The Finance Boy, the Burnout & the Leap of Faith
In the Serranía de Ronda, at 750 metres above the Costa del Sol, Christopher Scott Myers — a Baton Rouge native who spent a decade in New York finance before burning out — and his sister Leigh, who had already made a home in Málaga, bought a 10-year-old Syrah vineyard and began making zero-additive, dry-farmed wine that tastes like limestone, altitude, and the moment you decide to stop being someone you don't like.
Origin — Baton Rouge, New York, the Sister & the Name
Christopher Scott Myers was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana — the second of six siblings, a boy from the South who grew up with a romantic idea about farming and a deep love for gathering around the table with family. He graduated from Ole Miss in 2000 and, like many ambitious young men from the American South, headed to New York City to work in finance. For nearly a decade, he spent long hours at a boutique investment bank, making money, making friends, and slowly losing himself. "I had some great years there and I made some of my best friends there, but by the end of that time, I was burned out," he recalls. "I didn't have any balance in my life. I didn't like the person I had become. I had other ideas in my head, and I wanted to break away and explore those ideas."
The other ideas were about wine and land. Scott had always harboured a romantic vision of farming — of working with his hands, of being outside, of creating something tangible from dirt and sun. He took the money he had made in finance and went back to school, enrolling in courses from the University of California at Davis winemaking program. He wrote to every winery in Baja California, Mexico, offering to volunteer and learn. One invited him. He went. He got a crash course in viticulture and enology, and he fell in love — not with the glamour of wine, but with the dirt, the sweat, and the product. "My favorite part was being outside with the vines, working with my hands. Working in the field, dealing with the product that you're going to end up consuming, really spoke to me."
At first, he thought he would stay in Mexico. But then he started talking to his sister Leigh, who had married a Spaniard, moved to Málaga, and started a family there. She and her husband encouraged him: come to Spain. See how they do it here. It was the perfect proposal at the perfect time. Scott was longing for family, for connection, for a life that did not end with a closing bell. He packed his belongings — minus the dress shoes — and headed for Europe in 2017.
He had not been in Spain for long before he happened upon a 10-year-old Syrah vineyard for sale in the Serranía de Ronda, the mountainous region surrounding the ancient town of Ronda, roughly an hour's drive from Málaga. "When I first drove up to the vineyard and saw the beauty of this place and of the views all around it, that hit me," he recalls. "But I put a lot of thought and prayer in before I made the decision. It was really a leap of faith." He and Leigh named the winery Bodega Luis y Ana — Luisyana — an homage to their Baton Rouge beginnings, to the state that formed them, and to the family table they were trying to recreate on a mountainside in Andalusia.
The Place — Acinipo, the Limestone & the View from 2,600 Feet
The Serranía de Ronda is not merely a wine region. It is a landscape of myth — a high plateau of limestone cliffs, white villages, and ancient Roman ruins, perched above a gorge where the Guadalevín River has carved 400 feet of stone. The town of Ronda itself is one of the great dramatic settings of Spain: the Puente Nuevo bridge, the whitewashed houses, the bullring where Francisco Romero invented the modern corrida. And beyond the town, in the hills that roll toward the Sierra de las Nieves and the Sierra de Grazalema, the vineyards sit at 750 to 900 metres above sea level — the highest in the DO Sierras de Málaga, cooled by altitude in a climate that would otherwise bake.
Acinipo — The Roman City of Wine
The ancient city of Acinipo, known as Ronda La Vieja, sits in view of the Luisyana vineyard — a Roman settlement so devoted to viticulture that its name is believed to mean City of Wine (from the Latin acinus, grape, and the Greek polis, city). The Romans sent wine from Acinipo to Málaga and on to Rome itself. Artefacts uncovered there include coins minted with bunches of grapes. Scott looks at these ruins every day from his vineyard. "They've been making wine here for 2,000 years," he says. His 10-year-old Syrah vines are infants in a landscape that has known viticulture since before Christ.
Limestone, Hot Days & Cool Nights
The soils of the Serranía de Ronda are predominantly limestone — the same geology that underpins Chablis, Champagne, and Sancerre. The limestone offers nutrients to the vines, retains moisture in the dry season, and provides drainage during the wet winter. Combined with the altitude, the microclimate produces hot days and cool nights — a diurnal swing that slows ripening and preserves acidity. The Sierra de las Nieves and the Sierra de Grazalema protect the valley from the worst of the east and west winds. The result is a paradox: a Mediterranean latitude that produces wines of Atlantic freshness and mountain tension.
Dry-Farming at Altitude
The Luisyana vineyard is dry-farmed — no irrigation, no supplemental water, no safety net. The vines depend entirely on rainfall and the moisture retained by the limestone soils. "That allows the grapes and the wine to really show from year to year," Scott explains. "Without irrigation, you're kind of at the mercy of what nature gives you." It is a high-risk, high-reward approach: in dry years, yields plummet; in wet years, the vines flourish. But the result is fruit of extraordinary concentration and site-specific character — grapes that could not have come from anywhere else, because they were shaped by the specific rain, wind, and sun of that single season.
The Wine Monk of Andalucía
Scott lives alone on the property, in what the writer Rod Dreher called a hermitage in the mountains of Andalucía — "like a sort of wine monk, creating something beautiful, and learning about red wine, the good earth, his God, and himself." He is a serious Catholic, an adult convert, and a man who believes that wine is a sacrament — mystical, humbling, and never fully mastered. "My mentor said you're never going to learn everything about wine. The fact that wine is a sacrament explains it all — it's kind of mystical. You think you've got your hands on it and then you get humbled." The solitude is not loneliness. It is the necessary condition for attention.
Winemaking — The Guide, the Mentor & Letting Nature Take Its Course
Scott's cellar philosophy is governed by a single conviction: the vigneron is a guide, not a manufacturer. From the beginning, he determined that his approach would centre on nurturing the vineyard rather than using chemicals and extreme measures to manipulate the process. "I'm trying to do everything organically," he says. "It's backbreaking work, but it will be worth it in the long run." The vineyard is tended vine by vine — individual attention, manual labour, no shortcuts. If the grapes are good, the wine itself won't require much tampering during fermentation. "These vines were planted really well, so I don't want to intervene too much. I want to let nature take its course. That may be a more artisanal or old-school way of doing it, but that speaks to me. It means we're going to have a little more variety from year to year."
He found a mentor in a nearby winery owner — one of the established bodegas of the Serranía — and still consults with him on nearly a daily basis. The mentor taught him the practical wisdom of the region: the rhythms of the harvest, the behaviour of the limestone soils, the particular challenges of high-altitude viticulture in Andalusia. But Scott's education is also formal: the UC Davis courses gave him the scientific framework — the chemistry of fermentation, the biology of yeast, the physics of canopy management. The combination of academic knowledge and daily mentorship has produced a winemaker who is both rigorous and humble.
The winemaking is deliberately simple. Grapes are hand-harvested into small containers and brought to the cellar for gentle crushing and destemming. Fermentation occurs spontaneously with indigenous yeasts. There is no temperature control, no selected yeast, no enzymatic correction. The wines are aged without manipulation — some in stainless steel, some in oak — and bottled when they are ready. The Algazara cuvée, the estate's signature wine, is made without added sulfites — a choice that demands extreme hygiene, careful handling, and the confidence that healthy grapes from a clean vineyard do not need chemical preservation.
Scott and Leigh's faith is present in every aspect of the project. "With our love for gathering around the table with family and friends and with our faith always present, we begin our journey hoping the fruits of our labor bring glory to God and pay homage to those who farmed these lands before us." It is not a marketing statement. It is a mission. The wine is not merely a product. It is an offering — to the table, to the family, to the memory of the Romans who planted the first vines on this same limestone two millennia ago.
The Wines — From the Syrah of Altitude to the Table of Family
Bodega Luisyana produces approximately 12,000 to 15,000 bottles per year from roughly 3.2 hectares of vineyard in the Serranía de Ronda. The range is small, focused, and deliberate — a reflection of Scott's belief that quality comes from attention, not volume. The wines are bottled under the DO Sierras de Málaga appellation, with the Serranía de Ronda as a sub-zone. The signature cuvée is Algazara, a 100% Syrah of striking freshness and mountain character, made without added sulfites. Future plans include a rosé and additional varieties as the estate grows, either through acquiring more land or purchasing grapes from neighbouring organic vineyards.
Luisyana "Algazara"
Syrah — Serranía de RondaThe estate's signature wine — 100% Syrah from dry-farmed vines at 750 metres on limestone soils in the Serranía de Ronda. Hand-harvested, spontaneously fermented with indigenous yeasts, and made without added sulfites. The result is a Syrah unlike the warm-climate versions of the Rhône or Australia — here, the altitude and the cool nights produce a wine of medium body, fresh acidity, and peppery elegance. The nose is of black pepper, dark berry, smoked meat, and a distinct limestone-derived mineral note. The palate is silky, with fine tannins and a long, savoury finish. It is a wine that proves Syrah can be mountain-fresh in a Mediterranean climate — lifted, precise, and deeply satisfying. No added sulfites, no filtration, no fining.
Luisyana "Algazara" Tempranillo
Tempranillo — Serranía de RondaA 100% Tempranillo expression of the Serranía de Ronda — sourced from selected parcels on the estate or from neighbouring organic growers who share Scott's dry-farming philosophy. Fermented spontaneously and aged with minimal intervention. The Tempranillo at altitude retains a freshness and a red-fruit purity that is rare for Andalusia — cherry, pomegranate, dried herbs, and a touch of the limestone minerality that defines all Luisyana wines. Medium-bodied, with approachable tannins and a juicy, food-friendly finish. A wine for tapas, for grilled pork, and for the long Sunday lunches that inspired the project in the first place. No added sulfites.
Luisyana Rosado / Future Releases
Rosé — Serranía de RondaA dry rosé in development — part of Scott and Leigh's vision for expanding the range while maintaining their commitment to organic, dry-farmed, zero-additive winemaking. Sourced from the estate's younger vines or from carefully selected organic parcels in the Serranía, the rosé will be made with the same hands-off discipline: direct pressing, spontaneous fermentation, and bottling without filtration or sulfite addition. Pale salmon in colour, crisp, and deeply refreshing — a wine for the terraces of Ronda, for the beach at Málaga, and for the Louisiana family table that started it all. No added sulfites (when released).
Luisyana Experimental / Limited Cuvées
Variable — Serranía de RondaScott's experimental edge — small-lot cuvées that explore the potential of the Serranía de Ronda's diverse terroir. These may include single-parcel Syrah bottlings, short-maceration skin-contact whites, or collaborations with neighbouring organic growers who share the Luisyana philosophy. The common thread is dry-farming, indigenous yeast, and the refusal to add sulfites. These wines are not always available. When they are, they are shared with friends, family, and the small community of natural wine enthusiasts who have discovered this unlikely American project in the mountains of Andalusia. No added sulfites, no filtration, no fining.
Legacy — The Wine Monk, the Sister & the Bridge Between Two Souths
Bodega Luisyana matters because it is one of the most unlikely and heartfelt wine projects in contemporary Spain — the work of a Louisiana boy who burned out on Wall Street, followed his sister to Andalusia, and bought a Syrah vineyard on a mountainside where the Romans had made wine two thousand years before. In a region where American investment typically means golf courses or beach resorts, Scott Myers has created something far more radical: a small, organic, dry-farmed estate that makes zero-additive wine without added sulfites, tended by hand, guided by faith, and named after the state that formed him.
His legacy is agricultural. By farming 3.2 hectares at 750 metres without irrigation, by working organically in a landscape where chemicals are still the norm, and by dry-farming Syrah on limestone soils in a climate that demands resilience, Scott has demonstrated that the Serranía de Ronda can produce wines of freshness, elegance, and emotional honesty — wines that taste like altitude rather than heat, like patience rather than profit. The vineyard is young — the vines were planted around 2007 — but the land is ancient. And Scott tends both with the same attention.
His legacy is also familial. Leigh Myers is not merely a silent partner. She is the reason Scott came to Spain — the sister who had built a life in Málaga, who encouraged him to cross the ocean, who helps run the project and provides the moral support that makes the solitary mountain bearable. "Leigh is such a big part of this. She got me here and she is my moral support. Her family has welcomed me in, and that softens the blow of being so far from the rest of our family." The name Luisyana is not a brand. It is a family photograph — two names, two siblings, one table.
And his legacy is philosophical. Scott Myers is a man who believes that wine is a sacrament — mystical, humbling, and never fully mastered. He lives alone in the mountains, like a monk, learning about red wine, the good earth, his God, and himself. He does not claim to be a natural winemaker as a marketing category. He claims it as a way of life — organic, low-intervention, sulfite-free, because that is what the vineyard demands and what his conscience requires. "The fact that wine is a sacrament explains it all — it's kind of mystical. You think you've got your hands on it and then you get humbled."
From Baton Rouge to New York to Baja California to the Serranía de Ronda, from finance to viticulture, from the closing bell to the harvest moon, Bodega Luisyana is a testament to what happens when a man decides that the person he was is less important than the person he might become, that the sister's invitation is a vocation, and that the best way to honour Louisiana is to plant Syrah in Andalusia and call it home. The finance boy has spoken. The mountain listens. And the drinker is transformed.