The Higher Plane Vineyard sits at the head of the Blackwood River, with slopes angled north to catch sunlight. It’s a site that took some finding. “The Higher Plane site was selected through an extensive search,” Ianto Ward says. “100 properties were considered.” The site he landed on has free-draining gravel that keeps vines from running wild. Rows tilt downhill to dodge frost damage, and most vines are planted on their own roots, with tempranillo grafted onto hardy 101-14 rootstock and fiano swapped onto sauvignon blanc as consumer tastes shifted. “Much of our reworking has occurred as a result of the reduced demand for the sauvignon blanc and semillon blend,” Ward explains. Since 2009, they’ve farmed regeneratively – no herbicides, just sheep nibbling winter weeds, and cover crops like radish feeding the soil. “Our aim is to keep 100% soil cover 100% of the time,” he says, which acts as a shield against erosion. Soil tests every three years guide lime and gypsum tweaks, while pest control leans on lacewings and ladybugs over sprays. “The biodiversity we have encouraged in the soils, vines and surrounding vegetation has allowed us to reduce the reliance on foliage sprays,” Ward adds. Every berry from the vineyard is hand-picked or selectively sorted, keeping quality tight.
Ward and Stocker’s work shows in the dirt. Soil carbon – vital for locking in water and nutrients – climbed from 2.86% in 2007 to 3.23% by 2024. “We have built the levels of organic matter,” Ward says, which has turned sparse earth into a living base for healthy vines. Since 2020, the duo’s pruning approach has been tweaked to boost sap flow, cutting down the incidence of trunk rot – a creeping fungal infection that kills vines slowly. “There are clear benefits now developing in vine uniformity,” he notes, meaning steadier growth across blocks. Ward’s a tinkerer – leaf removal before flowering thins out grape bunches to fend off botrytis rot, a trick he pinched from Italy’s Sangiovese growers. “Leaf removal in Tempranillo has been transformational,” he says. For reds, carbonic fermentation – which commences with whole berries handpicked and sealed in bins in the vineyard – demands spotless fruit. “Critical to the success with this technique is to avoid spoilage,” Ward adds. The process yields lush, early-drinking wines.
Karridale’s climate sets it apart. “Located in southern sub-region … we have less sunshine hours, milder ripening temperatures than north Margaret River,” Ward explains. Breezes from both the Southern and Indian Oceans sweep in, often draping the site in cloud while the north swelters. “This daily cooling effect shows in the character of the wine,” he says. Chardonnay stays crisp with a salty zip, and cabernet keeps a fine red-berry edge. Close planting – 4,000 vines per hectare – evens out ripening; a yeast extract sprayed at veraison, when grapes shift color, helps to ripen tannins fully. “At harvest this marries up the flavour, sugar and moderating acidity,” Ward says. He’s trialed plenty – bird-scaring lasers flopped, but fiano’s sun-kissed skins stuck. “I love trialling things,” he admits, “Probably to a fault.” This restless streak continually refines the site’s voice.
Margaret River’s coastal fringe challenges vines – winters rarely get cold enough to lull them into full dormancy, and devastating storms lash from the west. “Most winters are barely cold enough for them to achieve dormancy,” Ward notes. “Bruised and battered, they respond with low yields of intensely flavoured grapes.” The subregion’s unique climate – less Indian Ocean heat, more Southern Ocean bite – comes through in the character of the wines. Chardonnay here echoes Karridale’s cool restraint, not the north’s sun-kissed richness, while tempranillo and fiano are ideally positioned for a warming future. “This patch suits varieties that handle milder summers,” Ward says – a hedge against climate creep.
Sustainability’s no afterthought here. “We are increasing the levels of soil carbon to hold more moisture,” Ward says – a key concern in the region as 2025’s drought shrank dams. Deep ripping in the vineyard, which cracks hard soil layers, helps roots reach underground water; sheep and compost cycle nutrients back into the soil. Fenced creeks now bloom with native plants, a far cry from their bare-banked past. “It fills the soul to see in such a short time frame, the reestablishment of nature,” he says. Ward’s not chasing yields, but rather resilience. “It’s about working with what the site gives,” he says, accepting the tradeoff of smaller hauls of fruit for deeper flavour. His draw? “The sounds of nature,” he grins. “When pruning in winter … you can hear the wild Indian Ocean breaking … 10kms to the west.” The presence of two oceans meeting nearby is a hum threading through the rows here, and the vineyard whispers its story through every bottle.
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