Into the fold

Curling up from the coastline the Babilonstoring mountain swells like a wave over the Hemel-en-Aarde. Tear-tracks of quartz run down its slopes, souvenirs from recurring floods. On the other side of the valley is the Kleinrivier range. 

Like a pair of stone lungs the opposing mountains draw in the morning mist, blanketing the vineyards between them. Vapour hangs low among dark patches of forest, encouraging mushrooms to pop, and the Twin Peaks theme tune to play in my head. By afternoon, the south-easter will stream back out clearing the way. 

This is South Africa’s Burgundy, where fine pinot noir and chardonnay reign supreme. Located just outside resort-town Hermanus, the Hemel-en-Aarde falls within the Walker Bay district, part of the broader Cape South Coast region. 

As I drive, the mountains seem to tuck the valley in, narrowing as the altitude climbs. It is this effect, this squeezing until all you can see is mountain touching sky, that saw it christened ‘Heaven and Earth’.

The name was coined by a Moravian missionary visiting its erstwhile leper colony. The settlement was established partly because of the area’s remoteness, but also because of the healing properties attributed to its ‘ley lines’ – spiritual pathways said to have been used by ancient hunter-gatherers. 

Along the central road the three wards unpack like a conglomerate staircase: the clay-rich Hemel-en-Aarde Valley, the granitic Upper Hemel-en-Aarde Valley. Finally, the shale-dominated Hemel-en-Aarde Ridge. (Hereafter referred to as Valley, Upper and Ridge.) 

Wineries flank either side of the road. Some rise up in their splendour; others remain hidden. When a gap opens in the mountains, the glitter of the south Atlantic comes into view. The icy Benguela Current, flowing up from Antarctica, brings profound maritime cooling. Combined with higher-than-average rainfall, it creates ideal conditions for pinot noir and chardonnay.

The soils are imminently suited to the grapes too. Three hundred and thirty million years ago, the Falkland Plateau forced up the Cape Fold Belt in east-west waves, creating a mosaic of Bokkeveld shale, granite, sandstone and clay. Gordon Newton Johnson, of the family label, has observed that pinots from the clay-shale soils are generally darker with ‘chewier tannins’, in comparison to the more perfumed granite-grown. ‘Think Musigny vs Gevrey-Chambertin.’ While chardonnay’s success lies in the magic rubric of clay for structure, with the energetic freshness of granite.

Woodsmoke curls through the air, evidence of a recent tree-uprooting flood. It ate roads too, including the one leading into Storm Wines. There is no better producer to visit to understand this place, as the Storms make wine across all three appellations. Nathalia Storm directed me along a back road to their newly built cellar.

She and Hannes are among the valley’s most influential figures. Hannes spent eight years as winemaker at Hamilton Russell Vineyards before the couple launched Storm Wines in 2012. 

Hannes is as they say, smousing the wines in Japan, so it’s Nathalia who greets me. In a hollow of eucalyptus is the square brick cellar. Inside, under a vaulted roof are tanks, barrels and amphorae. Circular windows frame forest and sky. There is a sense of restraint; an echo of the low interventionism that informs their five single-vineyard wines.  

Jumping into a bakkie, both of us with muddy boots, Nathalia navigates the bumpy track. She describes the Valley, Upper and Ridge not as sites, but as personalities. 

Entering a farm in the Valley we curve around a dam. The exposed bank cuts a window into the soil composition. Bands of rust-red and ochre reveal the clay-rich shale. Vrede, which is the name of their chardonnay and pinot vineyards here, sits in a more enclosed part of the Valley and can experience greater disease pressure than Ignis in the Upper. When the fog rolls in, Nathalia says, it’s like being on the set of a spooky movie. 

We arrive at Ignis in the Upper. This is the largest of the three. We’re also higher at 220 metres above sea level. Ripening tends to occur later here than in the Valley. Clay-rich subsoils are found throughout. Table Mountain sandstone dominates, with pockets of decomposed granite. 

Ignis (pinot noir) is planted on a north-facing slope, and is strewn with rocks, looking for all the world like a dry riverbed. The vines twist out of this like dancers suspended in motion. Covercrops crunch underfoot, releasing the scent of mint, and impepho (a sacred indigenous herb). Autocumulus clouds spray like confetti above our heads. Whereas Vrede felt more hidden, Ignis is open to the elements. 

Our final stop. Ridge opens like a bowl to the sky, a natural amphitheatre of many different aspects. It’s the smallest, the highest, and the last to ripen. We’re now at 330 metres above sea level, though some vineyards here are higher. While chardonnay dominates plantings in the Valley, the Ridge is largely pinot noir. 

The sun breaks through the clouds, the rays bend rose-gold. ‘Look at that light,’ says Nathalia. ‘This is why they call it Heaven and Earth.’ 

On an eastern slope their vineyards (both varieties) are planted at high densities, the rows sweep down in long, dramatic lines. ‘It is a more continental site, with poorer soils and less water. The roots have had to dig deep.’ 

As we drive back, Nathalia reflects on the camaraderie among the region’s producers. ‘If there's a fire, you need your neighbours. If your riverbank collapses, as ours did, you need a good relationship with the farmer next door. You can't make wine alone.’ 

‘Site-specific winemaking is still relatively new here. There’s less sense of defending your patch of ground and more of building something together.’ 

Building little Burgundy

The foundations for this were laid half a century ago in what would become the Valley ward. Tim Hamilton Russell established the first winery in 1975. It was bold to imagine wine could thrive in what was wheat-and-sheep country, particularly in an era when South Africa was in a legislative chokehold. But Tim not only loved wine; he also had a deep affection for the area, having spent childhood holidays in Hermanus. 

The early success of Hamilton Russell Vineyards, and pinot and chardonnay, soon proved there was genius in the madness. His son Anthony took over in 1991. Today, there are 20 wineries spread across the wards.

Cruising the vineyard, winemaker Emul Ross points out the Onrus River. It’s an important marker, as the majority of the vineyards in the Valley are planted on north-facing slopes of shale, south of the river. ‘The tops of all these hills are sandstone, which gives us texture and salinity. Lower down the shale brings structure and depth.’ The soil, he says, has an unusually high clay content, comparable to that of the Côte d’Or, although shallower and stonier. 

As we move away from the estate’s whitewashed buildings, the fynbos thickens around us. Much of the land is given over to conservation; of the estate’s 170 hectares, just 52 are planted to vines. 

Time to taste. We wander downstairs into the barrel cellar and settle at a round oak table. Above it hangs a cobwebby chandelier fashioned from wine bottles. The walls are patterned with Zasmidium cellare, the wine-partial black mould often found in Burgundian cellars. “‘Sometimes faces appear,”’ laughs Emul, pointing out the shape of a penguin. 

‘It’s a sleeper,’ says Emul as we taste the current vintage pinot noir. A wine that’s still dreaming has a lot left to say. 

‘I like the idea of ‘still dreaming’. This is a young region, and is still becoming what it will be.’ 

And it does feel dreamlike in the moody cellar. In comparison to that special brand of Hemel-en-Aarde light we just experienced outside. It’s a feeling that sums up the duality of this place. 

Light and dark. Chardonnay and pinot noir. Heaven and earth.