Burnt By The Sun

I was thinking I would stay to see how the fire might develop when a red Land Rover filled with six firemen pulled up. “It’s coming your way,” they shouted. “You need to leave right now.”

I packed the car and anxiously left. Joining the main road I was surprised to see cars and motorbikes tearing down in the opposite direction. This was a phenomenon I had heard about but never believed actually happened – wildfire tourism. All around as we drove and reached higher ground we could see numerous small fires. All they needed was a wisp of air to turn them into raging blazes.

Back home and safe in Cotignac with Jeany and her parents, we endured the waiting game. That evening I kept a close eye on the fire’s path. We could see it burning 20 miles away, the flames glowing bright orange and red against the dark expanse of evening sky.

We were joined by a French party evacuated from our main guesthouse on the estate. There were two, including a celebrated pâtissier from Paris. He soothed Jeany’s nerves that evening by cooking us her favourite dessert – an impeccable île flottante.

By Thursday morning I decided to it was time to see the vineyard, so I called our manager and set off. We negotiated our way past roadblocks and then, as we approached the estate through a thick black smog, I saw Mirabeau emerge from the gloom. Every tree was burnt to a black, smouldering stump. The ground was black and the smell terrible.

As I came up the drive, five fire trucks were heading towards us on their way out. The vineyard was badly damaged, they said, but they had saved our houses and animals; a small herd of pigs, some goats, chickens, ducks, and two alpacas. Such bravery. They had risked their lives to save our buildings and animals. I saw a measure of that courage as I neared our bicycle shed. The heat had been so intense that the bikes had simply melted.

Last winter, what the locals called a once-in-a-lifetime frost had destroyed 20 per cent of new growth. The fire now wreaked havoc on a further 25 per cent. What is left we are now harvesting and testing to see if there’s a smoke taint – somewhat ironic given that we mature La Réserve in deliberately toasted oak barrels.

In the ensuing days we examined every inch of the vineyard and found to our astonishment that while the flames had fried the leaves and grapes, the main vines seemed to have survived.

We invest in and practice regenerative viticulture, growing additional trees and other vegetation as part of a more diverse agriculture system to increase the surface for CO2-capturing plants; regenerate organic matter in soils; increase biodiversity above and below ground; and improve all all important water retention in our region.

Meanwhile, these disasters and pitifully low rainfall levels come as a stark reminder that climate change will irreparably damage our food systems and livelihoods, and that putting off thinking about the macro picture is no longer an option.

As I know well, the vine is one of nature’s most extraordinary plants, but we’ll have to wait until next year to see how the grapes grow. This is still a beautiful place. I believe that nature will regenerate. I’m looking forward to seeing saplings emerge from the younger trees that have survived and the new shoots from our hardy vines.

I’m placated at seeing that, while vast acres of new pine were incinerated, most of the old indigenous oaks and cork oaks had miraculously survived.

“You might think that paradise is lost,” Netti said when we next met for an emotional glass. “But paradise can be found again.”

With our love and passion for this beautiful region and the gorgeous wines it produces, we’ll ensure that it does.