Watervale

Is a little village halfway between here and there. Auburn and Clare, sorry. I woke eventually at about nine, although it hadn’t been the most of unbroken of sleep as the curtains didn’t quite meet and the sun was shining on to the pillow.

Ina had already been up and run for a couple of hours by the time I got up – I don’t know how she does it, it’s not right. But at least she knew the way to the bike track. Breakfast, as I said, had been kindly left by the owners. Maybe not the port, perhaps. So we had fresh coffee and cereal. And we were only half an hour later leaving than planned, which probably wasn’t that bad.

The bikes were in the shed, waiting with tyres full of air. That makes a change for me. I didn’t know tyres could be hard. Although the air had a slight chill, the sun was warm and it wasn’t long before I was cycling in a T-Shirt. After a short climb to the Riesling Trail we went South to Auburn as that was closer. It was lovely cycling, small grey puffy clouds stopping the temp becoming ridiculously hot. We passed a couple cycling the other way and had a discussion about where to get coffee. I wonder if they managed to – because obviously we were a great help


It was fine until we then came to the first legend-bearing board, explaining that the Riesling Trail follows the old mining railway that carried metal to the docks – consequently sloped gently downhill all the way from Clare to Adelaide. Which confirmed my suspicions. I’d been told that it was gently undulating by Jack (shares the office) so I’d read it to mean Up and Down. But it did gently undulate – to Adelaide.

So the ride into Auburn was lovely, quick etc. The trail brings you out on the main road through – the place looked so much more alive than in the dark the night before. A C19th chapel was a café with couples sitting at tables outside, billboards and people outside the IGA. Where else can you see a sign to 3 corners of England and a deep south all-American cowgirl? (Actually Tarlee is a couple of houses and a feed factory).

None of the festival events down this end started before 12 so we went down one of the side streets (THE side street?) past the oval – which every hamlet and speed limit seems to have – to an olive shop. Home made and processed, and you could even buy your olive tree there. The Red Wine, Basil and Black Pepper ones were definitely the best.








We cycled on and as it was already getting close to 12, out of Auburn to Eyre Creek where the Barossa Cheese Company were doing cheese tasting. Could hardly miss that one. Actually they do a grenache that was the closest we got to a pink wine all day, and a pretty special deep purple shiraz. Apparently these people have only been here a few years, although the some of the vines are over 100 yrs old. Doing a good job so far.

So weaving our way onwards, and definitely upwards. Next stop was food – and one of the wineries had a wood fired pizza thing going. Going slowly, that is. We arrived at just after one. We left at nearly three. The first mistake was to look at the wines first. They missed a trick – only three wines to try. Admittedly two were pre-release (they were OK), but there should have been some of the rest of the range indoors. Given how slow the food was, they’d have sold a lot. The second mistake was ordering pizza. Ten numbers (or so) to go, but the old boy making them had one speed. And it wasn’t fast. One at a time. Then another. Take the first out. Etc, etc. pick a random number to shout out to give the pizza to. Get the picture.

The third mistake was not changing the order to pasta earlier. As it happened several people had obviously left, and Ina’s pasta hadn’t even been started. Still, time to sober up. But it became apparent very soon that there was no way we were going to even get as far as Sevenhill, the next village above Watervale.

So onwards, and when we got back to Watervale, we decided to leave the festivities behind, pick a local road with several wineries on and just do that.

Superb idea. The first was Crabtree, makers of Riesling, Tempranillo, and others. Although Riesling is the Clare specialty and Shiraz is SA’s, there was a good v variety of grapes on show. The cellar door was busy but we had good attention and the wines were excellent.

Ignoring the trail, we carried on up the hill. Damn. And it turned out that the gears on the bike I’d picked needed a good kicking. Or a screwdriver. Whichever is handy, really. Still, no hurry. Up the ridge, dirt road to an artist’s studio. Peacefully hiding away among the trees, with the brazier that seems common to all touristy rooms in winter. And an amazing view. The clouds had gone from the sky, the sun was starting to get lower and more gold. The paintings (actually mostly limited edition prints) were something too. Most were landscapes, fairly impressionistic but obviously South Australia, The figures were arresting. Can you tell I was impressed? And he was affable, chatty. Probably got a lot more sales that way.

Back onto the path and downhill pretty much all the way to Olssen winery. It’s just over the main ridge in a small narrow valley that could, were it not for the gum trees, have been in France. The was leaving the valley as we left, several bottles heavier. I’ve never had Primitivo, nor several of the other grapes. At least not knowingly; they specialise in Burgundian varieties.

Last, as the clock was starting to beat us and the light was lowering, was on the way back into Watervale, called Stephen John. Strange man, the proprietor, who seemed glad to get rid of the couple before who’d been there, he said, for and hour and a half. Pretty Excessive. Again, a good range and we found white and red sparkling. And a pino noir that I actually liked. (Maybe Pino Noir is just better after several other types – I’ve always found it too cabbagy). And I’ll have to get people back home into the sparkling Shiraz thing.

Back at the cottage and it was dusk. Warmer than the night before so we sat down with a bottle before making our way back to the pub. Much busier tonight, they actually looked doubtful as to whether they could find us a table. They did – which was a good job as there would have been no driving into Clare that night. Fish and Chips and a Penna Lane Rose (strawberries and creams).

Afterwards we went into the main bar where we took the only spot at the bar. Which obviously was the regular spot of one of the locals. Through the slurred speech and giving Ina a little too much attention, he managed to say that (allegedly) he was the poet that we’d just missed at Clos Clare when we’d left in disgust. Gave us a poem. Goodness knows if it was or not, and as I never caught any more of his name then Max, so I’ll never know.

Next morning the weather was even clearer. We packed up the cottage and left. Once again the intention was to go to one of the festival venues to get breakfast. This time it was Paullett just off the road to Clare. And once again the queue was ridiculous – this time to have a dollop of something slopped on a plate with “pancakes” (the thick American large drop-scone type). It may have been good but we didn’t give it a chance. Particularly as I wasn’t going to be drinking. Too much driving to do. Another coach-party arrived and we left to try Clare.

Jo and Seb were on the way up, with Jo’s Mother, to meet us. So we cancelled that one and tried Clare. For 11 o’clock on a Festival Sunday, Clare was closed. The only cafés were chippies and greasy spoons rather than coffee shops, or Subway. And that was it.


Somebody needs to really sort the marketing out. The “festival site” on the showground had a couple of marquees and nobody there. You’d have thought there’s be enough money floating around there, with the wineries, to have really got hold of this thing and run with it. Particularly as it is the premier showcase for the area. But no, you’d be far better going on an normal day and doing your own thing and that was when we had really started to enjoy it.

We stopped at the take-away (which was a little more than that) from Friday and met the others there. So we sat in the sun, and had brunch and coffee. Very pleasant – good view, good weather, good company etc. On the way out they were to follow us top try some of the wineries we’d been to the day before.

The only problem was that the first, which we’d been assured would be open, was definitely not. I think he possibly missed out on some money as we were going back to buy, and the others possibly would have too. Never mind. We split up, they went on to Olssen and we went to the artist studio (Murray Edwards – worth Googling). Where we both bought a couple of prints.

After that back to Crabtree (still sold out of Rose) and then Eyre Creek and out of Clare. It’s much prettier than the Barossa – smaller, more trees and of course now the vines are turning the colours are autumnal and more so in the golden light. Definitely the right time to visit. On the way back we went through Kapunda – which had been where the whole mining thing started (the wine took over as the main farming activity when the mining finished) where there is a twenty (or so) foot statue of a Cornish Miner.

We stopped off at Krystel and Jeffo’s place in Greenock for coffee. They moved in Jan and it was the first time I’d been up, although Ina has been regularly. Nice house, over looking an oval at the back and a flood plain at the front. Near Maggie Beer’s and Charles Melton winery. I could think of worse places.

That’s only an hour from Adelaide, and we were back just after four. Which is a good job as I was on the 6 o’clock flight to Melbourne the next morning. And no, I didn’t book those tickets, before you say anything.