There were 11 of us in total standing midst the steep and narrow rock terraces of the Côte Rotie. Behind us rose the schist and limestone steps of the Côte Blonde; before us rose neatly stacked rows of vines midst a dark schist and granite soil rich in manganese and iron oxide, the Côte Brun. These rugged slopes were tamed by the Romans, a people who had an innate eye for good earth.

We were in the Rhône on a French Wine Society "study abroad" trip. All of us were wine educators and all of us were completely blown away by the landscape before us. True, we were buffeted by a ferociously tenacious south wind as we stood on our rocky ledge, but it was the sight of a landscape that had been crafted by legionnaires 2,400 years ago that held us in thrall.

Our host, Philippe Guigal, pointed to the inhospitable terrain and commented, "One man can care for 14.5 acres of vineyard in Burgundy per year. In the Côte Rotie, the same man can effectively care for only five."

"And he needs to be a wine Sherpa!" breathed one of our own.

Wine Sherpa indeed! And capable of combating the Mistral! We turned our faces into the wind.

"No. This is just a south wind," said our host. The Mistral comes from the north, but it blows 450 to 600 feet above the landscape in the northern section of the northern Rhône. It descends at Cornas (at the southern end of the Northern Rhône) and then funnels into the narrow channel of the Rhône River and spreads wide upon the plains of the Southern Rhône. The Mistral thunders like a train."

"What?" asked one of our group, struggling to keep her hair out of her face and her ear to the speaker.

"It thunders like a train," shouted Philippe. "Here on south facing slopes, we are protected by that wind."

I fought to keep hold of my notebook as the gentle (?) south wind tried to rip the pages from its spine. Had to be the jet lag, I thought. I certainly wasn't on the same plane as Philippe.

Our group headed down-river, passing the right-bank communes of Condrieu, Chateau Grillet and St. Joseph to visit Domaine Alain Voge in Cornas. We climbed to the top of that distinguished slope on a slippery scree of decomposed granitic sands. Again, the south wind made itself a living presence.

Each vine is given a stake in the northern Rhône and tied to it to protect the tender shoots from breaking in the winds. The steep inclines make this vineyard almost impossible to work by machine. Many producers -- including Voge, Jaboulet, Chave and Chaputier -- use horses.

"Horses are our past and our future," commented Alberic Mazoyer of Domaine Alain Voge. But it's hard to find skilled horsemen these days. And you can't manage horsemen like other employees. They are like artists, very independent people."

The horsemen aren't the only ones that are difficult. The large-grained granite (ironically known as horse-teeth granite) peppers the hillside in rugged chunks and in slippery pebbles. One among us took an uncomfortable slide on the way down.

We hadn't developed goat's feet yet. That was going to prove a necessity.

Day Two

At Maison Chaputier, we hiked up a portion of Hermitage. Our host was operations manager Ludovic Clemenson. The domain is biodynamic.

"It takes 200 man-hours per hectare (2.5 acres) to work a conventionally farmed vineyard plot and 800 man-hours to work the same acreage if that land is farmed biodynamically, if the land is flat. It takes 1,200 man-hours to work a biodynamically farmed slope."

We looked up and down the steep gradient and nodded our heads. No wonder the company motto is "Fac et Spera" (Latin for "Do and Hope").

We returned to the winery to taste the fruit of the company's labor. The wine was poured into an eager and reverent silence around a thick wooden table.

On my part, I have always described tannins in terms of fabric. In a textural continuum from "gossamer" to "knife and fork," I've classified tannins as silk, satin, taffeta, brushed cotton and velvet.

The Rhône reds of Chaputier expanded my textural vocabulary. I needed to add "fleece" to the list, something so soft, warm and comfortable that you could lounge in it or sleep in it. No wonder the wine labels are also in Braille. Their wines are exquisitely tactile things.

By the time we arrived at Saint Jean de Muzols to visit Delas Freres, the northern Rhône was starting to take shape. Côte Roties could be distinguished for their distinctive notes of cardamom, leather and white pepper; the wines of Hermitage were all violet and pink peppercorn. Powerful Cornas was a wild amalgamation of braised meat, smoke, coffee and molasses/caramel.

"By picking at 12.5 to 13.0 potential alcohol, we maintain both freshness and balance," stated Jacques Grange of Delas Freres. "In five years, such wines will be quite complex. Over-blown (alcoholic) syrah won't last that long."

I nosed the flight of glasses before me and inhaled an amalgamation of scent. The wines were plenty complex already. I locked eyes with a colleague across the table and we just shook our heads in awe.

When in Rhône, you needed different parameters to describe excellence.

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