FROZEN FRUITS OF THE VINE FREEZE BRINGS SMILES, AND ICE WINE TO ANTELOPE VALLEY VINTNERS.

Byline: JUDY O'ROURKE Staff Writer

LEONA VALLEY - Half of the state's orange crops were destroyed last week by a raging cold front, but one local grower purposely left some grapes on the vine to craft a rare brew in these parts: ice wine.

The trick is picking and pressing the small grapes while they're frozen to release the essence within for an unusually sweet dessert wine. The practice may not raise eyebrows up north, but in Southern California it's an oddity that could be used as a marketing tool.

``There are people who grow grapes up in the Sierra at 3,000 feet but I don't know anybody in my membership who produces ice wine,'' said Paul Kronenberg, president of Family Winemakers of California, a trade association based in Sacramento. ``They produce late-harvest stuff, but typically it's a Canadian product.''

Ice wine can only be made from grapes frozen on the vine before they're harvested. Time is of the essence because the grapes must be pressed while they're still firm. Cheaters, who would freeze grapes after they're picked to simulate the process, must call the product something else.

Respected Napa Valley grower and vintner John Caldwell, of Caldwell Winery LLC, said ice wine could be the fledgling Leona Valley Winery's distinction.

``It's difficult to make a good ice wine, and if they can pull it off, it would make a name for them,'' he said.

Caldwell said it's difficult to find a region in California where summers are warm enough to ripen the grapes to their full sugar content, yet cold enough in winter to freeze them before they rot.

David Reynolds, 35, and his wife, Corey Jones-Reynolds, 42, transformed weedy hills into a 20-acre vineyard roughly six years ago with syrah, chardonnay, pinot noir, petite verdot, malbec, cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon varieties. The soil is untouched by chemical fertilizers; only compost is used for enrichment.

So, banish the image of crews of farmworkers sweltering under the midday sun, hands a blur as they hastily trim bunches from the vines, filling big bins with grapes destined to become wine.

Before dawn lit the frigid Leona Valley Winery on Monday, the Reynoldses, their winemaker and vineyard manager -- swaddled in long underwear, parkas, sweaters, hats, snow boots and gloves -- gingerly snipped frozen grape clusters from four rows of dormant leafless vines.

Covered head to toe, Jones-Reynolds said, ``I'm still freezing!''

Water pipes had frozen the day before when the thermostat dipped below zero, but on this day, cabernet franc vines planted in 2001 were ready to be plucked.

``Ice crystals freeze before sugar water freezes and it was too cold last night -- the berries were rock solid,'' said Nick Morello, the winemaker.

Morello had a big smile on his face Monday when the grapes were only partly frozen and squeezable. They were crushed in a manual hydraulic press; the precious juice was saved, the water crystals discarded.

The desirable dehydration occurs when grapes shrivel slightly, concentrating the sugars and intensifying flavors and aromas. Wine connoisseurs often detect hints of chocolate, cinnamon or cedar on their palate, and in the fresh amber juice Morello tasted stewed berries, ripe strawberries, orange-blossom honey and baked candy apple.

The couple's four kids removed protective netting Sunday night, and under a crescent moon Monday morning the Reynoldses' dogs, Onyx and Haunter, munched on fallen fruit and shooed flocks of hungry bluebirds circling overhead, poised to plunder the purple gems.

``The females came in first,'' David Reynolds said. ``The males came in a few days later, and we thought they ate the grapes and turned blue.'' A couple of hawks made a half-hearted attempt to shoo away the migrating swarm.

They'd hoped to pick the crop a couple of weeks ago when the vineyard was dusted with snow -- a tradition in cooler climes -- but the grapes weren't ready, Corey said.

``Another week, these would be raisins,'' she said.

After 16 lugs were filled with the entire 500-pound crop -- which would have taken less than an hour to pick had the four not stopped to thaw numb hands and faces by a log fire pit -- the still-frozen grapes were manually squeezed in the press to release their amber-tinged juice.

The wine lovers don't come from a winemaking tradition -- he co-owned martial-arts studios and taught lessons, she's a mortgage banker in Palmdale -- but they wanted to buy acreage and believed it should help pay for itself. Leona Valley is known for its abundant orchards, and the Reynoldses wanted to distinguish themselves -- theirs is the sole commercial vineyard. Curvaceous bottles with vintage-looking labels featuring wine goddesses are part of the plan.

``I'm into the romance of making wine, the art of it,'' Reynolds said.

The property boasts microclimates that vary 10 degrees from the low-lying stream to the hilltops. Reynolds said the ``roller coaster'' weather creates nuances in the grapes, and he plans to apply for an appellation, a government certification for unique growing regions.

``More and more wineries are trying to distinguish themselves and their product (by) applying for the designation,'' said Art Resnick, a spokesman for the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau in Washington, D.C. ``You're going to get a different product from a different area of the country.''

The area, because of its 3,200-foot elevation and microclimate, has great potential, Caldwell said. Leona Valley, situated just west of Palmdale at the northern edge of Bouquet Canyon, was a wine-growing region in the late 1800s, and some 100-year-old zinfandel vines still poke from the soil.

``Anybody willing to go to Leona Valley and start a vineyard and winery from scratch ... you've got to give them a big hug,'' Caldwell said. ``It's a risky deal, and their first few vintages were excellent wines showing great potential. It's a dream so many people have (had), but they've gone ahead and done it.''

He predicted a bright future for the syrah, chardonnay, maybe even pinot and malbec varietals -- which ripen a little early because the high altitude has a shorter growing season.

An emboldened Reynolds plans to send a bottle of the 2004 chardonnay to renowned wine expert Robert Parker, seeking his much-coveted stamp of approval. Caldwell suggests sending the ice wine instead.

``If it's really good, I think he would be intrigued,'' Caldwell said. ``He has to have something to get excited about for his readers.''

The Reynoldses lease space in a warehouse miles away in the northern Antelope Valley. The 300-barrel cellar ages the wine in French oak that's purchased new for each vintage. They have no tasting rooms but hold tastings at restaurants and wine parties.

The Reynoldses have invested roughly

$2 million in the venture.

From one row of frozen grapes last year, they produced 50 bottles of ice wine, and they hoped the four rows would yield 200 bottles this year. They rejected about one-third of the crop and expect to produce only 100 375-milliliter bottles.

For information, visit www.leonavalleywinery.com.

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CAPTION(S):

9 photos, map

Photo:

(1 -- color -- ran in SAC and Valley edition) Frozen grapes hang on the vine as vineyard owner David Reynolds picks them in the early morning chill last week at the Leona Valley Winery in the Antelope Valley. Ice wine can only be made from grapes frozen on the vine.

(2 -- color) David Reynolds predicts a bright future for the syrah, chardonnay, maybe even pinot and malbec varietals.

(3 -- 4 -- color -- ran in SAC edition only) Cellar master Martin Matney, left, presses the grapes as the fire raises their temperature at the Leona Valley Winery in Rosamond early Monday morning. Above, frozen grapes are added to the press.

(5 -- ran in SAC edition only) Winemaker Nick Morello tests the sugar levels of the juices squeezed from the frozen grapes at the Leona Valley Winery in Rosamond early Monday morning.

(6 -- ran in Valley edition only) Leona Valley Winery owner Dave Reynolds holds a glass of ice wine. The vineyard picks and presses the small grapes while they're frozen to release the essence within the a sweet dessert wine.

(7 -- ran in Valley edition only) Frozen grapes wait to be picked while vineyard dog Haunter enjoys those that fall to the ground in the early morning chill at the Leona Valley Vineyard.

(8 -- 9 -- ran in Valley edition only) At left, cellar master Martin Matney, left, and winemaker Nick Morello check the temperature of the grapes at the Leona Valley Winery in Rosamond. Above, Morello tests the sugar levels of the juices produced by the frozen grapes at the winery.

Alex Collins/Special to the Daily News

Map:

Leona Valley Winery

Warren Huskey/Staff Artist