The Unruly Vintage: Jannine Rickards, Huntress Wines and the Art of Letting Go.

Wine has always had an uneasy relationship with certainty. We give it appellations, classifications, tasting scores and the occasional rather grandiose adjective, as though a little nomenclature might persuade nature to behave. Then comes the vintage, with its own weather, temperament and apparent indifference to the plans made on its behalf. The result, at its most compelling, is less a product of control than an exercise in judgement: Knowing what to encourage, what to question and what to leave gloriously alone.

Montaigne, who made an art of examining his own uncertainties, might have appreciated the enterprise. His essays resist the comfort of fixed conclusions; they are alive to contradiction, curiosity and the possibility that understanding is something one acquires by remaining open.

There is a similar intelligence in the work of Jannine Rickards, founder and winemaker of Huntress Wines. Her world encompasses the vineyard and cellar, but also the less conventional pursuits of hunting, foraging and gardening. These are not simply pastoral embellishments to a winemaking biography. They suggest a way of looking at the world in which attention is a practical skill, instinct a form of knowledge and the natural order an unreliable candidate for micromanagement.

Huntress occupies an appealing space between technical discipline and creative restlessness. Rickards' wines are not exercises in stylistic repetition; they offer room for the character of the fruit and the particularities of the season to assert themselves.

Consider Waikoa, an aromatic, textural blend of Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc and Chenin Blanc, shaped by partial skin fermentation and time on lees in seasoned oak. Its construction brings together varieties with distinct personalities, allowing texture and aromatic detail to share the stage.

Puiaki, meaning treasure, introduces a new Chenin Blanc to the Huntress repertoire - a variety with an unusually capacious vocabulary, capable of moving from tensile freshness to layered texture without losing its sense of proportion.

There is something appealingly unfashionable about the idea that a wine need not repeat itself to be recognisable. In an age that prizes consistency almost as much as it prizes the appearance of spontaneity, the independent winemaker occupies an interesting position: Part agricultural interpreter, part technician, part reluctant negotiator with the realities of business. The cellar may offer its own quiet theatre, but the decisions made there are anything but abstract. They involve judgement, consequence and the occasional need to abandon a very good idea.

The writer and naturalist Nan Shepherd, in The Living Mountain, understood that a landscape reveals itself through sustained attention rather than conquest. It is a useful thought to carry into the world of wine, where place is often invoked as a selling point but is rather harder to honour in practice. For Huntress, the appeal lies in the possibility of making wines that retain a sense of their origins without turning that idea into a marketing performance.

We meet Jannine Rickards for a conversation about the making of Huntress, the influences that have shaped her relationship with wine, and the ideas that continue to inform her work. There are no grand declarations required; the more interesting stories, as ever, tend to emerge between the lines.

Huntress is described as a journey between palate and place. At what point did wine stop being simply something you made from the land and become a way of paying attention to it?

Jannine Rickards: I’m not sure I can pinpoint a particular moment when that shift happened. My connection to whenua and the environment has always been there, shaped by my whakapapa and upbringing among the land and wild places of Aotearoa.

My winemaking journey began with a simple enjoyment and fascination, and a desire to absorb as much knowledge as I could about viticulture and winemaking. After a few years in the industry, I went on to study while working full-time, bringing a deeper understanding of the science and technical side of winemaking into the mix.

Over time, those two worlds have come together. The knowledge, skills and experience I’ve gathered throughout my career now sit alongside a more instinctive way of working, guided by my senses and an awareness of the world around me. I think that’s where the real connection lies - drawing on both what I know and what I feel, and allowing the whenua, the season and the fruit to guide the wine.

You hunt, forage, garden and make wine. They seem at first like quite different pursuits, yet all require a particular kind of attentiveness. What has hunting or gathering taught you about winemaking that a vineyard or cellar never could?

Jannine Rickards: I actually find them very connected pursuits. Hunting, foraging, gardening and winemaking all ask you to pay attention to your environment and the subtle changes in the living world - the seasons, the maramataka, the energy of a place and the signs that tell you what’s happening around you.

I’m a fairly driven person, so one of the biggest things hunting, foraging and gardening give me is the opportunity to slow down. To be present, connect with my breath and the environment, and look beyond myself. They keep me grounded and remind me that we’re part of something much bigger.

I think that awareness carries through into my winemaking. It’s about observing rather than imposing, understanding that nature works to its own rhythms, and recognising that sometimes the best thing you can do is pay attention, trust your instincts and allow things to unfold in their own time.

You’ve spoken about following the maramataka and recognising that the rhythms of the seasons extend well beyond the vineyard. Has that changed your understanding of time in winemaking - particularly the temptation to make nature conform to our calendars?

Jannine Rickards: This is one of the biggest challenges for me at the moment. There’s a real freedom in running my own business, but also the very real pressure of the world we live in - paying bills and making the business work. I hope that, in my lifetime, I can craft wines with a greater sense of connection to the time they need to truly sing.

Some prefer to follow a recipe. Jannine Rickards would rather see what the season has to say. A more interesting proposition, as it turns out. Meet the woman behind Huntress Wines.

The pressure to have wines ready for market at certain times can be tricky to navigate. Sometimes a wine would benefit from more time in the cellar, but the practical reality of running a small business means you have to find a balance between allowing the wine to evolve and having an income to keep things moving.

Winegrowing itself follows a natural calendar, and we work within the rhythms of the growing seasons. Without my own whenua and vines, my calendar is a little different, with more of my time and energy directed towards the market and connecting with customers. It can be a challenge to hold both worlds at once.

I’m grateful to the organic growers I work with, who are so connected to their whenua and the seasons. Their work is the foundation of my wines, and it reminds me that while we can plan and make decisions, ultimately we’re working with something living. I’m still learning how to give that process the time and space it deserves, while finding a way to make the business sustainable too.

There is a productive tension in your wines between precision and the untamed - technique matters, but so do wild fermentation, vintage variation and knowing when not to interfere. How do you recognise the moment when intervention becomes interference?

Jannine Rickards: I felt that line being crossed in 2023, during a tricky harvest when I was working with a parcel of non-organic fruit. The wine required a lot of work to bring it into a place of deliciousness, and it reinforced something for me. My preference now is for Huntress to work exclusively with organically farmed fruit, wherever possible, to give healthy wild ferments the best chance to express the season and the site.

Ideally, I want to use only sulphur and filtration as needed, helping to preserve the shape and intention of a wine while keeping it consistent and enjoyable. But low intervention doesn’t mean no intervention. Too much care and hard work goes into growing and tending vines for us to simply leave the wines to their own devices. This is where I’m grateful for my mentors and the technical grounding I’ve gained throughout my winemaking journey.

Knowing when to step in is just as important as knowing when to step back.

It’s a fine line. Some of my favourite wines in the world are made with no additions and no filtration, but they often come from sites that have been farmed by the same families for decades, with an intimate understanding of each vine and the seasons it has endured. I don’t have that continuity yet. Over the past two vintages, I’ve made wines across three regions and four wineries, so I need to be mindful of the additional risks that come with not having had my own space.

In 2025, I had some organically grown Chenin Blanc become a little untamed. It was only a small portion of skin-fermented fruit, but it needed some help to find its balance and shine. I’ve since blended it into a couple of wines, where it provides structural support, although some of its original glow was lost in the work needed to keep it on track. It was destined to be a standalone wine, but pivoting was required.

Every year, every site and every ferment teaches you something. I think recognising that moment comes from experience, observation and being honest with yourself about what the wine needs. You learn, you adapt and you pivot. For me, it’s about intervening with purpose, rather than simply because you can - and knowing that sometimes the best thing you can do is leave the wine alone.

Kaitiakitanga is often translated as guardianship, but that can make it sound rather neat and administrative. What does it actually ask of you in the less visible decisions behind a bottle - and has your understanding of that responsibility changed over time?

Jannine Rickards: I think my understanding of kaitiakitanga comes back to connection - to whenua, whakapapa and the living world around us. It’s an awareness that we’re not separate from the environment, but part of it, and that our choices have an impact beyond ourselves.

In winemaking, that responsibility starts well before the fruit arrives at the winery. It begins with the people growing the grapes, how they care for their vines and soil, and the decisions made throughout the season. I’m fortunate to work with organic growers who put so much care into their whenua. As a winemaker, I feel a responsibility to honour that work and carry it through into the wines I make.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that kaitiakitanga isn’t about having everything figured out or doing everything perfectly. It’s about paying attention, taking responsibility and recognising that we’re part of something much bigger than ourselves. I’m still learning what that looks like in practice, particularly as I navigate the realities of running a small independent business. For me, it’s an ongoing relationship with the land and the people around me, and a responsibility I want to keep growing into.

You’ve said that you don’t expect to arrive at one fixed way of making a wine because each season tells you something different. Is consistency sometimes an overrated virtue in wine - and what might be lost when we become too determined to reproduce the past?

Jannine Rickards: One of the things I love most about harvest is that you never quite know what you’re going to get. You can draw on your experience, plan and prepare, but every season brings its own challenges and opportunities. I find that exciting. There’s always something new to learn, and I’m not sure I’d want to make the same wine over and over again.

The people you work with, the weather, the fermentation kinetics and the intensity and character of the fruit all shape the outcome. I love having the opportunity to craft the best wine I can from what each season gives us, rather than trying to make it fit an idea of what it should be.

For me, seasonality is an opportunity to showcase something different, whether that comes from the fruit itself, something I’ve learnt along the way or an idea I want to explore. I want my wines to reflect those experiences rather than reproduce something simply because it worked well in a previous vintage.

I think our determination to reproduce the same thing, time and again, is part of a much bigger conversation about the world we live in. Commercialism and capitalism often reward consistency, predictability and scale, but there’s a cost when we lose diversity and the freedom to do things differently. We see it in our food systems and in the way we relate to the natural world.

Wine has this incredible ability to capture a moment in time - a place, a season and the decisions made along the way. If we become too focused on reproducing the past, we risk losing that sense of discovery and the opportunity to learn from what’s in front of us. I’d rather embrace the differences between vintages and allow each wine to tell its own story. For me, that’s part of the joy of winemaking.

So much of Huntress seems to begin with kai and the pleasure of sharing it - the garden, the hunt, the long table, the people around it. Do you think wine becomes more meaningful when it is understood as part of a wider culture of nourishment rather than as an object of connoisseurship?

Jannine Rickards: Absolutely. For me, wine connects us to our community and our environment, and there’s something pretty special about a long table filled with local kai, good people and a wine that’s been crafted with care and intention.

Wine has such a rich history of bringing people together. It’s there to celebrate, to remember, to mark a moment in time or simply to enjoy being with friends and whānau. It can be a taonga in its own right, something that carries the story of a place, a season and the people who brought it to life.

Some of the best moments of my journey have been spent around a long table with friends, sharing kai and a few bottles of delicious wine. Those are the moments I live for - the kōrero, the laughter and the connections that happen when people come together. For me, wine is at its most meaningful when it’s part of that wider experience of nourishment, generosity and connection, rather than something to be admired from a distance or saved in a cellar.

The name Huntress came to you almost as a recognition of who you were becoming. Has the reality of building Huntress changed what that word means to you now - or are you still becoming her?

Jannine Rickards: Interesting to reflect on this. In some ways, I was doing more hunting before I started Huntress than I have time for now. Running a small business is quite the juggle, and one of the hardest things is making time for yourself and prioritising your own wellbeing.

But perhaps the meaning of Huntress has evolved alongside me. While I haven’t been able to get out into the hills as much over the last couple of years, the experience of building something of my own has brought its own kind of growth, resilience and self-awareness. There are parallels between the two: patience, instinct, persistence, knowing when to act and when to sit back and observe.

For me, hunting has never really been about the kill count or the trophy stags. It’s about the deeper connection to yourself, to the whenua, and to the world around you. It’s about paying attention, understanding your place in the landscape and being comfortable with the unknown. I think those same qualities have become part of how I approach Huntress - trusting my instincts, backing myself, and finding my own way rather than following someone else’s path.

I’m still becoming her. Perhaps Huntress is less about a finished version of myself and more about the ongoing process of learning, growing and finding my way in the world, both in the wild and in the work I do.

You have worked across some very different wine cultures, from New Zealand to Burgundy, Oregon, South Africa and Champagne. What did travelling teach you that ultimately made you more certain about what you wanted Huntress to be - and what did it make you question?

Jannine Rickards: I think travel, full stop, makes you question what you do and why. It’s expansive for the mind and helps you get clearer on your own values and the people you want to surround yourself with. I’m incredibly grateful for all the experiences I’ve had, even the sticky and hard moments. They all teach you something, often more than you realise at the time.

Working across different wine cultures has exposed me to so many different ways of doing things, both in the vineyard and the winery, and in how people approach life. Meeting new people and seeing how they live and work makes you question your own ways of doing things, what you believe in and what you’re prepared to compromise on.

Huntress didn’t start with much of a plan at all. I just knew I wanted to give it a go on my own terms. After years of working for other people, I wanted the freedom to explore my own ideas, and I had the determination and work ethic to back myself. I built this on my own with very little to begin with. I borrowed $4,200 from my dad, paid it back and began saving in 2017. My first two wines were released in November 2018: a 2017 Pinot Noir and a 2018 Waikura Rosé.

I’m still evolving what I want Huntress to be, and I think that’s part of the journey. Travel has helped me understand my own values and given me a better sense of the kind of people I want to work with and support. But it’s also reinforced that you don’t need to have it all figured out from the beginning. Sometimes you just need to trust your instincts, work hard and be open to where things take you.

If someone drinks a Huntress wine without knowing anything about the vineyard, the variety or the winemaker, what would you hope reaches them first: the place, the season, the food, or something harder to name?

Jannine Rickards: Energy, I think. For me, mauri is about the life force that exists in all things, and I believe that when you create something, you bring a part of yourself to it. Wine is no different. It carries the season, the whenua, the fruit and all the decisions, energy and care that go into making it.

I hope people can sense that in a Huntress wine, even if they don’t know the story behind it. The vitality of the wine, the aroha and the time that’s gone into getting it from the vineyard to the bottle. There’s a lot of mahi that goes unseen, and I’d love for some of that to be felt in the glass.

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Words and questions by AW.

Answers courtesy of Jannine Rickards.

PHoto courtesy of Huntress Wines.