5:00 am. It’s cold and dark, but I’m up before the birds to punch down the fermenting lots. Normally, I would wait for it to warm up, but today I’ll be away from the house, so the punchdowns have to happen early, before I shower and dress, wake the kids, fix breakfast, and get them off to school. The nights are getting colder as fall segues into winter, so we’re having to keep the lids on the bins. After dragging off the heavy plastic lids, I pull out the defrosted jugs that helped keep the musts cool overnight. I then grab the step ladder and climb onto the edge of the first bin. I used to be able to punch down from the top of the ladder. A couple of years ago, however, I had a cycling accident that caused a hairline fracture in my right shoulder and a tiny tear in my rotator cuff. I no longer have the strength or flexibility to reach up and pull down to punch through the hard cap of grape skins, so up I climb. I stand on the corner of the bin for better balance, then lean into the punchdown tool to force the first breakthrough. These last lots have been smaller than the first syrahs, so the cap isn’t as hard—fewer skins for the gas to push up and less gas to cause the pressure.
It takes precisely twelve punches to break through the cap in the initial round (three by four, since the bins aren’t square), and then I follow up with a few more vigorous rounds. I lift the tool, knock off the grape skins, and swing it over to the next bin. Carefully, I step across the gap, balancing against the handle of the tool as I press it into the hard cap of the new bin, then start the process again. When all the bins are finished, I drop to the ground in one of the gaps.
Next up: densities. I start by digging a hole in the grape skins, which have already risen since the punchdown. This explains why my hands look so dirty this time of year, with black cuticles and dingy skin: wine stains. I press the strainer into the hole, letting the juice seep up. I fill the pitcher, then pour the juice into the test tube and drop in the hydrometer. As the hydrometer drops, I blow off the bubbles and give the hydrometer a spin, waiting for it to settle so I can take the reading.
Let’s see… It’s… I move the tube around this way and that, trying to catch enough light to see the tiny number. I eventually carry it over to the light, dripping all the way, so that I can see the reading. The same thing happens with the thermometer, as I try to catch sight of the red gauge in the dark. These early morning numbers are always somewhat approximate, but I duly note down my best guess in the wine-stained notebook. I move from the driest bin to the sweetest, until all the measurements are taken. As luck would have it, one of the lots has dropped under 1070, so I sprinkle on the yeast nutrients, climb onto the bin, and punch it down again.
Finally, I drag out frozen jugs to drop into the bins, to keep the fermentations from getting too hot during the day. I leverage the lids back up onto the bins, then I wash up the tools and instruments with cold water and head into the house. Time to start the day.