Matthew Rorick has never put much effort into chasing the next big thing. He’s always preferred to work with grapes whose names most folks can't pronounce, grown in vineyards in places where Google Maps are just as likely to send you down dirt roads to nowhere as they are to actually get you to the vineyard visit on time. About the time you realize you’re hopelessly lost and are about to use the satellite phone for a helicopter extraction, that’s probably right about where Forlorn Hope lives. Not in the comfortable middle of Zinfandel and Chenin Blanc, but out on the shoulder with Verdelho, Trousseau, Mondeuse, Valdigue, and all the other beautiful misfits that somehow escaped notice by the arbiters of vinous fashion. The Forlorn Hope name itself comes from an old Dutch military phrase for the volunteers who stepped forward for lost causes, knowing the odds weren't good for returning. Somehow, that's exactly how these wines feel.They just keep moving forward, certain that their cause is as just as their hearts are pure.

Rorick’s Heritage Vineyard sits high in the Sierra Foothills where limestone pushes through the earth like old bones and the afternoon light hangs around longer than it should, bringing a glow, if not an aura, to the vineyard. It isn't a vineyard built for shortcuts. It's a place where dozens of grape varieties find their own voices, and where Matthew mostly stays out of the way once the fruit comes through the winery door. Native yeasts do their quiet work. Old barrels mind their own business. New oak doesn't muscle into the conversation. The wines come out with dust on their boots, wildflowers in their pockets and enough nervous energy to remind you that California wine is still an unfinished road, stretching around the next bend with no promise except that it'll be worth the drive.