Everything distinctive about Orange is a consequence of elevation. The town sits above 860 metres on the flank of Mount Canobolas, a volcano dead for eleven million years, and the altitude does the work its marketing never has to: cool-climate wine at heights most Australian regions cannot reach, real autumns, cellar doors in schoolhouses instead of sheds. This day runs from the town grid to the summit. A warehouse of vintage stallholders on Byng Street, the regional gallery two blocks on, a brewery started on a thousand-litre kit by a corporate escapee, then up the mountain itself — a cellar door at 1,050 metres where the Pinot ferments on wild yeast, and finally the conservation area at the top, where the whole appellation lays itself out below you in one view.
Do the summit last, not first — the view is a summary, and summaries belong at the end.