Headed south on the XPT train from Brisbane to Maitland (left); the wine tour group (below)

Christmas in the
Hunter Valley wine region
By Stan Morse
December 26, 1997

Unlike the Sunlander, the "XPT" train from Brisbane to Sydney has a wheelchair-friendly car with an accessible bathroom. I spend most of the 12-hour trip in the comfortable seat, gazing out the window, watching for kangaroos. The only two that show up are on the opposite side of the car and gone before I can look. That's been my luck with kangaroos in Australia: I always miss seeing them. It's become somewhat of a joke with my friends here.

A few miles south of Brisbane we wind slowly up into a short range coastal mountains, where clear streams meander through bedrock cuts in the narrow valleys. Lush ferns and forest flourish where the mountains have caught the southern edge of the tropical moisture from the Coral Sea. But the train soon descends onto the coastal plain, where the eucalyptus forest and low brush are already fading toward the browns of summer.

A few miles before my stop at Maitland, lightning fractures a line of thunderheads to the west. A few drops of rain streak the windows, but the downpour never reaches us. This area has suffered a mild draught under the influence of El Nino, and the tantalizing rain is needed. But recently, the storms have mostly brought dry lightning and bush fires.

Two days later, another line of thunderheads rages across the Hunter Valley, dumping up to an inch of rain. I watch them come at me from the veranda of the Hermitage Lodge, where I am the guest of Norm and Helen Topp. Finally, the wind and rain drive me back into my room. As the storm blows through, a lightning strike leaves a fire burning five miles away. The column of smoke rises menacingly, but the green vines of the vineyards which checker the valley have hemmed the fire in, and the rain has slowed the flames. It is quickly put out by the fire brigade.

I see only one fire during my time here. The smoke from other bush fires further inland never drifts this way. My luck has held.

Three days before Christmas I take a winery tour. The holiday exuberance of the group of English, Scots, Aussies and a Canadian encourages trying ALL THE WINES. I resist the temptation. We'll visit five wineries, each with ten or more bottles on the counter. It's a hot day. The temperature eventually hits 43 degrees Centigrade (109 Fahrenheit). I pace myself with only three wines at the first stop, plus a glass of water. However, by our last stop at the Golden Grape Estate (where the group photo was taken) I've sampled enough to be glad that I'm on a bus tour, and not driving.

The Hunter Valley has produced wine grapes for over 100 years. The past three decades have seen a proliferation of "boutique" wineries, many of which produce only a few thousand bottles. Dozens of tasting rooms offer varieties like Shiraz, Verdelho, Sauvignon, Semillon, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and Merlot. It's best to come during the harvest, in February, when the latest vintage is released at parties and festivals, but by then I'll be in Perth. Now is fine; it's quiet, and you get to pick and choose without the hustle and bustle of the crowds.

On Christmas Eve, Norm and Helen have me over to their house for dinner. Their children, Sam and Alex (6 and 3, respectively) are energized by the prospect of Santa's imminent deliveries. We all breathe a sigh of relief when they finally allow mummy tuck them into bed.

A last-minute call from neighbors seeking a reservation at Il Cacciatore (the Topp's gourmet restaurant, closed over Christmas) results in their being invited to share dinner with us. It's that kind of friendly, open and generous attitude which makes this a gracious place to live.

My eight days here pass quickly. Sporting an extra notch at the beltline and a growing laziness, I'm ready to return to Sydney. I'll have to do a few extra laps in the pool to prepare myself for January and the fly fishing in New Zealand.