Julien Sunier spent his twenties chasing two things: wine and waves. He made wine in New Zealand and at Bonny Doon in California, surfing whenever the ocean was close. Back in France, he apprenticed with Nicolas Potel and Jean-Claude Rateau in Beaune, then took a job as assistant winemaker for Mommesin, a large Beaujolais négociant, where for five years he oversaw vinification across all ten Beaujolais crus. It was an education in scale — and in what he didn't want.

In 2005, he bought La Ferme des Noisetiers, a nineteenth-century farmhouse perched at 750 meters in Avenas, high above the Beaujolais vineyards. He founded his domaine in 2008 with two or three hectares. It has since grown to between six and nine, spread across Fleurie, Morgon, and Régnié.

The vines are forty to fifty years old, gobelet-trained bush vines on pink granite. He practices what he calls semi-carbonic maceration — beginning with carbonic fermentation, then transitioning to Burgundian pumping-over partway through. Full carbonic, he believes, erases terroir. The method is a hybrid, like the man: Burgundy-trained, Beaujolais-rooted, shaped by the Pacific.

His barrels are hand-me-downs from Roumier — the same domaine where it all began, courtesy of his mother's scissors. His press is an ancient vertical basket model hauled from the Côte d'Or.

"We are very proud to farm organically," Sunier says. "It is almost double the cost in the vineyard but our price isn't twice as much."

At 750 meters, the farmhouse catches weather that the lower vineyards never see. The hazelnut trees — noisetiers — still frame the entrance.