Harvester again

After another morning of pulling off nets, the harvester came again, this time to pick Chardonnay. And I got some photos! It's quite a monster, and though even more impressive and War-of-the-Worlds-y at night, with it's lightts blazing, it's pretty impressive even during the day. I rode atop the thing for a while, and the view was great. Notice the color-banding effect in the vineyard? The white grape vines---Sauvingon Blanc in the distance and Chardonnay in the foreground---have leaves that go from green to yellow, while the Pinot Noir leaves turn orange and red. The photo doesn't quite do it justice.



The harvester straddles the vines, shakes them vigorously, and catches the grapes on conveyor belts, which dump them into the big side bins. The bins are tipped by hydraulics. We emptied grapes directly from the harvester into the press until that was full, and put the rest in bins in the chiller.

The harvester, apparently is really two parts. A tractor---that includes the chassis, engine, and driver's cab---and a "harvester head". The latter, of course, has all the bits that do the harvesting, but can be removed from the tractor and replaced by other apparatus---a sprayer for example. Much like an ordinary tractor might be fitted with a plough (or a net-puller).



There is still some Chardonnay at the far end of the vineyard, though the grapes are not as good, and are beginning to turn to raisins with the help of botrytis. What will happen to these has not yet been decided. If harvested at all, it will probably be by hand. They could even be left a bit longer, and made into a late-harvest sweet wine. But they will probably not make it into the regular Chardonnay.

Carter's Reserve

Having no work today, I went for a bit of a stroll down the road. A short distance from the winery is park called "Carter's Scenic Reserve". It is a bit of marshland set aside in the original estate owner's will for preservation, and is now part of the national trust. Or something. I can't remember exactly what the sign said, and I didn't read all of it, but that is the general idea of the place.

There are two walks on offer, one a short loop, the other a somewhat longer, path that leads to the river. I took the former, which the map at the beginning indicated would take fifteen mintutes (or twenty?), but which seemed to take five, or maybe ten. Perhaps I was insufficiently bewondered by the wilderness, or perhaps the signs were targeted at those with shorter-legged people in tow. The first bit of the trail was a board-walk built over the marsh, which seemed fairly dry as wetlands go. Fat people and baby stollers are not allowed: a special gate at the entrance leaves a meager few-inch passage:



The scenery was interesting, with a slightly exotic feel, which I hope (vainly) will be conveyed in my photographs. The eerie air, no doubt, should be attributed mostly to the scattered dead and half-dead trees, combined with those spiky-topped ones, which (for me) evoke the desert. The neatest thing around was these cocoon-webs:



At first I thought some poor tourist, by dint of an indescribable misadventure, had abandoned a scrap of toilet paper atop a spiky bush, but soon noticed the place was riddled with the things and took a closer look.

Further along was a foresty sort of area, pictured below.



Either there was very little fauna to be seen, or I scared it all away, because while I heard some ordinary-sounding birds, I don't recall seeing a single animal.

After that adventure, I contined along the road (toward Carterton) and saw many fields, some sheep, and some hay.

Masterton

I visited Masterton, the area's biggish town today. Big enough for a movie theatre, a small department store, and three grocery stores, but small enough to have a single main street. Plenty of cafes, and a decent variety of shops. I caused some confusion at one of the cafes by ordering icecream and coffee. The woman behind the counter (whom I took to be the owner) thought I wanted the icecream in the coffee. I took them separately, but perhaps I made the wrong choice?

Once again, I forgot to take my camera along, so I'm afraid there are no photos in this post.

I visited the sheep shearing museum, where I was lucky enough to see a video of the Golden Shears competition. The shearers are quite athletic and impressively fast---each sheep taking less that a minute to shear, and all of them done very cleanly and thoroughly. However, I found it a bit boring after the first three or four sheep (I think they do twenty each), and wandered off to see the rest of the museum. The displays are not exactly riveting, but the informational placards are reasonably well written and interesting. Apparently much of the wool produced here is turned into carpets. A lot is exported unspun, to be spun and woven elsewhere.

Less than 10 hours' work today!

First time this week, and it feels good.

Harvester

The Sauvignon Blanc was machine-harvested today by someone from a nearby vineyard. The harvesting machine is quite impressive, looking like something from a science fiction movie. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me (for the usual reason that it's a bit dirty and sticky around the winery).

For the harvester to pick (or rather shake off) the grapes, the nets had to be removed. The bulk of the work was done by the tractor, with a net-pulling attachment, but a couple of people are needed to pull sticks out of the nets, and free them from anything they might be caught on, the most obnoxious protruberances being the clips that hold the wires in place (the wires hold the vines in place), and the ends of wire that stick out where two lengths are joined. Very slow work on some rows, but pretty quick when the nets are mostly free.



Some of the Sauvignon was dumped by the harvester directly into the press, and some into bins, through the crusher-destemmer, and then into the press.
The slimy green juice that flowed from the harvester's side-bins added to the alien-movie feel.

Damn sticky stuff, too. It smelled like cut grass and peppers. Green bell peppers, but also a good dose of spicy ones.

After all these toils, which lasted well into the evening, I stepped into a hot shower to wash away the sticky green and the debris which had shaken free of the nets. As I reached up to wash my hair, an excruciating spasm of pain shot through my wrist, where I found the stinger and empty poison sac of the dead bee which had apparently been put to rest in my hair. The last place I expected to get stung.

Pinot Gris

Today was the start of Pinot Gris harvesting. The bunhes were plump and well-formed, and those vines that had been well plucked were a pleasure to pick. Those, however, whose folliage had been allowed to run wild, were a pain in the arse. The Gris berries are a bit bigger than the Pinot Noir, and greyish tan rather than blackish blue.

While picking, I was lucky enough to experience my first bee stings of the season! It was the hottest day yet, and the bees were out in force, swarming round the bunches during the middle part of the day. Both stings were on my left hand---the one I use to hold the bunches while snipping their stems---and the amount of pain such a diminutive creature can cause is astounding! Luckily, the effect was not as long-lasting childhood memory records, and though I still have a slight swelling (only one, mind: the sting on the side of my finger has not come up), the pain vanished after a few minutes.

While the Pinot Noir was put into the tank as whole berries, leaving the skins and seeds in contact with the juice during fermentation, the procedure for white wine is a bit different: the juice is pressed from the grapes, and the skins, seeds, and stems discarded.

The press is a big cylinder, mounted horizontally on a stand, with a sliding door for putting in the grapes. The cylinder is perforated with narrow slits half the way around, an inflatable bladder clinging to the inside of the other half. By inflating the bladder, the juice is pressed out of the grapes.

Weekend in Wellington

Well, my weekend in Wellington turned out to be neither wet nor windy. I'll have to try again. I've had a good time, but unfortunately took no photos! I simply forgot to take my camera anywhere.

I had a look round the menswear shops on Lambton Quay and environs on Friday afternoon after a sandwich (and a walnut twist) at a bakery called Pomodoro. Clothing here, not surprisingly, is very similar to what's found in the US. Ending up in the vicinity of the city gallery, I popped in to see what was to be seen. But ended up spending more time hearing what to be heard. The groud floor hosted a musical exhibit which I found compelling: the 40 voices from a 17th century choral piece had been recorded with personal microphones, and each singer was represented in the gallery by a stand-mounted loudspeaker. The speakers were places in an oval, in eight groups of five---the same grouping as the eight choirs singing the piece. Sitting in the center of the speaker array, I felt rather more immersed in the music that in the typical arrangement. But the real novely was being able to walk amongst the choir, focus on individual voices, and feel the movement of the music from one part of the room to another. The music, of course, was composed without this in mind, but I can imagine a composer using this extra dimension to great advantage. Sometimes the quality of the sound seemed less than perfect. Whether because of resonances in the room, quality of the speakers, quality of the recording, or just because the music was played too loundly, I'm not sure.

On Saturday I made pizzas for dinner, using a recipe from the book Dough. they turned out quite well, though a pizza stone (or at least a pre-heated baking sheet) might have made for a crunchier crust (I could also have made it a bit thinner). I highly recommend the tomato sauce method used in the book: oven-dry quartered tomatoes in a 100C oven for two hours. Before putting them in the over, I seasoned the tomatoes with salt, pepper, rosemary, and a teaspoon of sugar. The latter was probable not necessary, as the tomatoes were quite sweet. Then put them in the blender until sauced.

Sunday morning I spent shopping, and in the afternoon my aunt and uncle took me to the Karori Sanctuary (also know by the Disneylandier name Zealandia), a nature preserve built to support the rejuvination of native flora and fauna. The place is surrounded by a fence that delves deep below ground level to keeep out any imported predators that might be inclined to burrow in search of a tasty New Zealand bird---the Kiwi, for example, or perhaps a dopey, lumbering wood pidgeon. We saw quite a few birds---suggesting the program is working---but also quite a few traps, suggesting the foreign beastie problem is not quite solved. We had a nice walk, and feature attractions included an old (and unsuccessful) goldmine chock full of creepy cave Wetas, and a short boat ride across the lake. I'm sorry I have to photos! (Though given the delay between button-pushing and picture-taking on my camera, bird pictures probably would not have turned out very well anyway.)

I am writing this on the train back to Carterton where, I hope, a ride will be wating to take me back the vineyard. And tomorrow: more picking!

9:30 am

The weather today is a bit blustery! I've yet to go outside, but can feel the cold seeping in through the windows. Having destemmed and tanked what was harvested on Monday and Tuesday, and still waiting for a bit more ripeness in the rest of the fruit, I've been given the day off and am heading to Wellington for the weekend. My train leaves Carterton, the nearby town at 10:40. Perhaps I will get to experience Wet & Windy Wellington finally---so far all I've seen in New Zealand is blue skies and sun.

The Wairarapa is separated from Wellingon by the Rimutaka mountains. The road winds through them, but I think the train takes the more direct route of tunneling under the peaks. It is a one-hour-and-twenty-minute journey, and should be at least moderately interesting. After arriving I will have a few hours exploring Wellington while I wait for my aunt to get off work.

The Birds

The sky is still big, blue, and sunny, as it has been almost uniformly since I arrived in New Zealand. The clouds here in Wairarapa can be fascinating; perhaps I'll write a cloud entry sometime.

Today I spent a lot of time pulling nets back over vines. They are in place to keep the birds out, but in most instances are not secured very well, but just flung over the vines. So, a few good gusts of wind (and we had many today), and they flip up, exposing the precious fruit to the birds.

I also chased birds out of nets. Some of the pinot nets span four rows of vines, and those are pegged down along the outer edges, and the ends, where they drape to the gound from the end-posts of the rows, weighed down with logs. But somehow, the birds find a way in. To get them out I opened up both ends, and drove a "quad bike" (the "bi" part of "bike" doesn't seem quite fitting) up and down to chase the birds out. At first I tried chasing them on foot, and opening the canopy when we reached the end, but they never flew out, preferring, while I lifted the net, to flee to the corners, and then turn around and fly back to the beginning.

So, I did some quad driving. Pretty wild. The owner's nine-year-old son has one too, but is much more proficient. But I managed to get those birds out of the way without running into anything. And I gave the dog, who likes to chase the quad and nip at the tires if you drive to slowly, a good workout. I'm a bit worried about running her over, but she seems to have survived so far, and probably knows what she is doing better than I do.

We also topped up wine barrels. Most of the pinot noir harvest from last year is currently in 225 litre oak barrels (mostly from France, but some American). The oak affects the flavour and structure of the wine, and is used in varying degrees by wine makers across the world. But unlike steel tanks, oak breathes, and some of the wine is lost to evaporation (at least, the volatile components do, presumably there are many elements which are concentrated by this process). So wine stored in bottles is used to top up the barrels occasionally.

Actually, I didn't do the topping. I just handed up full bottles, took down empty ones, and cleaned the rubber bungs when they were in need of it. One hundred and sixty-three 750 ml bottles were used to top up about 55 barrels (I think; didn't actually count them while I was there). That means a loss of about 1% of the volume in each barrel over the months since they were last topped.

Winemaking!

It involves a lot of lugging grape bins around using a pallet jack (and forklift, though not operated by me). The grape bins, which had been left in a refrigerated container (some for one night, some for two), were taken out and lined up on the concrete slap beside the winery building. From there, they were to be lifted by forklift (with a special bin-tipping attachment) and tipped into the top of the cusher/destemmer. That, as you may have guessed, is a machine which separates the grapes from their stems.

This is accomplished by a means of a spinning scew-like propellor, which sends the bunches into the interior of a perforated steel cylinder. The holes are big enough to let the grapes pass, as centrifugal force flings them ourwards, but not big enough to let through the stems (to which, in their ripness, they are only loosely attached). Those are carried along the inside of the cylinder to the nether-parts of the contraption. The grapes, in a partially-crushed form, fall from the bottom of the machine into a pump, which sends them through a long transparent plastic hose (4 inches in diameter) and into the top of a large steel tank.

I was nobly stationed at the rear-end of the machine, from which the steps are spewn into large nylon burlap bags. I was kept busy stomping them down with my boots (now wine-colored), and making sure the opening was clear, so that the stems would not clog it up.

First Day

The vineyard work has begun! Having spent a bit more than a week in Wellington and Christchurch with relatives (aunt/uncle and gradpa, respectively), I have relocated to the Wairarapa, in the South-Eastern part of the North Island. My comfortable and colorful room in the house of the winemaker and his family looks out across the vineyards (specifically, some pinot gris), to the distant hills.

My first work day began with a bit of cleaning in the winery, followed by collecting samples of grapes from various blocks so that they could be tested for ripeness---the amount of sugar is measured (in brix) by testing the buoyancy of a hollow glass bubble; the pH measured with a meter, and the amount of titratable acid by titration. I picked some Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Noir, and Chardonnay, and crushed the samples by hand in a bucket.

Pinot Noir grapes are quite small and deep purple in colour, not unlike blueberries. The bunches are tightly packed. Sauvignon Blanc look quite like green table grapes, though slightly smaller and less uniform in size. The Chardonnay grapes are significantly smaller, and, like the Pinot, tightly bunched. Many of the bunches have been browned by the sun on the owtward-facing side---the foliage on these vines had been trimmed back more than on the SB.

After sampling, I joined the rest of the picking team picking Pinot Noir. They were a friendly group, making the work (which was tiring but not exhausting) go quickly. Picking was conducted in a leap-frog style, each worker doing a section, and then jumping ahead to the front of the row, and the grapes are put into plastic crates. These, when full, were left under the vines to be picked up and dumped into larger bins. With a pallet-jack (operated by me with some difficulty) and a forklift (not driven by me) the grape bins were moved into a large refridgerated container for the night.