Lopez: For winemakers, climate presents a blend of problems
A couple of years ago my wife and I visited the Bonny Doon Vineyard near Santa Cruz to sample the offerings of winemaking savant Randall Grahm. While we were there, Grahm told us something I haven't been able to forget. It wasn’t nearly as foggy along Monterey Bay as it used to be, he said, and that was worrisome for winemakers.
With each dose of aberrant weather California has had since then, I found myself wondering how California’s wineries were faring and whether the noble grape was becoming a marker — along with sea level rise and deadly wildfires — of an overcooked planet. A few weeks ago I called Grahm to continue the conversation.
“About 25 years ago I started to see substantially less fog, and in the last 20 years, less, and less,” said Grahm, and that’s starting to affect California wine.
With more sun and heat, the grape maturation process is rushed, he said, and while it’s possible to still make good wine, it’s harder to get the acid-sugar ratio, pH balance, color and flavor just right. Grapes that he buys “used to ripen maybe the first week of November, and now it’s a good three to four weeks earlier. And that’s not trivial.”
The subtle differences in fragrance and complexity Grahm talks about are beyond my palate grade, but what I do understand is that winemakers are adapting because they have to. For them, climate change is not some abstract, distant worry. It’s creeping into their vineyards right now.
And that’s a big deal. The United States is the world’s fourth-largest wine producer behind Italy, France and Spain, and California produces 80% of the nation’s vino. Retail sales top $40 billion, and the industry employs more than 30,000 Californians directly in growing grapes and producing wine and many more in related jobs. Here, as in other wine-growing regions of the world impacted by climate change, there won’t necessarily be less production in coming years. But growers are switching varieties, tinkering with techniques and moving to higher elevations.
After a lot of time on the phone with vintners and climate experts, I took to the highway during the second week of August to see what was happening in the vineyards. I beat the fires and thousands of lightning strikes by a week, but even without an inferno bearing down, what I found was alarming, though I also saw encouraging innovations.
It had been a while since I traveled the Napa Valley wine trail, and I’d forgotten how beautiful it is. Miles of roller-coaster slopes are crocheted with the vines of California’s king of grapes — cabernet sauvignon, often just referred to as cabernet or cab. And it turns out, that’s one of the grapes that may be most imperiled. It doesn’t stand up to extreme heat as well as many lesser-known varieties.
To understand the significance of this, you have to go back to 1976, when a bottle of Napa Valley sabernet sauvignon put California indisputably on the international wine map. The underdog California cabernets were pitted against the best French Bordeaux in a blind tasting that came to be known as the Judgment of Paris, and a California wine from the Stag’s Leap Wine Cellar won.
To this day, Napa’s cabernet is in demand worldwide. In the United States, it is the top-selling red wine, and the best bottles command stratospheric prices. To suggest that different, cheaper and perhaps less marketable grapes might be the future of Napa Valley is almost an act of heresy. For decades, tourists have flocked to the valley’s tasting rooms to buy bottles that sell for hundreds and even thousands of dollars.
But how long can that go on?
Nobody knows for sure, but as far back as 2011, a Stanford University study predicted that the amount of Northern California land suitable for growing premium grapes could shrink by half as early as 2040, because of increased heat.
That’s bad news for the cabernet grape. Too much heat can mean the berry develops sugar before it has developed its full character, throwing off balance and coloring.
Winemaker Dan Petroski has been clanging his glass to sound the alarm. Petroski, who worked in the magazine business and first got interested in wine at high-end New York lunches with clients, has likened the sun’s escalating assault on Napa Valley’s trophy grape to the slow boiling of a frog.
“The changes in climate that are predicted both worldwide and in the Napa Valley mean that in 10, 20, or 30 years’ time ... Napa will be a different agricultural region,” Petroski wrote recently for a trade publication.
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