This is one in a series of occasional stories about Marin terroir.

  The llamas don't surprise as much as the spare vineyards dotting this naked land, from the Stubb's property, tucked deep into the valley floor along bumpy Marshall Petaluma Road, to Redding Ranch, perched high above the hills of Nicasio. They sneak up on you as you snake along the windy, northwest tip of this county, adding a layer of beauty to this already breathtaking scape.

  The history, however, is there. In the 19th-century, Marin County's German and Italian immigrants farmed hundreds of acres under vine. But, following the quake of 1906, Prohibition, World War II and phylloxera, vineyards were torn out in favor of urban development. The wine industry moved north.

  So geographically, it's no surprise that the area is experiencing a wine-growing renaissance, especially with Pinot Noir: Marin is an extension of the Sonoma Coast, prized for well-drained, moderately fertile soils, cool winds and lingering fog. Bud break is earlier than Napa, but the lack of summer heat waves push flowering weeks beyond Carneros, making for wines that have great balance, natural acidity, and intense flavors without compromising elegance.

  Naturally, comparisons to Burgundy have been made. In the past decade, Marin grapes (170 acres compared to Napa and Sonoma's 105,000) have become the coveted darling among California vintners, and an inaugural
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  wine auction next month will showcase the county's wines as a collective for the first time. There are currently a dozen members of the Marin Winegrowers Association making Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Riesling, Merlot, Gewurztraminer, and, in the warmer, temperate east Marin, Cabernet Sauvignon.

  Schramsberg Vineyards blends Chardonnay from Mark Pasternak's steep, 18-acre Devil's Gulch Vineyard into its upper tier J. Schram sparkling wine. The fruit benefits from a long hang time that allows for maximum ripening before sugars and alcohol take over, says associate winemaker Keith Hock. So, flavor and acidity is paramount.

  "That's what makes sparkling wine," says Hock, who's obtained fruit from Pasternak for eight years.

  Dan Goldfield's relationship with Pasternak, who manages or consults on two-thirds of the vineyards in Marin, dates to 1991. At the time, Goldfield was making wine for Healdsburg's flailing La Crema Winery while Pasternak, a grower so dedicated to his vineyards he judges them not as children but by his own evolving parenting style, was giving his fruit away.

Grapes potential

  Pasternak planted the vineyard in 1980 and knew the potential of his fruit. So he called some of the biggest names in cool-climate Pinot Noir — Rochioli, Williams Selyem, Davis Bynum — to let them play with the fruit for free. Goldfield was the only one who bit, recalling that the site's beauty stirred the chemist-poet in him. So did the wild berry and forest floor flavors he'd later pull out of it. Today, he makes Marin Pinot Noir under three labels, including Dutton-Goldfield and the Diageo-owned Orogeny.

  "Wine is so homogenous these days, I like things that stand out," he says.   "Unique personalities and unique physical areas." He also likes the challenge of making a wine that isn't too angular, which can be a result of cool climate tight clusters. "In Burgundy they don't talk about tons per acre like we do, they talk about gallons per acre. The amount of juice per ton is low, and that's what speaks to the intensity."

  Jonathan Pey and his wife, Susan, started Pey-Marin Vineyards in the early 1990s as an homage to their European roots. Jonathan lived in Paris as a child and later worked for Burgundy's Louis Jadot. Susan lived in Florence and pursued a career in Italian wines. So making Pinot Noir that naturally pairs with food was of utmost importance to the couple, even if some people didn't understand their vision.

  "Marin was the Rodney Dangerfield of wine," recalls Pey, who now makes 1,000 cases a year, including a mailing-list only Riesling. He's hoping to capitalize on the bortrytis that comes with organic farming and produce a late-harvest version in the near future.

Marin's future

  As to the future of Marin, while Pey and other vintners believe the industry has caught on to its southern neighbors, they don't forsee vineyard plantings exceeding 400 acres in the next decade.

  Success is dependent on four elements, including water, which is scarce; sufficient land (that isn't too steep or forested) to drive a tractor on; and a soil-microclimate combination that is conducive to growing grapes.

  Some sweet spots, like Point Reyes and Novato, have those three. But there's a fourth must-have, Pasternak says. Cash. It costs about $40,000 per acre to develop a vineyard, and four years to see your first crop. Most people aren't willing to make that kind of investment without name recognition.

  So, for now, Pasternak's phone will continue to ring around the clock.

  "The word is out not only that the grapes are good," he says, "but that they're all spoken for."