A Vineyard in Napa. Doug Shafer

A Vineyard in Napa - Doug Shafer


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hillside soil. Some of this was fueled by his friendship with our neighbor, Nathan Fay.

      As mentioned earlier, in 1961 Nate Fay had been the first grower to plant Cabernet in the cooler Stags Leap area. Besides selling grapes to local wineries, he kept a little fruit each year for himself and made some Cabernet for friends and guests to enjoy. One evening Mom and Dad, along with Joe and Alice Heitz, were invited to dinner with Nate and his wife, Nellie. With the meal, Nate poured his homemade 1968 Cabernet, which Dad remembers to this day as a stunning wine—rich and delicious with lush dark fruit. It was this same vintage, also tasted at Nate’s house, that had prompted Warren Winiarski to purchase land next door and make his first Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars Cabernet in 1972. For Dad, though, the timing for such a move still wasn’t right. Unlike a number of our neighbors, such as Winiarski or Mondavi, he did not want to jump-start a winery with borrowed money and then find himself beholden to a group of investors. That could turn into a corporate stranglehold as bad as the one he’d extricated himself from back at Scott Foresman. Building a winery didn’t have to happen tomorrow. If the timing was right, he thought he might be able do it on his own. So he chose to wait for the game to change.

      I’ve heard that once the bottles were unveiled, some of the judges in their arch-dismay tried to change their rankings. But it was too late. A month later the tasting was reported in Time magazine, which dubbed the event “The Judgment of Paris.” It was a story with superb appeal to Americans, who a) take delight in seeing a victory go to “the little guy” and b) enjoy French snobbery taking a poke in the eye.

      The effect of the Paris tasting was palpable pretty quickly in Napa, although it didn’t take the form of any kind of public celebration. In part, the outcome of the tasting was simply a great psychological boost for all those who had believed in Napa and moved here in the prior five or ten years to grow grapes and make wine, believing fervently in this region’s potential to stand on the world stage, only to be largely ignored outside the West Coast. It was a way vintners could tell themselves they were not crazy for pouring their lives into Napa Valley. In a fairly short time wine critics and collectors from the East Coast and from the United Kingdom starting showing far more interest in what we were doing. In terms of gaining respect in the fine wine world, I think we would have rolled that boulder up the hill at some point, but Spurrier’s Paris tasting got us there perhaps as many as ten years sooner.

      The buzz created by the Judgment of Paris had an effect on my dad. The idea of starting a winery was driven more forcefully to the front of his mind. How could it not? From our property a pro golfer with a strong drive could practically land a ball in Winiarski’s Cabernet vines. Just beyond that, Clos du Val’s 1972 Cabernet had also been selected by Spurrier for the tasting—an honor in its own right—and had come in eighth in the red category.

      By the autumn of 1977, the Cabernet vines on John’s Folly were a couple of years old, and Dad finally harvested fruit that was truly his own. He sold most of that first crop to Mike Robbins at Spring Mountain Winery (whose 1972 Cabernet had also scored well at the Paris tasting). But he hung on to a small amount and made ten or twenty gallons of wine in his basement, funneling it into cleaned-out bottles that were still labeled “Mondavi Red Table Wine.” In one corner of the Mondavi label he penciled in the historic words “Shafer 1977 Cab.”

      After Robbins had a chance to try the wine from Dad’s hillside fruit, he called and offered a ten-year grape contract. But at long last John Shafer’s dreams pulled rank on his practical side. Selling this fruit was out of the question. This was the Cabernet Sauvignon on which he wanted to build a winery.