The Wild Man of Barossa

Tom Shobbrook grew up in the Barossa Valley, in a family that planted a vineyard in Seppeltsfield in 1998. But it was six years working in Tuscany — particularly at the organic Chianti star Riecine alongside long-term winemaker Sean O'Callaghan — that transformed his palate and his philosophy. He became accustomed to open, expressive wine, so different from what he had known in Australia. He returned home in 2007 with ideas about doing things differently, and a conviction that the Barossa could produce something other than heavy, jammy Shiraz [^129^][^133^].

Around the same time, Tom met Anton van Klopper, who had just started Lucy Margaux in the Adelaide Hills. The two began making legendary road trips between Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide in Tom's old Land Rover — sleeping in the car or in parks, foraging for wild food and seaweed, going fishing, and dropping into venues at all hours to talk wine. Well, wine would feature, but those conversations were just as readily philosophical, cultural, nigh on spiritual. They'd "kidnap" wine buyers in Adelaide and take them for a spin around the block, feeding them, splashing wine in jam jars, and conveying a spirit. It was iconoclastic stuff — both intoxicating and charming [^129^].

On one particular night over a flight of Radikon, Natural Selection Theory was born — alongside their Egg Project, a boundary-pushing exercise that saw a 2010 Semillon raised in eggs encased in different minerals and played constant, distinctly varied music. Sam Hughes and James Erskine joined the collective, and the four became the cornerstone of Australia's natural wine movement. Tom's family vineyard in Seppeltsfield was successfully converted to biodynamics, and his own label — Shobbrook Wines — became an enviable source of fruit and a benchmark for natural Barossa [^127^][^129^][^134^].

Tom Shobbrook has a thing for eggs. It began when he and his Natural Selection Theory buddies decided to see if wine could make itself once it was put in a vessel. It made perfect sense that the vessel should be shaped like an egg — eggs nurture new life, so why not wine? They had an idea that an egg's lack of corners would allow swirling, free-flowing energy to evolve into something balanced and pleasing. Today, Tom ferments in open one-ton flex tanks, 500-litre ceramic eggs, and wood of varying format — all naturally, with no acidification or other additions, neither fined, filtered, nor sulphured [^128^][^134^].

But the eggs are only part of the story. Tom has also pioneered the use of native Australian timber in winemaking — specifically Jarrah wood. He salvaged massive 15,000-litre Jarrah vats from the 1860 Stonyfell winery in Adelaide, repurposing them into two 6,000-litre large-format tanks. Jarrah is porous, with a grain structure very different from oak — "the wine seems to pass through the Jarrah and breathe more." This gives the wines a unique, airy quality that is impossible to replicate in French or American oak. It is a characteristically Shobbrook move: using what the land provides, honouring Australian materials, and creating something new from something old [^133^].

Tom picks earlier than most in the Barossa, seeking freshness and acidity over ripeness and power. In the cellar, he gives the grapes a little foot stomp to break a few skins and lets them ferment wild. He never bottles until the wine tastes ready, and makes room for wines to become something new — like a naturally evaporated Shiraz sherry, or putting some aside to distill into vermouth. This is winemaking as diary, as journey, as life. Each bottle contains not just a vintage but a philosophy [^129^][^133^].