeasurably more full of life and goodness as a result. Paired with some artisan charcuterie, a glass or two of Gorgeous Grenache and the breaking of bread is what memories are made of.

Throughout the more creative side of my wine career, there has been a common thread. It's not always something that I have either been conscious of or acknowledged, but the influence has been there in one form or another. When I first saw the label for Janice McDonald's Suckfizzle Sauvignon Semillon I was immediately taken by the whimsical irreverence of the enormous foot and later found the reference to Monty Python was explicit. When briefing in labels, I often find myself drawn to the stream-of-consciousness, mind-bending randomness of Terry Gilliam's creations and these references have also framed some of our work. The brief for Vagabond, our benchmark Blewitt Springs Old Vine Grenache was to create an iconic label that merged the influences of Spain (for that is where Grenache originated) with a touch of Salvador Dali and the notions of knights riding to the rescue of this once ailing variety. At the back of my mind, there was a scene from Terry Gilliam's "The Fisher King" where Robin William battled with the demons of his mind, those demons characterised by the mysterious knight atop a thundering, fire-breathing stallion. Thankfully, the label emerged somewhat more beautiful than the scene from the film, but another clear indication that both the style of and content of Gilliam's approach had a profound effect on my approach. What crystallised his influence for me came more recently. The phrase "Tilting at Windmills" had fascinated me for a while and we recently had cause to develop a label using this phrase. The phrase was coined by Miguel de Cervantes in his book Don Quixote and referred to Don Quixote's irrational fears and inner demons. "tilting" being a word for jousting and the windmills an irrational and unlikely target. It's been adopted into common language use for anyone obsessed with battling enemies that dont exist. Terry Gilliam has had a life long obsession with the story of Don Quixote and his attempts to dramatise the story on film have dragged on for decades - life mirroring fiction if ever there was a case. I'd like to think that my influencing by Gilliam's off-beat, somewhat surreal artistry are less about battling demons and more about enjoying the ability to narrate a tale through humour and surreal imagery, but there is something about the notion of battling imaginary enemies that we could all learn from. And it got me thinking. What are the imaginary enemies that we fight in the wine business? Where should we be focussing our energies rather than the petty infighting that characterises many industries and trades? In Australia, it is easy to be swept up in debates over conventional versus natural, how much to rely on certain markets or how much to bash the wines of our competitors - these are the windmills at which we are tilting, the demons that too easily occupy our waking moments. The cure though, to this collective psychosis, is to focus on the bigger picture, and the windmills in Cervantes' tale provide a clue to what that focus ought to be. Renewable energy, whether solar or wind power, is one of the ways in which we are addressing the threats of climate change. Elsewhere, wineries are striving to be carbon neutral while the new found interest in "alternative" varieties has been driven by people whose primary focus was to change the environmental sustainability of our viticulture. Despite the current Covid-19 distractions, the battle to save our planet needs to the consistent focus of all of our minds. As mad as Gilliam or Don Quixote appear to be, these troubled minds provide clues as to how we might live better lives. Lives where we are focussed on the things that really matter and not on tilting at windmills.

I first wrote and published the piece below a couple of years ago but it is still very relevant for two reasons: the need to reinvent and add value to existing resources rather than create new ones is more urgent than ever given the recent climate induced tragedies ; we continue to prove that what were once unloved vineyards can, with some love and attention, produces wines that are utterly delicious, as well as great value. I mentioned to a world weary wine professional that we were embarking on an exciting project in South Australia’s Riverland and was met with the response that “the Riverland is the Riverland, it’s all the same”. Of course, such a sentiment is not uncommon. In wine broker’s parlance, the Riverland is a “warm inland irrigated zone” and to most people it is simply the powerhouse of the Australian wine industry. Bereft of any character, nuance of terroir or potential for quality, the people of the Riverland became accustomed to derisory sums for their produce. In some years, the price per ton of fruit was less than it cost to provide the water to irrigate the vines. But everything changes and a combination of increased competition for economic sources of wine, the reawakening of the Australian spirit for experimentation and a short term blip in European wine production have produced an environment ripe for the reimagination of the Riverland. The Riverland region of South Australia was developed in the late 19th Century as an irrigation colony with settlements first in Renmark but, encouraged by the success of the fruit and wine industries, it was followed by developments in Berri, Blanchetown and Loxton. In 1919 the Soldier Settlement Bill provided soldiers returning from war with the opportunity of land to cultivate and these schemes continued through to post 2nd World War. These “soldier blocks” have largely been lost, their steadily reducing yields not consistent with the low price, high yield demands of the wider industry. The region flourished during the height of the Aussie wine boom with prices per ton 3 times what they would be 15 years later. As plantings grew right across the country, fuelled by the industry’s 2025 vision, the gap between the price for cool, premium fruit and warm inland fruit narrowed and so demand for the warm inland fruit began to falter. The region began a prolonged period of decline which is only now being arrested. Much of the renewed interest in the region has been for the new plantings of alternative varieties. Championed by Ashley Ratcliff of Ricca Terra Farms at Barmera, plantings of Fiano, Vermentino, Nero D’Avola, Montepulciano, Touriga Nacional amongst others have been snapped up by adventurous winemakers such as Brash Higgins, Unico Zela, Delinquente and Ricca Terra themselves. The attraction is obvious – these are cool varieties, well suited to the terrain and capable of holding on to acid even in the hottest of conditions. However, I’m a firm believer in swimming against the tide and so Thistledown’s approach to the region is a little bit different. Working with renowned viticulturist, Ashley Ratcliff, Thistledown wines have been tracking down the old vineyards in the region, many of which share their histories with the soldiers who served their country. They are vineyards that until now have not attracted a premium, their grapes being bundled up with high yielding young vine fruit. Our project aims to secure the future of these old vine vineyards by providing a sustainable income for those growing the fruit. But we also want to demonstrate that this is a region capable of more and it is one that can provide wines of significant quality and personality. Ashley Ratcliffe’s Riverland grape sourcing expertise has helped us secure fruit contracts for our signature Grenache but also for Shiraz and Mataro. Once married up to the sensitive, low intervention wine making approach of Thistledown, this fruit has already been proved capable of making wine more exciting than many might have thought plausible with one major UK retailer about to launch a wine from the inaugural vintage of the project. The wines, made in our Adelaide Hills winery, are treated with as much care as those from the more revered regions of McLaren Vale or Barossa Valley. The end result is a range of wines that display all the advantages associated with old vines and subtle, high quality winemaking. Moreover, in placing a higher value on this previously underestimated fruit, they also provide a much needed lifeline to the communities of the Riverland. At a time when everyone is reevaluating their fruit sources, the sustainability of supply and the ethics of their business, surely now is the time to reimagine the Riverland.

“Why Grenache?” is a question that I am frequently asked. And the simple answer is that it makes wines that are delicious and life affirming – when handled correctly. The slightly more complicated answer is….slightly more complicated. English born but Edinburgh raised, I grew up at a time when the annual football fixture between Scotland and England was a major event. Regardless of the result, I (along with my siblings) faced running battles in the playground that would provide the foundations of my revelling in the position of underdog. It’s that enjoyment of succeeding from a position of weakness, of changing perceptions and of adding value that have driven much of my wine career so far. When we first started Thistledown, there wasn’t a variety more aptly labelled the underdog than Grenache. It was the forgotten workhorse. For decades it was the backbone of fortified production – reliably producing high alcohol reds, ideal for turning into port or sherry styles for both domestic and export markets. As tastes changed, so did its fortunes. Put out to pasture and forgotten, Grenache was the old nag in the paddock. Faithful but badly neglected. Many feared it would pass away, barely noticed. That was until a band of spirited winemakers noticed how delicious the wine made from old vine Grenache could be if you threw out the recipe books of yore. Forget the nonsense about late harvesting, high extraction and new oak. Usher in earlier picking, lower extraction, little or no new oak and a new found respect and appreciation of site and individuality. Thistledown was, of course, one of those spirited winemakers that have been at the forefront of the new style McLaren Vale Grenache and in crafting this new style of wine we, along with others ( think SC Pannell, Yangarra, Aphelion, Ministry of Clouds, Wirra Wirra, Bekkers, Bondar etc) have demonstrated that Grenache is not only delicious but incredibly versatile. There will always be occasions when only a Shiraz will do, where the modest, sweetly smoked fruit of great Rioja will appeal, or the majestic tannins of Cabernet will bolster the experience - but Grenache is the ultimate all-rounder. I quite often can serve the same Grenache based wine at 3 or 4 different temperatures and it does 3 or 4 very different jobs. Its vibrant fruit, supple tannins and moderate acidity lend themselves to so many occasions and foods that there is barely a time I cannot think that Grenache would be the right answer to the question “what shall we drink?” And then there are some cuisines that don’t just rub along happily with Grenache so much as crave its attention. The gentle, dried fruit and warming spice of Middle Eastern or North African cuisine is an incredible place to start. One of my favourite dishes to win people over is Ottolenghi’s Beef & Lamb meatballs with broad beans ( www.ottolenghi.co.uk ) where the subtle spicing and soft, giving texture of the meatballs is more than matched by the vibrant, energetic Grenache fruit. Both have touches of pomegranate and exotic spice, both truly life affirming. Try our Vagabond Grenache to get the idea ( https://www.thistledownwines.com/the-wine/The-Vagabond-Grenache-2019-p225550785 ) Of course, there is no end to the possible matches ( a term I use loosely given that what you drink with a particular dish is influenced by so much more than just what it tastes like) but Grenache is always a willing partner. Grenache’s time has come. It is no longer the old nag in the paddock, more often the gambolling foal, increasingly the thoroughbred. Grenache is undergoing a remarkable transformation.

In Greek mythology, the story of Orpheus is both famous and pertinent. “ Orpheus’s singing and playing were said to be so beautiful that animals and even trees and rocks moved about him in dance. Orpheus joined the expedition of the Argonauts, saving them from the music of the Sirens by playing his own, more powerful music. On his return, he married Eurydice, who was soon killed by a snakebite. Overcome with grief, Orpheus ventured himself to the land of the dead to attempt to bring Eurydice back to life. With his singing and playing he charmed the ferryman Charon and the dog Cerberus, guardians of the River Styx. His music and grief so moved Hades, king of the underworld, that Orpheus was allowed to take Eurydice with him back to the world of life and light. Hades set one condition, however: upon leaving the land of death, both Orpheus and Eurydice were forbidden to look back. The couple climbed up toward the opening into the land of the living, and Orpheus, seeing the Sun again, turned back to share his delight with Eurydice. In that moment, she disappeared.” For someone who delights in old vine vineyards, the dangers of looking back may seem like an odd sentiment to share. But let me explain. When we began our journey with Thistledown we were still not sure which route we should take to achieve our goals of producing brilliantly balanced, textural, delicious and contemporary Australian wines. Setting out to make wine in that ill-fated 2011 vintage, we could have easily been guided to take the path of more robust, more popular varieties to champion. Trying to sell Australian Grenache back then was not simple. But there was a strong pull, an irresistible urge to pursue the more difficult path. Time and time again we were shown beautiful vineyards (in both the Barossa and McLaren Vale) that were loved and cared for by their owners, but not by anyone else. Some were close to pulling out the vines, all were despairing about the state of the market for Grenache. I remember almost being begged to buy some fruit by an elderly couple who subsequently sold their vineyard and, now in the right hands, is flourishing. As if led by a higher power, we began pursuing a path that would lure us in, further and further, into the land of Grenache. 10 harvests on, the world is a very different place in so many ways. And of course, through the narrow prism of Grenache, the market has changed immeasurably. No longer are the old Grenache vineyard unloved and under-valued, now they are fought for, their vinous gems escalating in esteem and dollars at a rate previously unconscionable. People, like me, talk of Grenache being the signature variety for South Australia and even the big guys are waking up to the potential. And in this moment, blinded by the bright lights, it would be all too easy to look back. To yearn for a time when we were a merry band of highly motivated, artisan producers on a mission. To reminisce wistfully about the opportunities that were presented and not always grasped…. But no, now is the time to remain focussed on the path ahead, and to set out a future for Grenache. One where the viticultural gems of the past are valued and protected but one where we are also looking after the future, planting the nascent icon sites, making wines that will delight, inspire and enthral in equal measure. Let us not be like Orpheus.