Red wine from red soil
Rich and free-draining, the fabled terra rossa is the perfect dirt for vines.
HEAD 20KM south of Naracoorte Caves and the same dirt that entombed the megafauna underpins the sea of vines that is the Coonawarra. Just on 16km long and 2km wide, this cigar-shaped strip of red soil – known to wine buffs as terra rossa – is among the most fabled grape-growing real estate in Australia, especially for reds. Being slightly elevated, the skinny raft of limestone that underpins the Coonawarra allowed windborne soils to develop in dry conditions and the iron content of those soils to oxidise – hence the terra rossa’s signature russet hue.
Rich yet free-draining, it’s the perfect dirt for vines. But, as local winemaker Pete Bissell of Balnaves of Coonawarra explains, it’s relatively shallow and the limestone below isn’t generally penetrated by the roots. “It keeps the vines in that zone where they’re not growing leaf but are producing grapes and that’s how you end up with better quality fruit,” he says. This moisture control is crucial to the hallmark character of Coonawarra Cabernet Sauvignon, a wine with a distinctive minty perfume, fine tannins and a purity and intensity of blackcurrant flavours.
As well as having 27 vintages under his belt, Pete has a background in biochemistry. Sitting in an office stacked with books and scientific papers, he extols the virtues of the region with the same balancing act of depth and poise expressed in his wines. “For me, this place has it all: the soil on the limestone is fantastic, the climate is right in the zone and you get this consistency of wonderful black fruit,” he says.
The Coonawarra’s other hidden treasure is a readily accessible aquifer.
Browsing megafauna would have revelled in the leafy lushness of this spring.
much as tenfold, it has also radically altered the natural landscape. Of the original wetlands here, barely 11 per cent survive.
From Victoria Cave it’s a short stroll south to a breach in the limestone outcrops and a sweeping bend of Mosquito Creek. One of nature’s own drains, the creek’s 1100 sq.km catchment extends as far east as Edenhope in Victoria. And over the course of the past year, it has transformed Bool Lagoon, the largest of the region’s remaining freshwater refuges.
In contrast to the conf ines of the nearby caves, the lagoon greets you with dazzling expanses. And not just the long, curving shorelines and epic skies. In this most bountiful of seasons, there’s 3000ha of bright, brimming water, too. Here, the pulse of life is irresistible. Tens of thousands of nesting ibis, as well as magpie geese, black swans, spoonbills, egrets and brolgas, are among 79 waterbird species that frequent this sanctuary. Amid the tea-trees huddled at the water’s edge you f ind chattering bands of wrens and thornbills; swamp wallabies and grey kangaroos graze silently nearby. It’s a small glimpse of the natural vitality that once hummed right across this landscape – going all the way back to when diprotodons and their massive brethren galumphed through these woodlands.
No strangers to the hardship of dry years, the browsing megafauna would have revelled in the leafy lushness of this spring. For Brian Robins, a district ranger with the Department of Environment, Water and Natural Resources, keeping tabs on the f lows hurtling down Mosquito Creek into Bool Lagoon has been a rollercoaster ride. “We’re talking some pretty big numbers,” he says. “There was a day when we had six gigs [gigalitres] come in.” These punchy inputs brought battering debris from upstream and wrenched boardwalks off their supports. All up, Bool has received in excess of 70GL – enough to f ill the wetland system more than twice.
Historically, the overf low would have spilled out onto the plains to the north. However, under the drainage scheme, Drain M at the western end of the lagoon diverts water 60km to the sea at Rivoli Bay. But in once-a-decade seasons such as this, even the biggest drains struggle. “At one stage, it was f lowing in at 63,000L a second – that’s four times quicker than we could let it out,” Brian says.
Before disgorging into the ocean, the waters sluicing down Drain M enjoy one last lash at freedom in Lake George. Covering 4200ha, this is the largest among a string of lagoons and wetlands marooned behind the coastal dunes and cliffs north of Beachport. With its salt marshes and seagrass meadows, this
estuarine lake is an extremely valuable wading-bird habitat and nursery ground for f ish. For a time, however, all seemed lost. Successive years of low water f lows, both fresh and salt, and algal blooms ravaged the aquatic ecology; in 1999 all of the lake’s f ish died. But with this most recent express delivery from Drain M, the outlook is significantly more buoyant.
THE WESTERN FLANK of Lake George rises through old dune ridges in a patchwork of bare pasture and straggly coastal woodland. It’s here that during the late 1990s Adelaide-based couple Adrian Heard and Meredith Reardon found the bush getaway they’d been dreaming of. Keen windsurfers, they were exhilarated by the lake’s f lat water and snappy breezes. But a deeper enchantment grew with the bush itself. Year by year, they worked together to rejuvenate their block, removing weeds and planting more than 3000 native trees.
From the couple’s hill-top lookout, the vista of a chock-full Lake George is matched by the exuberance of their scrub hideaway, now alive with new growth and perky birdsong. “Our years doing this have been quite bonding for us,” Meredith says. “Adrian grew up nearby, so it’s like coming home for him, and even as a kid I’ve always wanted to be outside, so this has been a fantastic project for us.” Spending time in their lakeside haven, they’ve become attuned to the cadences of bush business: the heath’s late-winter f lowerings, signs of echidnas and wombats returning, and chance glimpses of all manner of visitors, from ringtail possums to rufous bristlebirds and blue-winged parrots.
For Adrian, the real eye-opener is the sheer vigour of the vegetation when it’s given a chance. “It’s almost beyond belief – we call it the Jungle,” he says with a wry glance. “Once the plants get their roots down in the freshwater lenses in the dunes there’s almost unlimited growth.” Out here, it seems, you’re never far from nature at its bullish best. The lookout’s calm seclusion belies the fact that we’re barely 2km from the sea. According to Adrian, there are times when it feels even closer: “After the big winter fronts go through, you hear the ocean roaring for days.”
FROM THE AIR, the torrents that raged along Mosquito Creek a few days ago fill the northern arc of Rivoli Bay with plumes of dark, olive-green water. But even they are no match for the breakers lined up seven-deep, charging in from the Southern Ocean.
On its run north from Beachport, the coast wears the unmistakeable insignia of this onslaught: stark surf beaches, sand blows and wave-ripped headlands. The nearest respite is 40km north at Guichen Bay in the lee of Cape Dombey.
Since 1846, the bay has been home to Robe, a boom town during the Victorian gold rushes and one of SA’s most storied ports. These days, the old pubs and low, whitewashed cottages are overlooked by sharp, marina-style holiday homes. Tourism is big but the town’s lifeblood remains a 30-strong f leet of lobster boats.
If you wander out to Cape Dombey on almost any morning between October and May there’s a good chance you’ll spot one of those boats punching out through the swell to drop its pots. In a big blow, the cape is an atmospheric place. Spray whips skyward as you stand, bracing yourself atop one of the limestone prows that line up along the coast around here. Hollowed by the elements, these tattered relics contrast with the cape’s 12m-tall stone obelisk, a red-and-white-striped navigation marker and Robe icon since 1855.
The obelisk itself is made of limestone. The boats are heading out to set their pots on submerged reefs of limestone perforated with the holes and crevices lobsters love. Behind you, the 14 limestone ranges are lined up, back to back, all the way to Victoria.
To the south, along 150km of roaring Southern Ocean coastline, the wind and rain and waves are hard at it. They’re making limestone; they’re building range number 15.
Out here, it seems, you’re never far from nature at its bullish best.