The Barossa is not one place, but many.
-Susan Papps May 2026
There is often a moment, looking back, where things begin to make sense.
For me, it came in my mid-twenties — the realisation that if something matters deeply, you must give it a proper attempt. At that time, my world of wine was small. Two regions stood out: Barossa Valley and Rutherglen. It says more about what I didn’t yet know than what I did, but it was enough to begin.
The Barossa felt close, tangible — somewhere I could reach, and if needed, retreat from. Though quietly, I knew there was no intention of retreating back to my home on Yorke Peninsula.
Arriving here, there was an immediate sense of belonging. Not through familiarity — there was none — but through the rhythm of wine and food, and the way life seemed to gather around them.
Without connections, without history here, entering the Barossa was both freeing and difficult. It is a close community. The early questions were practical: “You don’t live here?” — “Have you done the Nuriootpa TAFE course?”
At the time, my studies in New York felt distant, almost irrelevant. The shift was clear — to understand this place, I needed to live it.
The first step did not come through wine.
It came through simple advice, offered over a beer: move there first, then find your way in.
The next day we drove to the Barossa. The first stop — The Vine Inn, Nuriootpa. A résumé handed over, a drink at the bar, and a question back: “When can you start?”
What we expected to take a day was settled in minutes.
Sometimes the path opens in the most unassuming way.
Over time, what has stayed constant is this: if you care for food and wine, the Barossa has a way of drawing you in. Often, the most meaningful meals are not in public view, but shared quietly — at tables formed through new connections, built around a common passion.
When Yelland & Papps began, Michael and I made our home in Greenock.
It was his home already — his upbringing, his community — and it became mine. We were immersed in it; part of its rhythm. I even found myself writing and printing the Greenock Newsletter.
By 2009, the need shifted — to bring home and winery together, to take full control of our work. That meant leaving Greenock.
In the back roads of Nuriootpa down by the creek sat a house — a cottage, shedding, vineyard, and space to build something of our own. With a eight-week-old and a two-and-a-half-year-old, we moved in on 8th of January 2010.
Between Tanunda and Nuriootpa, in what is known as Dorrien — once Ober Langmeil (German word that translates to upper, top, or superior)— this became both our home and our foundation.
Grenache Blanc, Roussanne, Shiraz and Grenache grow here.
The winery sits alongside them.
This is where everything begins.
Where fruit comes from is never only a decision of geography.
It is shaped by relationships, by trust, and by an understanding of site and style over time.
Greenock was our starting point. It made sense — we lived there, and we understood it. That connection remains. Today, we continue to work with the same grower David Materne, sourcing Shiraz, Grenache and Roussanne from these vineyards.
Vine Vale followed — through Kevin Schild’s family, at a time when Grenache was less in focus than it is now. The sandy soils and distinct microclimate bring a different expression: finer, more restrained, yet with depth.
The Rohrlach vineyard represents the next generation Paul Rohrlach — thoughtful, forward-looking, and deeply connected to the land. From here come components of our Blanc blends: Grenache Blanc, Grenache Gris, Clairette — alongside red varieties.
Stone Well came through a fellow winemaker. From this, we began working with Pete Sonntag, with Shiraz, Mourvèdre and Cinsault. Slightly higher in elevation, with scattered pink quartz, the site gives wines a quiet distinction.
Marananga, when conditions allow, offers a very small parcel from Bob Modra’s home block — unirrigated, old bush vines. It is not a commercial vineyard, but a home surrounded by vines. The wines are rare, shaped by season as much as place.
In 2026, a new chapter begins — a parcel of Shiraz from Flaxman Valley, Christa and Leon Deans vineyard, at 520m elevation in Eden Valley. A different voice again.
The Barossa is not one place, but many.
Pockets of soil, shifts in elevation, subtle changes in climate — each shaping its own expression. For a winemaker, this offers both complexity and clarity: the ability to listen, and to respond.
Over time, these places become part of the story. Not just individually, but in how they sit together.