I turned my head from under the tap to check how close the sun was to slipping behind the ranges. Wishful thinking — it wasn’t yet 3pm, high summer, and the heat showed no signs of mercy. Even a glance at that blazing yellow ball sent a sharp throb through the back of my skull. I shut my eyes and leaned back into the stream of cool water, grateful for the brief reprieve.

In that fleeting moment of relief, my mind ticked back into motion — tallying up the work still ahead, estimating the hours left. How much longer I’d be out there. The answer wasn’t comforting. I’d made a mistake. A stupid one. And maybe even a dangerous one.

It was January 28. We were processing 10 tons of Semillon, handpicked from the Tinklers’ School Block — a consistently outstanding parcel that often contributes to our flagship The Chase Semillon. Handpicking preserves fruit quality, but it’s slow going. These days can stretch out, not just in the vineyard but the winery too.

The trusty winery thermometer, hanging under the shade of our large awning, read 43°C. Factor in humidity pushing past 60%, and the actual temperature was far higher — especially under direct sun, which is where I found myself.

After more than two decades living and working in the Hunter, I considered myself well-adapted to the region’s heat. But this was different. In the burning glare of the sun that afternoon, I found my limit.

It had been a big few days of processing, so once the grapes were pressed, Tasmin and Hillary — my winery team — retreated indoors to get on top of other work: rack settled juice, analyse ferments, and adjust today’s freshly pressed Semillon. This left me to tidy up alone.

We’d been working outside since mid-morning, and after spending the last hour shovelling a mountain of stalks from under the destemmer, I was already too hot. Between bins, I stood under the hose, soaking myself in the hope that evaporative cooling would keep my body temperature in check. That and drinking mouthfuls of water whenever I had the chance.

There was at least three hours of work in front of me out there, so I tried to move slowly and methodically. As the press spun, dropping the spent skins into the tray below, I sought moments of cover from the sun. Unfortunately, by then the fireball had dropped below the edge of our protective awning and was blasting the entire crush pad. Driving the forklift to dump skins at the marc pile offered fleeting relief — wind against a wet shirt — but each trip meant more time in full sun.

Though gradually I got there. Press emptied, hosed out, and then connected to a pump and lines for its cleaning cycle. Then the floors hosed down. Plain drinking water wasn’t enough to stop the throbbing in my head getting worse, so it was two tablets of Hydralyte in the bottle. Then another two, and two more not long after that.

By 5.30pm I had it done. As I dragged the last of the long wine hoses inside, I felt my strength fade, and my balance faltered. Tripping my way over the familiar pile of hoses I would usually navigate with ease, I needed to steady myself more than once.

Sliding that door closed to the crush pad brought a sense of relief, but I had never felt so close to heat exhaustion. As we contemplated the day over bottles of water, perched in front of our large fan, I confessed to both Hillary and Taz that I had made a mistake. There were moments that afternoon I almost called them out to help — but in hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t. It was too dangerous. The decision to process fruit under those conditions was mine, and mine alone.

We live and learn. And this is a situation I’ll be avoiding at all costs in the future.

Though that might be easier said than done.

Source: http://www.bom.gov.au/

2024 has officially been declared the hottest year on record, as global average surface temperatures nudged 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. Scientists hope this was an anomaly — that global averages will dip back below 1.5°C — because we’re not supposed to be here yet.

In just the last few months we’ve seen a string of extreme weather events across Australia. In inland Queensland, an area the size of two Victorias was turned into a floodplain after days of relentless rain. Stock losses are estimated at over 150,000. Conversely, farmers (including grape growers) in South Australia are navigating one of the driest spells on record. Similarly protracted hot and dry conditions in Victoria fuelled bushfires that swept through more than 76,000 hectares of The Grampians National Park and adjacent farmland.

On the eastern seaboard Cyclone Albert threatened to become the costliest natural disaster in our history, and while it weakened before landfall, the clean-up is immense. In March, we slept restlessly during some of the warmest nights ever recorded for that month, and now, as I pen this story on an April Easter weekend of 30°C daytime maximums, it feels like summer all over again.

These more dramatic events are just the tip of the iceberg. There are countless other changes, less visible but no less significant.

Wine has long been considered the canary in the climate coal mine — a fitting metaphor for Hunter winemakers! In my 25 years of winemaking, I’ve seen harvest dates creep forward, inland frosts grow more frequent and damaging (a surprising consequence of rising surface temperatures), fruit quality suffer under extreme heat, hail losses increase, and soils dry out faster than ever — even after decent rain. More nuanced changes to grape chemistry – like pH, acidity and sugar levels – are also having an impact on the style of wine we make.

Yes, these are weather observations. But the pattern is undeniable. And as scientists have warned for years, extreme weather events and changes to our environment will become more frequent and more severe as the planet warms — which is exactly what we’re seeing.

Understandably, our collective attention has shifted in recent years — the cost of living, housing, and global instability dominate the headlines. But climate change isn’t going away. In fact, these crises (and many others) will only worsen unless we tackle it head-on.

So how do we respond?

We follow the science: mitigation and adaptation.

While at one point or another we will need to arrive at a politically unified position on a broader climate strategy, for now there is plenty we can do as businesses and individuals.

At Gundog Estate, we’ve been carbon neutral for five years — a commitment sparked by the devastation of the Black Summer bushfires. This has been a business-defining journey of which we are immensely proud. Genuinely seeking to become carbon neutral is more than just measuring and offsetting of greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions, it is an operational and philosophical mindset built on the premise of integrity and continual improvement, which has far broader implications for the culture of our organisation.

The chart below shows how we have effectively reduced our GHG emissions over the last five years (2021 is an outlier due to a major spike in production). It’s important to note that while some organisations claim to be carbon neutral based on their scope 1 and 2 level emissions only, we also consider scope 3 which, covering the emissions associated with our entire supply chain, is far broader in scale. Last year, for the first time our total CO₂ equivalent emissions dropped below 300 tons. We’ve achieved this by investing in solar, upgrading equipment, improving efficiency, reducing water and waste, and switching to more sustainable production inputs.

When it comes to offsetting, we invest in renewable energy and environmental regeneration projects in developing countries. This is because climate change is a global problem, and a large part of the solution will rest with helping these developing economies grow without reliance on fossil fuels.

Individually, we can do the same: electrify homes and vehicles, invest in solar, reduce waste, and support businesses that share these values.

While decarbonisation is essential to slowing climate change, we also have to adapt — because warming is already locked in for decades to come. Again, the actions we can take now as individuals and businesses don’t rely on the support of government policy.

In my story, I shared a practical example of workplace adaptation: we’ve now made the decision not to process fruit on days where the forecast exceeds 35°C. Other wineries are making similar moves — upgrading refrigeration, harvesting at night, using new yeast strains, or even applying clay-based “sunscreen” to vineyard canopies to reflect heat and preserve fruit health.

At home, adaptation can mean better insulation, ventilation, and mechanical cooling; backup plans for storms or power outages and adjusting routines for heatwaves. For those in flood or fire-prone areas, it’s about having contingencies in place.

Yes, the road to carbon neutrality requires investment. And it’s true that I’ve been asked more than once why we effectively impose a carbon tax on ourselves. But despite the financial pressures of the last couple of years, my commitment to reducing our GHG emissions to zero has remained resolute. So when I’m asked why we do it, I give the same answer I used to give my girls when they were little and wondered why we bothered picking up other people’s rubbish at the beach: because everyone starts with someone.

Imagine if every winery — every business — in Australia were carbon neutral. The emissions avoided would be massive. But beyond that, imagine what it could mean for our values, our economy, our national identity. What a powerful model we could be for the world.

Optimistic? Sure. Naïve? Maybe. But possible? Absolutely.

Sometimes when I entertain such ideas, I conjure a vision of my girls – Scarlett and Maddison – sometime in the future, 2080 perhaps. Scarlett would be 70 years old, and Maddison not far behind. I picture the families they’ve raised; their adult children and now a handful of young grandchildren (I’ll admit to holding back a tear as I write this now).

The world they’ve inherited looks very different to the one we know today.

Ecosystems have vanished. Populations have shifted. Conflict, starvation, coastal retreat, megafires — all real. Yet miraculously, the worst was avoided. Global warming was halted at around 2.5°C. A relentless string of disasters finally spurred world leaders into unified action, decarbonising with wartime urgency. Now, with the help of large-scale geoengineering and environmental restoration, the planet is gradually recovering and temperatures are slowly starting to fall. The future is hopeful.

A few countries refused to act and now sit on the sidelines — their economies shackled by carbon tariffs and outdated technology.

Indulgently, I like to imagine a moment—perhaps around a joyful dinner table, with a great bottle of wine open—when my girls recount the story of how their dad, his business, and those who supported it were among the first to recognise the urgent need to confront one of humanity’s greatest challenges. And how those early steps – however small they were – became part of a movement that would bring about something extraordinary.

On behalf of the Gundog Estate team — and the future Scarlett and Maddison — thank you for coming on this journey. Your support means everything.

Kind Regards,
Matt Burton

P.S. If you are interested in learning more about the pathway to carbon neutrality, or discussing climate change in general, I am always happy to chat! Just reply to this email to get the conversation started. I also suggest reading the 2024 State of Climate Report – a joint production between the CSIRO and Bureau of Meteorology – it provides a great snapshot of the current climate situation. You can download a copy here.

Previous editions of The Love of Wine can be found here.