“We knew exactly what we wanted,” White says. “And we didn’t want to inherit someone else’s mistakes.” The solution? Start from nothing. Building from the ground up meant he could implement 0.75m vine spacing – half the Hills’ norm –and 2.4m row spacing on a 30% slope, with the rows oriented east–west rather than the north–south norm. “This vineyard was designed for the Australian climate, not copied from Burgundy,” White says. “An east face gives you morning sun – blue spectrum light that’s perfect for ripening delicate varieties like pinot noir and chardonnay. By midday, the sun is directly overhead, giving dappled light on bunches, and we’re protected from the late-day heat spikes that can hammer a crop.”
That slope, combined with aspect, effectively cools the growing season by two degrees – a profound drop in a region already known for its cool climate credentials. It also creates a mesoclimate that’s naturally disease-resistant: vertical shoot positioning and single cane pruning allow for air movement amongst the bunches. That single cane pruning regime also limits yields to somewhere between 500 grams and 1.5 kilograms per vine – significantly less than the Hills norm of 3.5 kilograms – and less fruit on the vine means more punch in the finished wine. Three dams on site catch rain, which is drip-fed to the vines in summer. “Terroir is everything,” White says. Lenswood’s 15°C growing season becomes his canvas for “elegant yet powerful” wines.
That terroir is a cool-climate unicorn. Nestled in the eastern escarpment of the Adelaide Hills, Lenswood regularly sits a full degree or more below neighbouring subregions. “Average growing season temperature of 15 degrees … significantly cooler,” White says. The annual 1,200mm of rain here and the high altitude tame the extreme temperatures that sweep through with the wind – Antarctic southerlies, desert northerlies. The soil here is ‘Lenswood clay’, a brown loam over red pottery clay, “famed for its ability to grow anything,” as White puts it. The clay gives the site “fantastic water holding capacity”, while the underlying bedrock of slate-like blue and purple mudstone, shot through with reefs of pink quartz and sandstone, gives “excellent drainage.” This unique soil profile draws roots earthwards to tap water from the springs that lie deep down under the bedrock. Compared to the silkiness of the Yarra or Tasmania’s bite, “Wines grown here have distinct vibrancy and energy,” White says. “Good natural acidity is matched with powerful fruit,” he says. The “structure, colour and fruit weight” of pinot noir here is a Lenswood hallmark, allowing the wines to age beyond the Hills’ norm. “The top wines from here have age-worthiness, which you can’t always say about Hills pinot,” he says. There’s structure, there’s length. And it’s not forced – it comes from the site.”
The rude health of the soil here is the result of a decade’s work. White and his partner spent over ten years preparing for this tiny patch of high-density vines. Before a single post was knocked in, the site was managed organically – no herbicides, no tilling, just careful composting of rye grass, clovers, and medics. “We weren’t just growing cover crops,” he says. “We were building soil. Real, living soil. You can’t fast-track that.” White mulches clover and rye yearly, skipping tillage to lock carbon into the soil. “Our property is noticeably greener into summer” than others in the Hills, he observes. The organic matter built up over the decade – which draws in moisture ten times for effectively than bare earth would – has created a sponge-like structure in the soil, capturing rainfall and feeding the microbiome. “When you walk it, there’s bounce,” he says. “You can feel the life underfoot.”
Post-planting, grape marc compost with lime and straw additions undervine closes the loop.
White pays as much attention to doing the right thing above-ground as he does below. Copper-sulphur sprays fend off disease, while a diverse range of non-vinifera plantings on the site means those open vine canopies play host to a healthy native predator bug population. The vineyard is biosecure, too – only White’s own tractors are used, and all machinery is washed before entering or leaving. Starting from a blank slate means that there isn’t a history of pesticide and herbicide use to remediate, or high levels of existing pests and disease pressure to counter.
The first vintage from the estate vineyard came in 2023. “We’d made pinot from every subregion in the Hills before this,” says White. “But when we tasted that first estate wine, it was an immediate shift. The fruit had clarity, depth, and aromatic lift that only comes from truly low-yielding, healthy vines. We’d theorised about it for years. But that was the proof.”
Clonal selection underpins much of the vineyard’s character. White opted for heritage material – Abel, Pommard, MV6 and 777 for the pinot noir – each chosen for how they respond to the unique soils and climate of Lenswood. “We avoided the modern early-ripening clones,” he says. “They’re great in Europe, but here they ripen too fast, and you lose nuance.” The result of this careful matching of clone to site is structure in the wine – pinot noir with muscle and acidity, chardonnay that will unfurl over a decade. “Lenswood gives you power and restraint in the same glass,” he says. “That’s rare.” This dazzling high-wire balancing act is made possible by complete control over picking: “I like to pick at the perfect point of flavour and tannin maturity,” White says. “The biggest winemaking decision you make is the pick date. And when you grow the grapes yourself, you get to make that call with full context.”
The vineyard isn’t just about wine. It’s part of a broader push towards regenerative agriculture, especially after the Cudlee Creek fire swept through the region in 2019. Native revegetation has become a core focus. “We’re not just farming grapes – we’re rebuilding an ecosystem,” White says. “That’s the long play.” Plans are in motion to expand biodiversity initiatives, trial gamay, and potentially open the vineyard up to eco-tourism. But every step forward comes back to the core principle: site first. “We want to return the land to something closer to its natural rhythm,” he says. “The moon really does affect vine behaviour – it’s not just romanticism.”
White and his partner are first-generation growers. The vineyard was planted on weekends, funded by off-farm work, and irrigated – at first – by their sheer optimism. “High-density planting sounded great,” White laughs. “Until you’re on your hands and knees, 5,000 times. It’s a good way to test your commitment.” But every hardship is now an anecdote. Every decision made has become a lesson. And every bottle that leaves the property now stands as a quiet proclamation of what’s possible when wine is grown, not just made.
“This vineyard wasn’t inherited,” White says. “It was built. Vine by vine. Row by row. And we’re only just getting started.”
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