750,000 Rubles, Twenty Years in the Making

Valery Troychuk (Валерий Тройчук) had bet on the estate’s native varieties twenty years earlier. His son Maxim (Максим) had been leading the winery for about six years by the time the hammer fell. The record belonged to both of them—and to the particular kind of succession that each made possible for the other.

Succession here wasn’t a single handoff but a progression of titles: Maxim, by his own account, became general director in 2018, was listed as the winery’s director in trade press by April 2022, and the winery’s official site lists him as general director today.

What Valery bet on

Krasnostop is our pride, one of the best varieties in the world. It is a natural athlete—high alcohol, high acid, high tannin, high flavor.

In the late 1990s, Valery Troychuk and his partners bought the bankrupt Millerovsky winery, just as Russia’s 1998 default hit. It had no vineyards of its own and made wine from bought-in material, which capped its quality. By 2003 he was looking for grapes he could control.

He chose khutor Vedernikov, a Don Valley estate that began in the 1960s as a state farm for preserving native grape varieties, and that reportedly escaped uprooting in the 1980s anti-alcohol campaign. It joined his holding in 2004. The first premium vintage was the 2005 harvest.

Krasnostop Zolotovsky. Tsimlyansky Cherny (Цимлянский Черный). Sibirkovy (Сибирьковый). Pukhlyakovsky (Пухляковский). Old Don Cossack grapes, cultivated for generations, but never seriously commercialized at premium scale. Valery kept them and made them the product.

The Don Valley, at 47°N latitude, imposes winters reaching -28°C and summers hitting 40°C—a temperature swing of nearly 70°C. Eighty percent of vines require annual burial to survive: cut to ground level after harvest, covered with soil, uncovered again in spring. The labor is punishing. The yields are low. But Krasnostop Zolotovsky, having evolved in precisely these conditions over centuries, produces wines with what Valery described as natural athlete qualities: high alcohol, high acid, structured tannins, and flavor intensity that competition judges consistently reward.

“Krasnostop is our pride,” he told Russian wine industry publications. “It is a natural athlete—high alcohol, high acid, high tannin, high flavor.”

A Russian premium wine drew laughter at first, his son recalls. The bet was on local specificity over market familiarity.

The money ran short

Then the money ran short. The 2008 global financial crisis hit a business already stretched: most of the profit went to creditors, and development stopped, Maxim says. Valery needed an investor who understood winemaking—a business where returns don’t come quickly.

Proof of the grapes’ origin came first. In 2013, Swiss ampelographer Dr. José Vouillamoz—who had co-authored Wine Grapes with Jancis Robinson and established himself as a leading authority on grape genetics—compared the DNA of three Don Valley varieties, Krasnostop Zolotovsky, Tsimlyansky Cherny, and Sibirkovy, against a database of more than 2,000 grape profiles worldwide. Twelve molecular markers. No match. His conclusion: the three varieties are indigenous to the Don. It was not a monopoly—Krasnostop is grown elsewhere in southern Russia—but after nine years without scientific backing, the origin was documented. A year later, the 2012 Krasnostop became the first Russian wine to win gold at Mundus Vini.

The scientific finding changed the competitive situation without making the grape unique to Vedernikov. In global wine, terroir arguments are common and frequently exaggerated—every region claims unique soil, microclimate, or tradition. A documented origin is a narrower, more durable claim: it does not say no one else grows these grapes, only that the Don Valley is where they came from.

Maxim’s route to the title

Maxim’s part had started long before. His father brought him into the company at 18, as translator for the winery’s consultant. Then came five seasons on the technical side, and presentation work. By his own account he became general director in 2018, and the winery’s official site lists him in that role today.

Then the decision. In May 2015, Abrau-Durso—Russia’s largest sparkling wine producer—acquired 51% of the Vedernikov group. Valery, then chairman of its board, said the company had lacked the money to grow. The price was not disclosed; an analyst estimated $50–60 million. The native varieties stayed central and the family stayed in management. Maxim says re-equipment resumed that year and more than 50 hectares of new vineyards were planted. Chief winemaker Gulbala Zeidov stayed throughout. By 2022 the vineyard had grown to 225 hectares.

A pétillant naturel from Tsimlyansky Cherny launched in 2020—the traditional Cossack red, made into a natural sparkling wine that introduced indigenous varieties to consumers who might find still wines unfamiliar. In 2022, the first rosé from Krasnostop Zolotovsky in the Don Valley appeared.

By April 2022 Maxim was listed in trade press as the winery’s director. Vineyards had expanded to 225 hectares. Construction began on the new winery. Wine tourism planning started for a remote Don Valley site.

The Moscow auction

December 2024. The first auction of Russian wines of its scale, a closed sale at the Beluga restaurant in Moscow, organized by Abrau-Durso and Vedernikov. Eighteen bottles raised 6.46 million rubles combined. Maxim attended, alongside Zeidov. A lot of two bottles of Krasnostop Zolotovsky 2012 was offered—the same vintage that had won gold at Mundus Vini in 2014, the first Russian wine to do so, with only eight bottles remaining. The lot sold for 1.5 million rubles: 750,000 rubles per bottle, the highest price paid for modern Russian wine at auction. About $7,500 a bottle at the CBR rate on 11 December 2024.

The bottle’s own price traces the arc. By Maxim’s account, a 2012 Krasnostop cost about 2,000–3,000 rubles at release and reached 80,000–100,000 by December 2020. In December 2024 it sold for 750,000.

The 2012 vintage was his father’s work: Valery’s variety selection, Zeidov’s winemaking, twelve years of aging under Don Valley conditions.

Maxim had been leading the winery for about six years by the time of the auction. The wine was his father’s; the occasion belonged to the era that followed.

What the pattern reveals

The Troychuk succession isn’t typical. But the architecture reveals something applicable beyond wine.

Valery made the two decisions only a founder can make: what to build on, and when to sell control. The first, in 2004, left the next generation a scarce asset—old vines and, by 2024, cellar stock so old that only eight bottles of the 2012 vintage remained. Time made that scarce, and no competitor can buy back twenty years. The second, in 2015, solved the capital problem that had stalled the business since 2008.

Maxim’s part was slower: learning the work from the inside, from translator to technologist to general director. By the time the record came, he had run the winery for about six years. His work was to make his father’s bet legible to buyers.

Zeidov’s continuity added a dimension seldom discussed in succession analysis. A chief winemaker who stayed through the ownership change bridged the transition without disruption to winemaking quality—institutional knowledge that survived because the person who carried it stayed. Heritage succession isn’t only about family lines; it is about the technical continuity embedded in the organization. The Vedernikov model preserved both.

But the principle travels: succession design starts long before any handoff.

The 750,000-ruble bottle shows two decisions at work: Valery solved the capital question in 2015, and Maxim learned the work from the inside.

Last updated: September 30, 2026