BERKELEY, Calif. — If winemaking is to survive across California and the Americas, changing how vineyards are farmed won’t be enough. The grapes themselves may need to change. Rising heat, shifting rainfall, deeper droughts and longer fire seasons are reshaping everything from berry chemistry to disease pressure — threatening not just how wine is made, but what it’s made from.
That was the core message at the Unfiltered Wine Festival, a one-day event hosted at Donkey & Goat, a natural winery in Berkeley. Organized by Andrew Sullivan — a longtime friend of winery co-founder Jared Brandt — in collaboration with Brandt’s team, the gathering brought together climate scientists, researchers, winemakers and wine drinkers for discussions and tastings focused on wine’s shifting terrain.
“If you think these grapes make bad wine, maybe what you mean is unfamiliar wine.” — Matt Niess
“We created Unfiltered to raise awareness of the incredible work local winemakers are already doing,” Sullivan said. “By putting those wines in people’s hands, we hoped to spark a shift in how sustainability is understood — starting with what’s in the glass.”
One panel in particular — titled “Adaptation” — posed a radical question:
Could native and hybrid grapes — long overlooked — offer a more resilient and sustainable path forward?
Reality Check
Growers often adapt to a changing climate through compost use, trellis redesign, no-till farming, shade structures and revised irrigation. But as climate scientist Dr. Whendee Silver cautioned, even with those changes, time is running short.
“We’ve passed the 1.5 degrees Celsius mark,” Silver said. “This isn’t theoretical anymore.”
That’s the global warming threshold many scientists warn could trigger more frequent climate extremes — including drought, fire and crop failure.
To reduce atmospheric carbon levels, her work on compost-based soil amendments shows carbon can be stored and greenhouse gases reduced — if changes are made early and at scale. Dr. Tibisay Pérez emphasized the power of circular systems: Composting grape pomace with food waste can cut emissions by up to 84% compared to landfilling.
“And,” she said, “if we process it on site, we save on transport and build fertility directly into the vineyard.”
Even the best soil strategies can’t shield a cabernet block from extreme heat — or mildew. That’s where Dr. Kaan Kurtural — former UC Davis researcher and now owner of Kurtural Family Vineyards — offered a cautionary note: Relying on ever more inputs may be neither practical nor sustainable.
“We’re not farming in Bordeaux,” he said. “It’s time to stop pretending.”
Kurtural explained that today’s vineyards — most planted to Vitis vinifera, a species native to Europe — often require shade cloth, extra irrigation, canopy manipulation and frequent sprays or fertilizers just to remain viable in California’s changing climate. These grapes didn’t evolve alongside North American soils, microbes or weather patterns. Instead of enhancing quality, modern inputs are increasingly used to compensate for growing climate stress.
He warned this approach risks producing low-yield, low-quality fruit — even as costs and environmental impacts rise.
Moreover, the labor squeeze and mounting fuel or chemical costs make intensive viticulture less viable by the decade. Kurtural suggested that real adaptation may mean shifting to grape varieties better suited to current conditions — rather than trying to force old favorites to conform.
“There’s a lot of mildew pressure in 2025,” he noted. “A typical vineyard might need six spray passes in a normal year. Right now, I’m hearing about blocks needing 12 or more.”
The consequences are clear: more chemicals, more labor, more fuel, more soil compaction — and hidden risks to microbial life in vineyard soils.
That concern was echoed by Sonoma County winemaker Matt Niess, who owns North American Press and works with growers using low-input farming methods.
“If you’re spraying — conventional or organic — those residues don’t just disappear,” Niess said. “They show up in compost, too. That affects microbial life, which is the foundation of any healthy vineyard.”
For Niess and Kurtural, the solution may lie not just in how we grow — but in what we grow.
Among the varieties they find worth exploring are norton, traminette and lomanto — a native grape with floral aromatics and a structural kinship to gewürztraminer — as well as lenoir, La Crosse, brianna, baco noir and catawba, many of which were featured at the tasting.
These lesser-known native and hybrid varieties aren’t widely planted, and they don’t yet appear on most wine lists. But they’re adapted to North American conditions and often thrive with fewer inputs. That makes them more than curiosities — they may offer a glimpse into what a truly adapted viticulture strategy could look like.
Tasting the Shift
The event wasn’t just about ideas. Dozens of winemakers poured selections that challenged assumptions about what “good” wine is supposed to taste like. Some wines were made from native or hybrid grapes. Others embraced skin contact, oxidative aging or flor yeast. A few defied classification altogether.
They didn’t taste like the Sonoma or Napa I know. Not like Europe either.
They tasted like somewhere unfamiliar — but strangely familiar.
It was like switching from milk chocolate to cocoa nibs. Still chocolate, technically. But sharper. Bitter. Less about comfort. More as if they were each asking a question — what does wine from this place actually taste like?
Among the most thought-provoking were four wines made by Niess, who works with growers using low-impact methods: no synthetic sprays, minimal irrigation, low tillage and wild fermentation.
Each wine had modest alcohol levels (12–13.8%), high acidity and a flavor profile that felt vivid and alive. But what stood out most was their sense of place.
Here were some of my tasting notes:
“Hero’s Journey” — lenoir (2024, Lake County, Kelsey Bench AVA, $35): Black cherry skin, freeze-dried blood orange and volcanic stone. A lean, tensile red with fine tannins and a mountain-air lift. 13.3% ABV. Practicing organic. No spray. Minimal irrigation. Wild yeast. Unfined and unfiltered.
“The Rebel” — baco noir (2023, Sonoma Coast, $34): Sour plum, redwood duff and iron filings. Picked six weeks later than usual. Think pinot noir run through a sieve of elemental iron. 13.8% ABV. Beyond organic. Dry-farmed. No spray. Low till. Minimal sulfites.
“The Sage” — catawba rosé (2024, Suisun Valley, $32): Wild strawberry, dried orange petals and a crisp, bone-dry finish. 12.5% ABV. Practicing organic. Dry farmed. No till. Wild yeast. Minimal sulfites. Unfined and unfiltered.
“The Maker” — La Crosse + brianna (2023, Nevada, $31): Pine needle, singed Meyer lemon and green-roasted hazelnut. Not quite a white wine, not quite a pét-nat. 12.2% ABV. No spray. No herbicides. Low till. Wild yeast. Minimal sulfites.
These wines weren’t just different.
They asked different questions —
and gave different answers.
The Choice Ahead
One major hurdle is perception. Grapes like lenoir, catawba, baco noir and brianna aren’t common in most AVAs. They don’t have the market clout of cabernet or sauvignon blanc — and they don’t taste like them either.
But that may be the point.
“If you think these grapes make bad wine,” Niess said, “maybe what you mean is unfamiliar wine.”
Meanwhile, Kurtural warns that the varieties we currently rely on — pinot, chenin, cabernet — may not remain viable in many parts of California.
“We’re right at the apex,” he said. “We can’t coast much longer.”
If the “Adaptation” panel made one thing clear, it’s this: Winemaking in Northern California faces a choice. Composting, trellis redesign and mechanization may help in the short term. So will stronger labor protections and better energy efficiency.
But eventually, the question won’t be how we grow grapes — but which grapes we grow.
And that will require shifting taste, not just technique.
That’s why Niess’ work feels radical yet grounded — less like a revolution, more like remembering something long lost.
“These grapes evolved here,” he said. “They don’t need saving. They just need to be taken seriously.”
—
Tim Carl is a NorCal-based photojournalist.
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