Bruce McGill as Walter Hagan

Here at The A Position we’re given a topic to address (or not) each month for The A List feature, and the task for May was to suggest an aspect of golf in need of renovation. Actor Bruce McGill joined in on the fun, and a baker’s dozen of strongly worded recommendations can be found by clicking here.

Since colleague Susan Bairley and I were heading along a similar track, the editors deferred to her, and Susan’s argument is pretty unassailable. She makes her point with a polite and cold logic that should end matters right there. But they won’t. Which is why I was a little less polite.

IBM CEO Virginia Rometty

I had hopes that by the time I wrote this there would be no reason to. But such is not the case, so here’s my vote for the powers-that-be at Augusta National to renovate their brains and admit a female member.

Yes, I know it’s a private club and the law and reasoning is therefore on its side to do what it wants. But all that reasoning is just pure bullshit. Thanks to the Masters, Augusta National is the most public private club going, and its hagiographic television spectacle each spring is presented as a flowering ideal of golf tradition.

But now that Virginia Rometty is CEO of long-time sponsor IBM–a position that typically leads to a membership invitation but which is still going begging, the appalling hypocrisy of the club’s continuing intransigence is plain.

Get real, Augusta National; what you’re really doing is piling on continuing and corrosive damage to the image of golf.

Watson will return July 26-29 for the Senior Open Championship. He’ll be able to stay in one of suites named for the winners of the Open Championships played here–himself, Greg Norman in 1986, Nick Price in 1994 and Cink. Watson could also have a pint in the Duel in the Sun Lounge, named after the 1977 Open Championship epic, when he prevailed over Jack Nicklaus.

(Watson also won the Senior Open Championship here in 2003, Loren Roberts in 2006. Previous winners at Turnberry: Neil Coles in 1987, Gary Player in 1988 and 1990, and Bob Charles in 1989.)

Our group of five golf writers warmed up yesterday on the resort’s Kintyre Course, a treat in its own right. We tackled the Ailsa course this morning, a lovely spring day, though with a fairly brisk wind playing about.

I have more on the history and layout of the courses in a series of posts beginning here. This is a quick trip, essentially a day and a half, two rounds of golf and two killer dinners, as we’re off tomorrow on a long travel day to Greece to check out Costa Navarino. But there have been some big changes since last I visited. For one thing, the Ailsa Craig is for sale.

Ailsa Craig

This may be of particular interest to curlers, since about 70% of the world’s curling stones are fashioned from Ailsa granite.

Gannet (Photo courtesy RSPB, Andy Hay)

It may also be of interest to twitchers, as birdwatchers are called here. The island is home to Scotland’s third largest gannet colony. (Yes, I checked–the second is on the St. Kilda Islands, and the first is also within sight of a golf course–the Bass Rock off North Berwick.) Ailsa Craig–a volcanic mound uninhabited except by the gannets and friends–is leased by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds until 2050. But the RSPB is not in negotiations for the island, falling a bit short of the £2.5 million asking price.

I was sorry to see fencing around the grounds of Souter Johnnie’s Inn, a pub and restaurant on the site where the great Robbie Burns went to school. A troop of us had a grand evening here four years ago after an equally grand competition between U.S. and U.K. writers at Turnberry (click here). A recent fire which spread from the building’s thatched roof gutted the place. But there are plans to rebuild.

The resort didn’t rebuild itself, but it did undergo a multi-million pound renovation a few years past its centenary, evolving into a Luxury Collection Resort and re-opening just in time for the 2009 Open Championship.

Luxurious it is, and many of the 198 guest rooms reappointed in contemporary fashion. But many touches have restored the elegance of the original structure, such as the Grand Tea Lounge just off the main entrance.

The hotel has won a boatload of awards, not in the least because of the cuisine. Head Chef Justin Galea bends Escoffier traditions into modern twists in the signature 1906 restaurant, but can really dazzle guests at the Chef’s Table, a private dining room inside the kitchen.

The Chef's Table menu, including the crucial Pre Dessert dessert

Chef Martin Flanagan preparing a Chef's Table course

We wound up here our second night. Galea was away, but chef Martin Flanagan led us through the eight-course meal that had us surrendering like Durán by the end: “No más!”

Turnberry is big on local sourcing, and since 2009 that includes the beer offerings. A Glasgow brewery called West that opened in 2006 produces German-style lagers, and its pilsner, St Mungo Lager, was on hand. Both Boo Weekley and Mark Calcavecchia were big fans.

After a one-under opening round of 69 Calcavecchia suggested part of his success was due to the four pints of St Mungo he was allowing himself each night. It’s a pleasing 4.9% ABV beer, making it hard to fathom why anyone would order a mass market lager with such evident local brewing artistry on hand.

Turnberry Ailsa Amber Ale, with bagpiper, and the Aisla eighteenth hole in background

I was delighted to find the Ailsa Amber Ale on hand and cooling in an ice bucket in my room after the Ailsa Course round. Serendipity. The beer is a light amber ale, I’d call it a bitter stylistically, with English and American hops producing a lightly floral nose. Mildly sweet with a touch of nuttiness, a reasonable hop bit, and she’s done. At 4% ABV, easier to drink four of these than the St Mungo, methinks.

And as luck would have it, it was near seven, the hour each evening when the piper plays at Turnberry. I tried to get a shot of this happy confluence, foiled only by the window reflections.

Most of Turnberry’s beers are now local. The Ailsa Ale is brewed for the resort by the nearby Strathaven Ales company, which has a full portfolio of tasty session strength beers. During the Chef’s Table debauch–when we were probably supposed to be drinking more champagne, I stuck with Strathaven’s Clydesdale IPA (3.8%) and its Craigmill Mild, an absolutely delicious black ale that comes in at a mere 3.5%.

Both beers, as well as the Ailsa Ale, put the lie to the belief that beers must be stronger to be tastier. Would that we could find them in the U.S.!

Although if the Clydesdale IPA were shipped to the U.S. I wouldn’t be surprised if A-B InBev tried to slap some kind of trademark injunction on them. Budweiser usually comes in at about 5% ABV, Bud Light at 4.2%. In either case, the Clydesdale IPA is the better mount.

Name: Ailsa Amber Ale
Brewer: Strathaven Ales, Strathaven, Scotland for Turnberry
Style: Bitter
ABV: 4%
Availability: At the Turnberry resort, Scotland, year-round
For More Information: www.strathavenales.co.uk

Here’s a wee taste of the nightly bagpiping ritual, showing the facade of the hotel, then overlooking the clubhouse, eighteenth green and first tee of the Ailsa Course:

Related posts:
Return to Turnberry
TAP Beer of the Week: Cup O’ Kyndnes

We’ve been together for years and have been through all the plays at least twice and most thrice. But we were still all a little surprised at a recent meeting, when Shakespeare himself showed up.

It was unquestionably him—the rounded forehead and highly receding hairline, his locks long on the side, the pencil moustache and pointed goatee. He went into some kind of explanation about his words making him immortal, and something about the time/space continuum, but I had run to the kitchen to get an ale and missed the details.

Everyone else seemed to gladly accept his presence, so I didn’t want to be rude and press him. Besides, he had some keen insights into the plays, and dished up some juicy backstage-at-the-Globe gossip.

I was struck by his modern dress, however, and the logo on his polo shirt, which looked like three catamounts against a black slash on a yellow shield. The stitching underneath read: Stratford on Avon GC.

I had to ask: “Is that a golf course, by any chance?”

He more than confirmed it: “That is my home of love. If I have ranged, / Like him that travels, I return again.”¹

Willie was a player! I wasted little time in inviting him out for a few rounds, and he fit right in with the MOTO Research Team in no time. He knew when to applaud a fine tee shot (“A hit, a very palpable hit”²), and when to politely ignore a lousy one (“The rest is silence”³).

The Bard was decidedly not a poet on the course, save for the mordant view of his own play, entirely warranted. He’d step up to short putts without a great deal of confidence: “If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.”⁴

Then he’s scuff his three-footer and still have two to go. He seemed grateful when we told him to pick it up: “I’ll queen it no inch further, but milk my ewes and weep.”⁵

Willie’s favorite pro was Nick Faldo (“Men of few words are the best men,”⁶) and he thought to model himself after the stoic Englishman (“I will be the pattern of all patience”⁷), but he failed in all respects. He wasn’t above some violent displays of temper: “I’ll break my staff, / Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, / And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I’ll drown my book.”⁸

Besides, he was a torrent of words out on the course, given to ceaseless analysis of how a golf swing could go bad:

“Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:
The genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffer then
The nature of an insurrection.”⁹

Could David Leadbetter have phrased it more acutely? Willie had his own succinct swing thoughts. He’d step up to the tee box, mutter, “Speak, hands, for me!”¹⁰ and then stab away with his outside in swing, and the big banana ball would slice out of bounds: “This was the most unkindest cut of all.”¹¹

He was a go-for-broke player, though, his theory on course management not really matching his dubious skills: “Our doubts are traitors,/ And make us lose the good we oft might win, / By fearing to attempt.”¹²

Once his heroic attempts would go astray, he wasn’t above blaming his clubs for the result: “The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices / Make instruments to plague us.”¹³

Above all else though, he was a traditionalist. He preferred to walk, carrying his own bag, and being English, would play in any weather: “Blow, wind! Come, wrack! At least we’ll die with harness on our back.”¹⁴

But he wasn’t big on lessons (“Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well”¹⁵), and he had nothing but disdain for yardage markers: “Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.”¹⁶

He became unraveled, however, when confronting water hazards. He’d look at the big pond on the seventh hole at the Brattleboro Country Club and moan: “O! That way madness lies; let me shun that.¹⁷ Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground. I would fain die a dry death.”¹⁸

His misgivings were well founded, since sure as sin, he’d be holding his pose after another dubious stroke muttering: “Glory is like a circle in the water, / Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, / Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.¹⁹ My ending is despair.”²⁰

After one recent round, Willie added up the scorecard and then began drinking heavily, saying, “I will make it a felony to drink small beer.”²¹

He began to get pretty lachrymose about his game: “Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, that sees into the bottom of my grief?”²² and suggested that there was no point in ever playing again: “Past hope, past cure, past help!”²³

Considering that he’d been playing the game for more than four hundred years, it wasn’t surprising that he was feeling discouraged. But, like all duffers, Shakespeare knew in his high handicapper heart that, “I am a man more sinned against than sinning.”²⁴

So when I suggested that it was still early in the day, and he said, “Tempt not a desperate man,”²⁵ I knew we were good for another nine. Quite a piece of work, that Willie. And when it came to golf, noble in reason.

Returning the favor and visiting Shakespeare's home town and birthplace

1. Sonnet 109, l. 5
2. Hamlet V, ii, 295
3. Hamlet V, ii, 372
4. Julius Caesar, III, ii, 174
5. The Winter’s Tale, IV, iii, 462
6. Henry V, III, ii, 40
7. King Lear III, ii, 37
8. The Tempest V, i, 54
9. Julius Caesar II, i, 63
10. Julius Caesar III, i, 76
11. Julius Caesar III, ii, 188
12. Measure for Measure, I, iv, 78
13. King Lear V, iii, 172
14. Macbeth V, v, 51
15. King Lear I, iv, 371
16. Much Ado About Nothing II, i, 184
17. King Lear III, iv, 21
18. The Tempest I, i, 73
19. Henry VI, I, ii, 133
20. The Tempest Epil., 15
21. Henry VI, IV, ii, 75
22. Romeo and Juliet III, v, 198
23. Romeo and Juliet IV, I, 45
24. King Lear III, ii, 59
25. Romeo and Juliet V, iii, 59

Not to say I wasn’t mildly excited to find the Newcastle Founders’ Ale in the local Newfane Market recently. I’d managed to not hear a thing about the beer, and so running across something new from a company that has sent us only Newcastle Brown for years was titillating.

Newcastle Brown used to be titillating itself years ago, when there wasn’t much else on the horizon. Hell, even Heineken used to be titillating back in the desperate 1970’s and early ‘80s. (Corona was never titillating, however. Negra Modelo, Bohemia, yes. Corona, never.)

Actually, if I have my beer mergers and acquisitions up to date (no sure thing), Heineken UK now owns Scottish & Newcastle, which took over Caledonian Brewing. Which means Newcastle is actually a Heineken product.

It’s hardly been a go-to beer for me in recent years in any case, not that there’s anything wrong with it. Still way better than a sharp stick in the eye, it just seems a little bland in the current beer landscape. But I say this not having had one in awhile, and maybe I should, whilst paying attention to it.

Newcastle’s Limited Edition Ales were introduced last year about this time, and has run through three other seasonals which eluded me completely: Summer Ale, Werewolf and Winter IPA.

The Founder’s Ale had a nationwide release in February and will be wrapping up its allotted time by the end of April. Presumably the Summer Ale will then reappear.

The front label has a blue five-pointed star said to represent the founding brewers, that presumably of the original Newcastle Breweries in the latter half of the nineteenth century, and not the originator of Newcastle Brown in 1928, one James Herbert Porter. The brewery shown inside the star is that of Newcastle upon Tyne, but according to the back label this batch was brewed by Thomas Hardy Burtonwood Ltd in Burtonwood.

There’s a neck label which calls it, “A Blighty Good Brew.” No idea what this could actually mean, though the beer is certainly drinkable. There’s a faint caramel nose which follows through with a mild caramel flavor. There’s a vegetal touch, but the beer is thin on the palate with little mouthfeel. The Styrian Goldings hops do give it a drying finish. But overall, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein, there’s not much there there.

Compare the color of the Founders’ Ale, on the left in this photo, with the Samuel Smith’s Old Brewery Pale Ale on the right, and at least one of the differences in the two beers is apparent.

By further contrast, aroma is pouring out of the glass of the Smith’s beer–a whiff of butterscotch, a bit of plum. There’s a fuller mouthfeel, a toffeeish flavor–a malt-accented beer to be sure, but with a finish that feels better balanced as well.

I just happened to notice that the beer is now in a brown bottle, too, whereas it was once dangerously in clear bottles. When did that happen?

The Old Brewery Pale Ale is hardly a new or seasonal beer. More like an old friend that you haven’t seen in awhile, but always agreeable to run into again.

April appears to be the month for the second annual Samuel Smith Salute, an acknowledgement of this and the influence the brewery and its beers had on the U.S. craft brew movement. I did something of the same in a post about the company’s Yorkshire Stingo, and suggest clicking here for some of that history and information about the Yorkshire stone square fermenters still in use.

Name: Newcastle Founders’ Ale
Brewer: Heineken UK at Thomas Hardy Burtonwood Ltd, England
Style: Pale Ale
ABV: 4.8%
Availability: Nationwide through April
For More Information: www.newcastlebrown.com

Name: Old Brewery Pale Ale
Brewer: Samuel Smith, Tadcaster, England
Style: Pale Ale
ABV: 5%
Availability: Nationwide, year-round
For More Information: www.merchantduvin.com

Beer tasting by the Kohler Design Center's Great Wall of China

We decided to give up and declare a tie here, between two of the best golf resorts anywhere, with solid beer selections. Kohler gets the edge with the beer, Bandon with the golf, but both are bucket list worthy.

The small heartland town of Kohler is an hour north of Milwaukee. It’s a company town, but the company is now a lot more than plumbing fixtures: The American Club is the luxury hotel here, and it only stands to reason the Kohler Waters Spa is top-notch. There are four sterling Pete Dye-designed courses, one of which, Whistling Straits, has already hosted two PGA Championships. (Remember Dustin Johnson’s troubles in the bunker last year, which helped Martin Kaymer secure the title?)

The casual eatery at the resort is the Horse and Plow, which has an extensive list of bottled micros and Belgians and a nice rotating tap selection as well, emphasizing (but not limited to) Midwest brews. It would be easy to spend a lot of time here; there’s also a regular series of beer dinners. The Third Annual Kohler Festival of Beer will roll into town May 27-29 this year, and it includes the hotly-contested Beer Cup Golf Tournament.*

[*The Fourth Annual is June 1-3, 2012.]

The clubhouse at Whistling Straits

The old joke about the difference between Scotland and Bandon Dunes is that it’s easier to get to Scotland. But after they built it, people came, and people have been coming ever since to this pure golf location on the Oregon coast. It’s a self-contained universe that could be enjoyed by non-golfers, although the question might be why, since there are now four courses here, all of them ranked at or near the top in every best-of list going.

Indeed, in the most recent GOLF Magazine “Top 100 Courses You Can Play” list, Tom Doak’s Pacific Dunes design overtook Pebble Beach as the No. 1 course in the land.

Pacific Dunes

Doak and his associate, Jim Urbina, collaborated on the Old Macdonald Golf Links which opened last June to more huzzahs from the golf writing press. It wasn’t named after the farmer, but Charles Blair Macdonald, founder of the U.S. Golf Association and the country’s first great golf course architect.

There are a few different drinking and dining options at the resort, and what the beer list lacks in depth it makes up for in regional quality–a Mirror Pond Ale from Deschutes, a Mocha Porter from Rogue, a SOB Porter (Southern Oregon Brewing).

All the courses at Bandon Dunes are walking-only. It’s pretty safe to guarantee that after a 36-hole day of battling winds and one’s swing, settling down in McKee’s Pub with a plate of Grandma’s Meatloaf and a pint of Deschutes Black Butte Porter alongside, there will be absolutely no room, or need, for complaint.

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

< Previous: Birdies and Brews Part 4: Orlando

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 5: Kohler, WI and Bandon Dunes, OR>

This is a stretch, because while the golf in Orlando is wildly abundant, the good beer-drinking opportunities are harder to find. But we’ve found them. Keep three places in mind and all should be well:

The Cricketers Arms Pub is in the Festival Bay Mall along International Drive, where much of the action (that is to say, theme parks) is outside of the city proper these days. A thoroughly English pub and eatery, the Arms always has some hand-drawn Fullers ESB as well as a half-dozen others from the cask, and more micros on tap or in bottle. There’s likely to be a Manchester v. Arsenal match on the telly, but that’s no hardship.

The funky Redlight Redlight in the Azalea Park area is a bit of a dive, but there’s one terrific selection of micros and Belgian beers on 20 taps, two engines, and countless bottles. Just don’t wear a suit here.

Redlight Redlight

Lastly, it’s time to find a package store, and Knightly Spirits is the place. There are actually four locales, all with good selections, but the mother ship is on South Orange Blossom Trail. Manager and buyer Alan Robey said, “We have a ton of beer here–850 to 900 craft beers, and a good chunk of Belgians: 250 sounds about right.”

Hole 17 on the National golf course at Omni Orlando Resort at ChampionsGate

Arnold Palmer’s Bay Hill Club & Lodge is probably golf choice number one. As the winter home of the King, it’s not at all uncommon for guests to see him strolling about or putting in some range time. The Championship course was tweaked last year under his watchful eye, and Palmer pronounced himself pleased with the results: “The renovations really add some new dimensions of play for Tour players and for our guests.”

Palmer’s old rival, Jack Nicklaus, is responsible for the layouts at Grand Cypress, including 27 holes at the North, South and East courses, and 18 at The New Course, which is an overlooked but enjoyable tribute to the Old Course at St. Andrews.

Both Palmer and Nicklaus, along with Tom Watson, have top flight designs at the Reunion Resort, and the Annika Academy will help out golfers of any gender.

There are two challenging Greg Norman designs, the National and the International, at the lavish Omni Orlando Resort at ChampionsGate. And yes, toward the close of day, those are the sound of bagpipes you hear being played. (On the tenth hole of the International course for those who must know.)

The Mystic Dunes Resort and Golf Club in Celebration has a unique layout by former PGA Tour player and now TV analyst Gary Koch, with some elevation changes more common to Vermont than Florida. There are usually some good stay and play deals here as well.

And David Harman has done a solid design at the Shingle Creek Golf Club, part of the massive Rosen Shingle Creek Resort right off Universal Boulevard.

There’s plenty more, but we have to stop somewhere.

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

< Previous: Birdies and Brews Part 3: Vermont

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 5: Kohler, WI and Bandon Dunes, OR>

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 4: Orlando, Florida>

Okay, but where in Vermont? No, all of Vermont. The latest Brewers Association stats put Vermont at the head of the list–the state with the most breweries per capita–and all of them are craft breweries.

Vermont is not a huge state–slightly more than 600,000 souls call it home, and there are more senators in the U.S. Congress than the lone congressman. A head to foot (or vice versa) traversal is doable in about two and a half hours, and one is never too far away from the next good beer or golf course.

It all began in Burlington when the late, great Greg Noonan (author of the iconic Brewing Lager Beer) and his wife, Nancy, fought to change the laws to allow brewpubs to operate in the state. The Vermont Pub & Brewery opened in 1988, and is still going strong in the state’s largest city–at under 40,000 people.

Vermont golf rarely gets its due because the season is pretty much over by November. (The less hardy say a month earlier.) But when the hills are green, there’s hardly a more beautiful place to play. Just a few pairings:

The Brattleboro Country Club is a lively curtain-raiser for visitors from the south, and a brisk introduction to the rolling elevation found throughout a state where an uneven stance is more rule than exception. In town the prize-winning McNeill’s Brewery can make the rough places plain, and always has a few hand pumps running.

Ray McNeill at the 2010 Brattleboro Brewers Festival

The Long Trail Brewing Co. in Bridgewater has surpassed the 20-year mark, making it a microbrewery venerable. It’s Double Bag is a 7.2% ABV double Alt doubly notable for its heifer-related label (a cartoon of two bovines viewed from the rear, displaying, well, their bags). And a few miles away the Woodstock Country Club is something of a microcosm of the state–packing large scale complexity into a compact plot:

“On paper the course looks easy,” says long-time pro Jim Gunnare. “It’s only 6,052 yards from the blue tees, it has six par-3s, and plays to par-70. But when you come to the fifth hole already seven-over, you begin to realize it’s a very hard golf course. It’s tough because it’s narrow. The greens are small. And if you play the course perfectly you’re only going to cross Kedron Brook twelve times.”

Tenth hole at the Stowe Mountain Golf Club

The Alchemist Pub & Brewery is a great stop in Waterbury*, and just up the road is the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream factory, a stop almost required by law in Vermont. Just a bit further on into Stowe one can try the fare at the new Brewery at Trapp Family Lodge or old favorite The Shed Restaurant & Brewery**. The tee time will be at the challenging Stowe Mountain Golf Club, a newish Bob Cupp design aptly named, with splendidly elevated views.

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

*And, alas, since the story first appeared, the flooding from Hurricane Irene devastated parts of  Vermont, including the Alchemist Pub & Brewery. As an operating brewpub, it is no more. But as a production brewery, it still exists in a separate facility, now canning a double IPA called Heady Topper. Click here for a related story.

**The Shed lost its lease and sadly closed its doors last fall. But the brand is currently still being brewed by Otter Creek.

< Previous: Birdies and Brews Part 2: San Diego, California

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 4: Orlando, Florida>

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 3: Vermont>

Melody Pierce fills a pint at Toronado San Diego

There’s so much great brewing going on in San Diego that the city has been required to bend time: November’s annual San Diego Beer Week lasts for ten days; a mid-June Beer Week-end preview lasts four days, all taking place in multiple venues and still only beginning to sample all the glories of the local beer and dining scene.

In the U.S. earthquake of experimental (some might just say mental) brewing, San Diego has been the epicenter. A sour lambic blended with the bourbon barrel-aged Imperial IPA anyone? Think extra hoppy ales, extra-strong oaked curiosities, bars and restaurants devoted to extensive Belgian beer lists. Think Stone Brewing, think Ballast Point, think Port Brewing/Lost Abbey, think AleSmith, and then stop thinking and start drinking, because there’s lots to be done.

Indeed, a visit to San Diego will inevitably seem insufficient to the pleasant task; living here for a few months might do it. And that would leave some time for golf in between the epicurean quest.

There’s a lot on that plate, too. Start with the two Torrey Pines municipal courses, host of the annual PGA Tour Farmers Insurance Open in late January, plus the occasional U.S. Open–as in 2008, when Tiger Woods and Rocco Mediate had their epic battle on the South Course.

Don't go long--the par-3 third hole at Torrey Pines South

Designer Rees Jones undertook a complete renovation of the course before that Open, rebuilding all the greens, tees and fairway features, many of the greens relocated to the edge of the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It doesn’t get much better, unless one is also staying at the Lodge at Torrey Pines, and manages to score a meal at its tony AR Valentien restaurant.

The Barona Creek Golf Course in nearby Lakeside is another gem, one that Golfweek magazine actually ranks ahead of Torrey South, as the fourth best public course in California, as well as the fourth best casino course in the entire country. Golf, beer and a casino? What kind of dream is this? The relatively unknown Todd Eckenrode was the lead architect for the course while with the Gary Roger Baird Design team, and it’s an impressive enough calling card that he soon hung out his own shingle.

There’s more–a Tom Fazio track at the Grand Del Mar, an Arnold Palmer layout at the Park Hyatt Aviara Resort, and a renovated William Bell design (he also did Torrey Pines) at the Rancho Bernardo Inn. Show up at Rancho Bernardo on Tuesdays at 4 pm and you can play with hickory sticks–plus fours optional.

Lining 'em up at the Stone Brewing tasting room

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

< Previous: Birdies and Brews Part 1: St. Andrews, Scotland

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 3: Vermont>

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 2: San Diego, California>

Another night at Dunvegan's

Having dissed Ireland, we’ll salve the Celtic soul at the venerable home of golf, St. Andrews. As for the beer, consider four words: college town, real ales. Scotland’s first university was founded here in 1413. With classes in session this compact seaside town’s population effectively doubles to 14,000, invigorating the many charming shops, excellent restaurants, captivating historic sites, lively arts scene and boisterous pub culture.

For a traveling golfer, heading to St. Andrews is a pilgrimage. The healing scent of golf hangs in the very air. To behold for the first time the iconic eighteenth hole of the Old Course, the clubhouse of the R&A, the Swilcan Bridge, the breadth of the golfing landscape, is akin to being struck by a vision. And to finally tee it up on the Old Course is an answer to a prayer.

St. Andrews, The Old Course

The Old Course remains the plum, but there are ten other courses in the immediate area, seven of them under the auspices of the charitable Links Trust (the Old, New, Jubilee, Eden, Strathtyrum, the nine-hole Balgove, and slightly southeast of town, the Castle Course, which opened in 2008).

The famous Road Hole on the Old Course (the seventeenth) plays partially over the balconies of the luxurious Old Course Hotel, one of the few in the area with some secured tee times on the Old Course, and home to the Jigger Inn, a virtually required pub stop. The hotel also runs The Dukes Course, five minutes away and one of the finer heathland courses going, particularly after an extensive redesign by Tim Liddy in 2006.

Just past the Castle Course is Fairmont St Andrews, another luxury resort and spa gleaming under a recent multi-million dollar (or pound) refurbishment. And the reconditioning extended to architect Gary Stephenson’s reworking of the resort’s Devlin and Torrance courses, the former now called the Kittocks.

Kingsbarns is a slight ride out of town, seemingly in isolated splendor by the North Sea. Since opening in 2000, Kingsbarns has been cited by many as their favorite links of the Auld Grey Toon, and the Kyle Phillips design is unquestionably a modern classic.

Other than the ocean, water hazards are rarities on links courses. But there’s no lack of watering holes. The seeker for real ales–and certainly brands from Scottish brewers like Belhaven and Caledonian should be on the list–will do well to begin at Dunvegan’s, where all the caddies and not a few of the pros go after tournament rounds, and where the collection of golf memorabilia rivals the nearby British Golf Museum.

Further into the town center, spaced at proper pub crawl distances, one can put together memorable nights at the Whey Pat Tavern, the Central Bar, the Criterion and Drouthy Neebors.

Allan Webster pulling off a pint of real ale at the Whey Pat Tavern in St. Andrews

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

<Previous: Birdies and Brews: Introduction

Next: Birdies and Brews Part 2: San Diego, California>

A good pint is the trick. Lord knows tsunamis of Megabland Bellywash Light have streamed from golf clubhouses for years–particularly in the U.S.–or been retrieved from the icy cold depths of the cart girl’s cache mid-round for those who like to drink and drive (and indeed, can’t seem to get their game right without a little swing oil).

It was always a bit of a puzzle why golfers–restless nomads when it comes to playing new courses in new locales–would settle for the same old fizzy yellow water when a round was over. The quick answer, of course–because it was there.

Lord knows Trappist ales weren’t there, though a golf course would be an apt place for them, considering how often names of the deity are invoked during play. Another factor was that bottles were typically not allowed out on the course.

Times are changing, though. Golfers are demanding better choices in the clubhouse, and more and better beers are now being canned (a tip of the golf cap to Oskar Blues of Colorado, which first put Dale’s Pale Ale in cans in 2002).

But let’s think larger, pondering a few locales with the sublime nexus–terrific beer and great golf. It’s not quite as easy as it sounds. Superlative U.S. beer drinking towns like Portland (Oregon or Maine), or Philadelphia fall a bit short in the golf realm. There’s marvelous golf near Philly, for instance, but mainly at private clubs. Belgium is decidedly not known for golf. And while the golf and Guinness (okay, or Murphy’s) are nonpareil in Ireland, there’s not yet a lot of beer diversity in the Emerald Isle.

This is all open to debate, naturally, preferably over a brew after 18 holes. But here, with quiddities, are five locations where the better beer-loving golfer will not be disappointed, except for that four-putt on the twelfth hole.

Click on any heading to navigate through the piece:

Birdies and Brews Part 1: St. Andrews, Scotland
Birdies and Brews Part 2: San Diego, California
Birdies and Brews Part 3: Vermont
Birdies and Brews Part 4: Orlando
Birdies and Brews Part 5: Kohler, WI and Bandon Dunes, OR

# # #

This piece first appeared, in somewhat different form, in the Spring, 2011 issue of The Beer Connoisseur.

Perry Dye

Here at The A Position we’re given a topic to address (or not) each month for The A List feature, and the April challenge was to rhapsodize about our favorite golf island. We even cornered Perry Dye, one of Pete’s designing sons, and put the question to him. Since he worked for four years on Roatan, completing work on the Black Pearl course at the Pristine Bay resort in Honduras, it’s not hard to guess his pick. (Although he seems more taken with the bonefishing than the golf.)

My colleagues and I have about 20 islands of different sorts covered from Australia to Sardinia and around the world, including one mythical one if I read Casey Alexander’s contribution correctly! Click here to see where we’ve roamed.

I stayed a little closer to home, my old New York home that is. The round I refer to at the end was the subject of a longer piece now buried somewhere in the archives. I’ll excavate it here one of these days, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

***

At 118 miles it’s the longest island in the contiguous U.S., and the biggest: by size Long Island is larger than Rhode Island; if it were a state its 7.5 million people would rank it 13th in population.

It also packs in two major airports and five U.S. Open sites. (No points for naming Bethpage Black and Shinnecock; a tip of the cap for coming up with Fresh Meadow, 1932; Inwood, 1923, and Garden City, 1902.)

To me, it was just home, a fence separating us from the third hole of the Hempstead Golf & Country Club, where my parents were members. This partial A.W. Tillinghast design was my young playground, and where I developed a love/hate relationship with the game.

By the time I’d moved from New York to Vermont, I discovered it was all love, and returning to the old course years later to play with another born again golfer–my brother–was one of the finer things I’ve ever done.

Author teeing off at par-3 eighth hole at Hempstead Golf and Country Club, Long Island, NY

The debacle at the fourth hole (Getty Images)

What were we just saying about I.K. Kim? Time to envelop Lefty in a group hug for his near miss at the 2012 Masters. If you’re a Philly fan, that is. One of my friends who was over for our Easter feast and Masters viewing yesterday was cackling about Phil’s misfortune while rooting for Miguel Angel Jimenez. (This in vain, as Jimenez crashed and burned yesterday with an 81, going five-over on the last three holes.)

I was pulling for Phil, though, and hated to see the debacle on the fourth hole. In an otherwise fine three-under round, the triple at the par-3 left him even par on the day, and two strokes shy of making the playoff.

Even a bogey on the fourth hole would have at least put Phil in the hunt with Louis Oosthuizen and eventual winner Bubba Watson. If he walked off four with a par he would have won the tournament.

Although that last paragraph is true only if you don’t agree about the Fallacy of the Predetermined Outcome.

The what? I first heard of this in baseball terms, as the Theory of the Predetermined Hit. So, in baseball terms, say Daniel Murphy of the Mets doubles. David Wright comes to bat, but Murphy gets picked off second. Then Wright homers, and everyone says the Mets would have had two runs if bonehead Murphy hadn’t been picked off.

David Wright celebrates a round-tripper (Getty Images)

It’s not so, because there’s no certainty–absolutely no predetermination–that Wright would homer if Murphy wasn’t picked off. After all, everything would have been different–the pitcher’s motion, the way the infield set up, the pitch selection, not to mention Wright’s own perceptions. If Murphy were still sagely perched on second, there’s nothing to say that Wright couldn’t just as easily strike out. Sure, he might hit a home run, and the Mets might score two runs. But there’s no guarantee.

It’s no different in golf. If Phil walked off the fourth hole with a par he might have gone on to garner three birdies and the win. But with all new variables–the hole played more quickly, the wind perhaps freshening at a different time on a different hole, the reactions of other players to Phil’s total on the scoreboard, not to mention Phil’s own perceptions–there’s nothing to say that he wouldn’t have blown up on another hole. Or something else might have happened.

Or if Oosthuizen’s remarkable albatross did not make its long and incredible journey across the second hole green, who knows what change that would have precipitated in the brains of Mickelson or Watson, who was playing with Louis?

It’s like the old time-space continuum from the “Back to the Future” films. Change one thing, and every other anticipated thing can go haywire.

Still, it’s only human nature to speculate on what might have been. And no doubt Phil has done plenty of that already.

All the golf pundits were predicting an exciting Masters going into the tournament, and so it was, but probably for none of the reasons prophesized. No complaints, though. The lasting memories will come down to three shots–Michelson’s gaffe, Oosthuizen’s double eagle, and Watson’s recovery shot on the second playoff hole to set up his winning par.

Related Posts:
Masters Redux: Mickelson Pulls Off the Great Shot
Phil Mickelson With a Glazed (Donut) Look in His Eye
Oh Oh Oh!
Group Hug for I.K. Kim

For more great stories on Augusta and the Masters by TheAPosition.com writers, click here.

Caddie John Limanti tries to comfort I.K. Kim after her blown putt. (Getty Images)

The shock of missing what appeared to be a gimme one-foot putt to win a major was all too evident on I.K. Kim’s face on Sunday. Had she sunk the putt on the 18th hole she would have won the Kraft Nabisco Championship and had the pleasure of the traditional leap into the pond at the Mission Hills Country Club in Rancho Mirage.

It was a cruel April Fool’s Day rim job, and while Kim quickly knocked the next putt in, she was clearly still so stunned that caddie John Limanti came over and gave her a quick hug.  Didn’t we all want to give her a hug?

Kim made the playoff with Sun Young Yoo, but the fight was obviously out of her, and she lost on the first hole. Her post-round interview was a brave affair, since it was also obvious that she wanted to go bury her head in a pillow and wail.

Well, who hasn’t been there? The humiliation of failing at a perceptibly simple task has afflicted us all, hence the compassion for Kim. Amateurs don’t do it on such a public stage, but even collapsing in the throes of a $2 Nassau can leave scars.

Caddie Eddie McKenzie at Pinehurst No. 2

I know, having just returned from a glorious week at Pinehurst, including play on the No. 2 course, complete with veteran caddie Eddie McKenzie (more of whom at a later date). I had chipped one close to the pin on one hole, and Eddie said, “Heck, Ray Charles could make that putt.”

Unfortunately, the putt wasn’t conceded, and I was standing over it instead of Ray. I blew it right by the cup, failed to win the hole and the match ultimately ended up all square.

As I say, hardly a major, and not for the big bucks. Still, in the grand scheme, I could have used a hug.

But these days, black is beautiful in the beer world. Black IPAs are the particular rage, though every brewery worth its roasted barley is making at least one stout, if not an oatmeal or Imperial or bourbon barrel-aged stout as well. Around this time of year, stout is the way to go. (St. Patrick’s Day is Christmas, as far as the Guinness accountants are concerned.)

So it seems a good time for another ersatz beer competition, falling short of an honest head to head (so to speak) tilt in that we’re at apples and oranges again with a lager and an ale, just as we were in throwing Harpoon IPA against Brooklyn Lager (click here).

Caillech says, "Pour that black stuff here, please."

One hardly needs to spill any cyber ink over the iconic nature of Guinness, the classic Irish dry stout, the best-selling in the world–ten million glasses a day worldwide we are told. It is the virtual Gaia of all the black stuff that has poured forth since. (Although perhaps a more Celtic goddess would be in order–Caillech?)

No time or inclination now for a disquisition on all that parent company Diageo has done in recent years to fiddle with what was basically perfect in search of greater market share. Little of it, if any, gladdens traditionalists’ hearts. Younger generations of beer geeks probably don’t know what all the fuss about Guinness is to begin with and head right for the Knock Me Over the Head Imperial Double Dry-Hopped Stout.

I digress, but the two bottles in question here could serve as Exhibits A and B in a What Were They Thinking? case. Guinness Black Lager simply seems like an idea whose time never really needed to come. Unless you’re a bean counter, looking at all those non-stout drinking but wannabe Irish crowding the bar.

There’s a lot of market share out there drinking lagers. Hence, a black lager with the Guinness imprimatur, introduced to the U.S. market last September. Watch the money roll in.

As for the bottled Guinness Draught, it does away with the widgets in the cans of Draft Guinness but still incorporates the nitrogen gassing that gives the beer its legendary creaminess. But to do this, one is supposed to drink the beer directly from the bottle.

Drinking Guinness Stout from a bottle. Really, need any more be said? This from a company that a few years back would give away pubs in Ireland to those who could take the time and evince the skill to draw a perfect pint from the tap.

I continue to digress, and am probably turning red instead of the season’s green. So back to the beer:

My wife and I frequently end the work day on the deck that encircles our house–she with a martini and two of the four cigarettes she allows herself daily, me with some kind of beer and a cigar. She claims it’s the only time of the day that I talk to her. Not true, of course. (We frequently do the same thing in the morning, albeit with coffee.)

But in what has been a continuing series of what I might call Hit the Deck Tastings, I often force Lynn to sample a beer or beers I’m trying to get a handle on. She has a better palate than I do to begin with, even if not on the same level of beery terminology. But this is good, since she frequently comes up with novel responses to what she’s tasting. So it was with these two.

The only clue I gave her was, “They’re both Guinness.” Then I put the Lager in front of her.

Similar, but not matching: the Guinness Black Lager is on the left

“That doesn’t smell like the real Guinness,” she said, understandably enough, if not accurately. (Both beers really are Guinness, after all, though the Lager is brewed at the company’s new product site, the Great Northern Brewery in Dundalk, Ireland.) She didn’t think it tasted like it, either. “There’s some similarity, but there’s something else going on.”

“That smells like the real Guinness,” she said of the Stout. After tasting it, she merely said, “Yup.”

Could a Master Cicerone do better? And when she said of the Lager, “It tastes like they added seltzer to it,” I couldn’t get the sensory image out of my mind. It did taste like they added seltzer to it.

The similarity comes from the use of some roasted unmalted barley in the mix, as in the stout. And it’s black all right. The beer seems skillfully made, and I’m happy to have tried it; I even ordered one while dining out a few weeks back, just out of curiosity. But I can’t imagine this ever happening again. The beer lacks character; any German Schwarzbier would run rings around Guinness Black Lager, and wouldn’t remotely suggest seltzer.

As for the bottled Guinness Draught, its chances are slightly better, if found like the recent six-pack we picked up–at a ridiculous sale price at Wal-Mart. (Not that I’m eager to admit this.)

At least we’re on more familiar ground here with the easy-drinking roasted and mild chocolately character of a beer we could down all night, if so moved. It lacks the craic of a freshly pulled pint in a noisy Irish pub, the way we really like to drink our Guinness. But, at least, it suggests it, yup.

Name: Guinness Black Lager; Guinness Draught
Brewer: Guinness & Co., Ireland
Style: Schwarzbier; Dry Stout
ABV: 4.5%; 4.2%
Availability: Both year-round, nationwide
For More Information: www.guinness.com

Related Posts:
Obama Likes the Black Stuff
Postcards From Doonbeg
The End of the Beer World As We Know It, Part II: Fried Beer

The recovery effort and united community response has been quite extraordinary, but there is still work to be done, roads, homes, bridges, businesses and lives to repair. Precisely the reason for the two beers in our glass this evening, both of which will divert money to recovery efforts.

As the accompanying video shows (and explains), Waterbury, Vermont about had its heart ripped out, and for those who had visited the lively and popular Alchemist Pub and Brewery the news that it had been flooded was further dismal news.

Subsequently, owners John and Jen Kimmich decided to let the pub go, and amp up activity at the production brewery and canning facility they had started nearby. (We’ll eventually try the initial offering, Heady Topper.) (And see comment below.)

Stone Brewing’s Mitch Steele had heard about the Alchemist’s plight, and he invited John out to San Diego to collaborate on a beer with him and Jamie Floyd of the Ninkasi Brewing Co. from Eugene, Oregon, with the profits to go to the Waterbury Good Neighbor Fund.

Meanwhile, Deerfield, Massachusetts was hit hard as well, though the Berkshire Brewing Co. wasn’t damaged. But with many accounts in Vermont, BBC owners Chris Lalli and Gary Bogoff brewed up “Good Night Irene” as a one-off, with $15 from the sale of every case earmarked for local recovery efforts.

Both beers first appeared in the area in late December and may now be hard to find. But if there are any still on the shelves pick some up–good and interesting beers supporting a good cause.

But while both are 7% ABV IPAs, the similarity ends there. Though “Good Night Irene” is called a West Coast Style India Pale Ale, it seems a bit mischaracterized to me. When I think of a west coast IPA I’m expected a beer with a lot of immediate hop aroma and flavor, and a rousingly bitter finish. “Good Night Irene” may be amply hopped, but the character is skewed to the malt. Or, to the recovery side, if we take the brewer’s description that the beer has, “… the assertive bitterness of a hurricane and the subtle malty sweetness of recovery.” I’m open to poetic and brewing license in this case, so okay.

John Kimmich earned his brewing stripes at the Vermont Pub & Brewery in Burlington, under Greg Noonan, the late and great patriarch of Vermont craft brewing, credited by some (like John) as the originator of the Black IPA notion.

Nonetheless, More Brown Than Black is really a west coast IPA, brewed at Stone, and far more radical in terms of the hopping. As Mitch Steele notes in the video, the hops used were Super Galena, Nelson Sauvin, Delta, Galaxy and Citra. In short, a hop bomb. Non-hopheads need not apply.

There is such a concentration of hops in the beer that not all of it was filtered out by bottling time. Both bottles I had were rift with greenish floaters. This didn’t stop me, however; I loved the beer, and felt righteous drinking it, too.

Late afternoon sunlight shows off the floaters in More Brown Than Black. Won't kill you, though.

Name: More Brown Than Black IPA
Brewer: The Alchemist, Waterbury, Vermont; Ninkasi, Eugene, Oregon; Stone, San Diego, California
Style: Dark IPA
ABV: 7.4%
Availability: Better chances in New England, but time running out
For More Information: http://blog.stonebrew.com/?p=2885

Name: “Good Night Irene” West Coast Style IPA
Brewer: Berkshire Brewing
Style: IPA
ABV: 7%
Availability: Better chances in New England, but time running out
For More Information: www.berkshirebrewingcompany.com

While disguising himself as the waiter in this video wouldn’t have been a stretch for Cohen the provocateur, the unlucky oaf appears to be a Greek so far identified only as Martin D. No confirmation on whether is still employed, or living.

There’s hope for the latter in that he was quoted in the Bild newspaper, “A colleague should have brought her the beer. But she was so nervous, she asked me to do it for her.” Big mistake.

Sasha Baron Cohen as The Dictator

Mr. D. claims he was jostled by someone behind him, prompting the Merkel dousing. But the wondrous slow-mo replay in the video strongly suggests that Martin was merely inept, and that in leaning over to give the Chancellor her beer, he thereby tilted the tray, sending five other glasses of undoubtedly fine German lager all her way.

Martin also said he was troubled that he uttered an expletive at the moment his life began crumbling in front of him, but he made no claim that his statement or action had anything to do with the Greek economic crisis or how it has been handled by Germany or other partners in the European Union.

Merkel, for her part, was clearly unperturbed, merely whisking away a stray fleck of foam from her cheek and going on to toast her tablemates. She also went on to address the assembly of Christian Democratic Union members gathered in Demmin as scheduled. Her reception was reported to be warm, even if she was slightly damp.

Showing good form on eighth hole at the Highland Course at Primland (Photo by Donnelle Oxley)

They’re both rural, and it takes some getting to get there. One’s in Sam Snead territory, the other near Andy Griffith’s home town. But there’s nothing aw shucks about either The Homestead or Primland resorts, where the golf is great and yet only scratches the surface of things to do.

ATV trails rides are popular at Primland

Primland is the new kid on the block, that block being just north of Mount Airy, North Carolina, Andy Griffith’s hometown, about 20 minutes up the Donna Fargo Highway. The 12,000 Blue Ridge Mountain acres make the resort just a wee bit smaller than all of Bermuda.

Primland has been a wilderness retreat and hunting reserve for decades and remains so, with added ATV tours through the wild terrain, horseback riding, trail hikes, mountain biking and the increasingly popular tree climbing. But now there’s a luxurious new 26-room and suite lodge complete with an observatory for those who like to rough it in high style.

In 2006 the Donald Steel-designed Highland Course at Primland opened and immediately left visitors agog. Running along a ridge of the mountains, the course presents a constant feast for the eyes, and a rollercoaster of thrills during play.

Accurate driving is a near necessity here, what with the frequent possibility of stray shots sailing into oblivion or off the side of a cliff. Even from the regular men’s tees of 6,450 yards the par-72 course is rated 71.9/140. Yet it’s probably one of the most enjoyable difficult courses I’ve ever played.

Rounds here still clock in at well under 10,000 a year, so the feeling of splendid isolation out on the course adds to the pleasure, although this kind of publicity might not help. Now in its fifth full season, the course has just shot up the ladder on various “Best of” lists, including thirteenth on the new Golf Digest best U.S. public courses roster.

***

The Homestead

The Homestead is the more venerable of the two properties, having been established ten years before the American revolution. It wears its history proudly–22 U.S. Presidents have visited or stayed at the Hot Springs property–but not heavily. Its grandly appointed Tower was completely renovated in 2010, and the entire resort is open and bright.

With 483 guests rooms and suites and 3,000 acres for the plethora of activities available (from fly-fishing to clay shooting to dipping in the historic Jefferson Pools…), the resort may seem teeming in comparison.

But it’s also teeming in golf courses. President McKinley teed it up here in 1899, making him the first sitting President to play golf (a neat trick). And he did from the first tee of the Old Course, which dates from 1892 and is said to be the nation’s oldest tee in continuous use.

The course began as a six-hole track, was expanded to 18 by Donald Ross and updated in 1994 by Rees Jones. The Lower Cascades Course was established by Rees’ father, Robert Trent Jones in 1963.

The Cascades Course is the jewel in the crown, a William S. Flynn 1923 design that follows the natural mounding of the Allegheny Mountains for 6,679 yards through tight fairways, speedy greens, with great mountain views, all to a par-70, another Virginia joyride.

Washington, Jefferson and Madison may not have played here, but it’s where golf royalty, Sam Snead, cut his teeth. Part of the charm for the visiting golfer here is that everyone from the area has a Sam Snead story and is happy to tell it–including his nephew J.C. Snead, the former PGA Tour player who still lives in town.

J.C. says he’s not prejudiced, but he thinks the par-3s at the Cascades Course are the finest anywhere. And that’s good, because there are five of them.

The Cascades Course at The Homestead, Hole 12

In somewhat different form, this piece was originally featured in the July-August 2011 Fairways + Greens Magazine, courtesy Madavor Media. To read the digital edition, click here.

“How did you hit it over here?”
The Red-winged Blackbird gurgles in my ear,

Commenting on my slicéd drive
Which led to an unfortunate bogey five.

It’s just a remark, he’s seen it all,
The fruitless struggles with the strange white ball

Agreeably watching it all go by,
A darkened speck against the vast blue sky:

The red shoulder patches give his attire flavor,
Since otherwise he’s all in black–like Gary Player.

Geoffrey Cornish with the woman he always referred to as his "bride," Carol.

Geoffrey Cornish rose, as usual, at about 3 a.m. He had gone to bed the night before, as usual, at about 7 p.m. He is not a font of information about the latest TV shows.

He dressed more or less as usual: brown loafers, brown socks, brown slacks, a muted teal shirt, a brown patterned tie, a grayish sweater and a brown tweedish jacket. It was mid-October. He would, after a few hours of work in his home office, slip into a red Chevrolet Cavalier convertible, but he would later aver that, “It belongs to my bride of sixty years; I’m not the sports car type.”

He did, however, wear a golf cap, this sporty note being the sole clue that its wearer might have a nodding acquaintance with the royal and ancient game.

His acquaintance is a bit more than nodding. Since he first hung out his golf architecture shingle in 1952, he has designed, expanded or remodeled upwards of 250 courses, largely in New England, conspicuously in Massachusetts. He has written several books on golf course architecture, including the seminal The Architects of Golf (with Ron Whitten).

Cornish in his ASGCA blazer

He joined the American Society of Golf Course Architects in 1967, served as president in 1975, and was honored with its Donald Ross Award in 1982. He was given an honorary membership in the British Association of Golf Course Architects, an honorary doctorate from the University of Massachusetts, named to the Royal Canadian Golf Hall of Fame and… and the list goes on and on. The man is a walking institution, with the emphasis on the walking.

This morning he was leaving his home in Amherst while it was still dark and driving about two hours north to tromp around the Manchester Country Club in Vermont, which he laid out in 1969. He had an early morning appointment with Steve Durkee, who has won acclaim for his work at Okemo Valley Golf Club and other Vermont layouts. Durkee, who had grown up playing on the Manchester course, had the job of re-doing Cornish’s back nine.

“It really is a kind of homecoming,” said Durkee, “and a great opportunity to work with Mr. Cornish and get to know him.”

Durkee’s deference was classy, if probably unnecessary. Cornish bears his reputation lightly indeed, and certainly appears little concerned with his age. He attributes his vigor largely to his incessant walking. When reworking some holes at a course in Minnesota, Cornish hooked up with doctors at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. They talked him into a stress test, and the results were astonishing. “I may be 87,” he said, “but they told me I had the heart of a 37-year-old.”

He also says to his wife, Carol, that his memory is as sharp as ever, and indeed, he could recall aspects of the Manchester construction (“We brought up two feet of loam…”) 32 years after the fact. If he was a little rusty on names, he claimed that it was because he knew so many people. (And it is Carol’s department to remember the names anyway.)

The famous seventeenth hole maple tree at the Manchester Country Club, Vermont

Cornish’s visit was more than a courtesy call. Durkee was puzzled about what to do with the seventeenth hole, a dogleg left with a tee shot complicated by an enormous maple, then in full autumn blaze.

“I used to work for the great Stanley Thompson,” says Cornish, referring to the legendary Canadian course architect. “Stan told me, ‘I always build one controversial hole. It keeps the members arguing long enough to let me get the rest of the course in shape.’ Well, this is probably one of the more controversial holes in New England. We’ve been playing around with it for 32 years. Steve has to figure it out now.” But Cornish, as was his wont, was willing to help.

Six Weeks

Cornish was born in August, 1914 in Winnipeg. The family moved west to British Columbia, and he eventually wound up studying for a degree in agronomy at the University of British Columbia. Thompson was building Capilano in Vancouver, and he came to the University to find someone who knew something about soils. “Stanley emphasized, ‘I won’t be able to keep you for more than six weeks.’ That was still the Depression, and any job that came along you took. I was happy I took that one. It was 66 years ago, so that six weeks has been extended.

The Toronto Terror, Stanley Thompson

“Stanley taught me a tremendous amount. He was the exponent of the principles of art in golf course design, which is why Nicklaus, Cupp, Morrish and the like all went out and studied Banff. He also started Trent Jones out, which was a great thing–if you look at it objectively, I think that Trent has contributed to our art form more than anyone else. I stayed with Stan until I joined the Canadian Army and went overseas.”

Cornish landed at Normandy on D-Day. “But I landed that evening, and that was altogether different than the earlier landing–we walked ashore.” The war did have a profound impact upon him, however.

“When you’ve been in the army during war, you’re sure not interested in yourself too much after that. You lose your sense of competition. People have said to me, ‘You have no competitive spirit.’ And I have to say I really don’t.”

Though he plunged right back into work with Thompson, he’s never considered it such: “I claim I’ve never done a day’s work since I got out of the army in 1945. Designing golf courses and meeting a lot of nice people can hardly be called work–but I can see how it grips everybody.”

For a guy with no competitive spirit, Cornish’s listing of credits in his own The Architects of Golf runs to seven columns–barely shy of the ink spilled for Donald Ross or Trent Jones.

His attitude didn’t hurt: “I’m no noble guy, but I tried to help other people get into the business, too, and they all reciprocated over the years.” It also didn’t hurt, Cornish noted, to have taught over 100 students at the University of Massachusetts, a post he took up in 1949. But a pleasant demeanor and even a liberal grading policy will go only so far if you can’t deliver the goods.

Cornish started delivering in the recovery years after the war. “No one, particularly in New England, had enough money to build a golf course, and if they had there was no one who could pay enough green fees.” He and his new bride, who Cornish credits as the power behind the throne, figured out that having floodlit pitch and putt courses would keep people happy.

“I used to charge 75 cents a round. The idea spread and people began to hire me to lay courses out for $500. I must have done about 15 up and down the east coast. A few still exist, such as the one in Brewster. Literally hundreds of people came up to me in years to come and said, ‘We started golf at one of your pitch and putts.’”

Mrs. Cornish started at the one they owned, Little St. Andrews, 18 holes on four acres in Shrewsbury. “On the first hole, about 80 yards long, she topped the ball, and the darn thing rolled into the hole. Then she said, ‘What do I do next?’”

Cornish turned next to his first full-length course, amazingly enough, the fullest length there was, the International Golf Club in Bolton.

Bert Surprenant was one of the wealthiest men in Massachusetts, and perhaps one of the most eccentric, and he came to Cornish and said he wanted the world’s longest golf course. “So I gave it to him. I think it was 8,040 yards from back tees when it opened [in 1956, two years after Cornish became an American citizen]. They’ve continually added length to it to make sure it stays the world’s longest. It’s now 8,375. Number five is the big one. Bert wanted a hole that no one would reach on their second shot, a 640-yard par-5, but on opening day, Paul Harney cut the corner and hit the green on his second. Bert had a fit.”

Further on Down the Road

While Cornish will let a few names slip about Massachusetts tracks he believes exemplify his best work–the country clubs of Crestview, Foxborough, Spring Valley, the all par-3 Blue Rock in South Yarmouth, which set off a par-3 course boom across the nation in the early sixties–he’s reluctant to name some at the expense of others.

Cornish’s last full new 18 was the Center Valley Club in Allentown, Pennsylvania, which opened in 1994. He claims he designs these days, “When the young people let me,” the young people being his current partners Brian Silva, Mark Mungeam and Tim Gerrish. In truth he’s doing a surprising amount. “I’m asked to come in and have a look at a lot of the old classical courses they won’t let anybody else on. I can’t mention them because they’re practically bringing me in incognito. If they have a wonderful Robert Trent Jones layout, for example, they don’t particularly want his sons to know I’m in there. But I get around to telling the boys, eventually.”

Cornish doesn’t play golf any more. It used to be a custom that the architect would hit the first ball on opening day. But when he started to top balls on the first tee, without his wife’s success, he gave up the game. “If I’m driving along and see a driving range at night, I’ll go out and hit balls.”

What he is doing is a good deal of writing. He had a book in galley stages last fall, Eighteen Stakes on a Sunday Afternoon and Other Aspects of North American Golf Course Architecture. “The title dates back to when the Scots first came to this country. They’d get a job as a greenkeeper or professional and in their spare time–Sunday afternoons–they’d stake out a golf course. I think the going price was $25.”

Another book further down the road is Golf Holes Classic and Otherwise: Searching for the Roots of an Art Form, done with Robert Muir Graves, Cornish’s partner in ongoing seminars at the Harvard School of Design (from whence came the pair’s first title, the 1998 Golf Course Design).

“It is an art form, in many ways the purest form of landscape architecture–molding the earth and then vegetating it.”

Cornish gets most of his walking in these days with hours-long hikes around the giant freshwater swamp behind his house, taking the neighbors’ dogs with him–as many as 12, but more usually four. “Sometimes my neighbor the evolutionary biologist comes along with another set of dogs, and we talk about it. But he hasn’t quite gotten around to explaining the art of it yet–why, when we arrange something in a certain way, that we feel better just looking at it.

“We’ve really invented the most fascinating profession of our species, wouldn’t you say?”

That's Geoff Cornish on the right in coat and tie during pre-WWII construction of Highland Links in Cape Breton

(Photos of Cornish courtesy of the American Society of Golf Course Architects; Highland Links photo courtesy of Mark Mungeam.)

One need merely flip the cyber page to last week’s TAP Beer of the Week entry to see how this one developed. I promised to pick a specialty beer of whichever brewery won the Super Bowl XLVI wager, and we all know how that turned out.

The only wrinkle from what I reported last time out is that the beer on tap was Brooklyn BLAST! instead of the flagship Brooklyn Lager. This may have seemed like the only bit of luck for New England fans; the BLAST! is usually found only in the Brooklyn Brewery tasting room.

Though I’m from New York, living in Vermont for 20 years, I didn’t have a dog in the Super Bowl hunt because I’m indifferent to football (unless I’m irked with it).

It would have been no hardship to have to pick out a Harpoon specialty. I’ve enjoyed some of the Leviathan series beers and always pick up the latest 100-Barrel series offerings if I’m not too tardy to the counter. It may already be too late for the Vermont Spruce Tip Ale, now being overtaken by a Black IPA.

But I did find the Giants victory convenient, since I happened to have two bottles of the Brooklyn Brewery Black Ops on hand. My brother gave me one for my birthday toward the end of 2010, and I bought one (at about $20) last December.

Black Ops suggests clandestine doings, so secret that they’re secrets within secret organizations. Let’s not get all political here, though the temptation is great (think Dick Cheney and Blackwater and a secret CIA assassination program).

The world of Black Ops is probably better captured in video game terms, since it’s all in fun and no one gets killed for real. (Indeed, the seventh instalment of the “Call of Duty” video game series is also called Black Ops.)

With a nod to all this spy stuff, the Brooklyn Brewery disclaims all knowledge of the beer, and refers to it only in classic doublespeak:

Brooklyn Black Ops does not exist. However, if it did exist, it would be a strong 11.3% ABV stout concocted by the Brooklyn brewing team under cover of secrecy and hidden from everyone else at the brewery. The myth is that this supposed “Black Ops” was then aged for four months in bourbon barrels, bottled flat, and re-fermented with Champagne yeast. Presumably such a beer would raise a rich, fluffy dark brown head and it would combine chocolate and coffee flavors with a rich underpinning of vanilla-like bourbon notes.

A beer like that would be mighty nice, but it would be hard to make more than few cases – it could never be sold or released to the public. They say that the brewmaster revealed the beer to a few other people at the brewery only after it had been barreled. The rumor going around is that the brewery plans to drink the beer themselves over the holidays and give some to their family and friends. That’s what they say. But frankly, there’s no evidence for any of this. This beer is obviously a figment of people’s fervent imaginations. People tend to get loopy around the holidays. Everyone go home now –there’s nothing to see here.

Should reality intrude–as with a January tasting of the beer paired with an artisan cheese–the brewery’s blog entry about the event serves up a blurred out photo of a beer bottle, and refers to it as Brooklyn XXXXX XXX.

The cheese fares better; the Winnimere by Jasper Hill Farms is a seasonal runny cheese made from the winter milk of the farm’s Ayrshire heifers, wrapped in spruce bark and with a rind washed by a lambic-style beer from its Greensboro, Vermont neighbor, the Hill Farmstead Brewery.

Those of us with our own secretive methods can find a back door into the brewery’s website and download an image of the beer, but no information on where it might be available, since it doesn’t exist. A brewery spokesman, Dan D’Ippolito (a potential pseudonym), leaked this to me: “Rumors have it that the beer generally comes out in November, and will therefore be available during the Christmas season where quantities last. People claimed to have seen it last year in all 26 states, although of course if [Brooklyn Brewery] were to produce a beer like this, it would only be in very small batches.”

What more is there to say? The non-tasting notes above are pretty spot on. The beer is indeed as black as a night in Siberia, but luxurious enough to please a Russian countess. It has a velvety sweet palate mixed with the weight of the whiskey huskiness. It’s big in all aspects, including the one pint, 9.4-ounce bottle.

I had meant to drink the 2011 batch first, and the 2010 bottle the next night, but mistakenly did it the other way round. This was interesting, though: I would have thought the effects of the barrel-aging might have dissipated a bit in a year’s time.

Not so. Bourbon is aged in charred white oak barrels, and the smoky whiskey notes were far more pronounced in the 2010 batch. It was just this side of harsh, the 2011 seeming a bit more mellow, in a relative sense. After the fact I’ve noticed that one bottle is rated at 11.3% ABV while the other is 11.6%, but I don’t know which is which. There’s some bottling information numbers on the back, completely indecipherable. Obviously in code.

I’m not a whiskey drinker, but I preferred the 2010 to the 2011 bottling. Not because I drank the entire bottle by myself (I shared the 2011); I just liked the in-your-face flavors more.

Make no mistake, the 2011 is a ravishing Imperial Stout as well, just as ready to seduce you and then knock you over the head. Drink two bottles and you’ll wake up naked, behind enemy lines and without your passport.

Name: Black Ops
Brewer: Brooklyn Brewery, New York (purportedly)
Style: Imperial Stout, barrel-aged
ABV: 11.3%
Availability: Year-round, 25 states and D.C.
For More Information: www.brooklynbrewery.com (although they’re not talking)

Related Post:
TAP Beer(s) of the Week: Harpoon 100-Barrel Island Creek Oyster Stout and Single Hop ESB

Despite outing my anti-football stance in this rant, careful readers will have noted I’m pretty much okay with gambling. And since nothing brings out that instinct (it does seem like an instinct, doesn’t it?) more vigorously than the Super Bowl, here we are again.

Last year we wandered from Pittsburgh to Green Bay by way of the White House (and the homebrewing activities going on there, all mentioned here).

But for Super Bowl XLVI we’re sticking to the east coast, and hitching our star to a wager already in the works, between Brooklyn Brewery and Harpoon Brewery. Seems that the old pros at the helm of each brewery are chums and couldn’t pass up the chance to tweak the other should their home team win.

The deal is that should the Patriots win, Steve Hindy will dispense a keg of Harpoon IPA at the Brooklyn brewery. Likewise, should the Giants win, Harpoon’s Rich Doyle and Dan Kenary will dispense a keg of Brooklyn Lager in the Boston tasting room.

Gauging by the amount of coverage the wager has already received, the publicity will presumably help salve the wounds of the defeated, and I’m willing enough to lard on some more.

For the two breweries, this is actually Super Bowl Wager II, since the same terms were put forth for Super Bowl XLII in 2008, and even non-fans like me know the Giants dusted off the previously undefeated Patriots 17-14, a stunning upset. As this video shows, the bet was paid off, and Hindy made a prescient comment about the two teams meeting again in the playoffs:

Hindy, who obviously has a gambling problem, threw down a similar wager with Anchor Brewing in San Francisco before the Giants-49ers tilt for the NFC title. Anchor president John Dannerbeck not only agreed to pour Brooklyn’s Sorachi Ace beer from this Monday to tomorrow, but outfit tour guides in Giants jerseys:

At the Anchor Brewing tasting room, pouring Brooklyn's Sorachi Ale while wearing a Giants' jersey

I’m going to throw in my two cents here. I’ll select one of the specialty beers of whichever brewery wins on Sunday–so to speak–and make it my next TAP Beer of the Week. To the victor goes the laurel. To me goes the beer.

[We all now know how the Super Bowl turned out, so click here for the promised TAP Beer of the Week post.]

As far as this week’s two beers go, as a lager and an ale they aren’t really competitive; it’s apples and oranges. But there are some similarities in that both beers are the best-selling flagship brew in each company’s portfolio. Both are now being canned as well as bottled (both canned at the F.X. Matt Brewery in Utica, New York).

And both companies have now been around for a long time, by craft brewery standards. (See “Related Posts” below for a little more on each brewery’s history and beers.) Harpoon released its first beer, Harpoon Ale, in 1987. Brooklyn Lager was that brewery’s first offering in 1988. From small and none-too-certain beginnings, both companies have come a very long way: Harpoon was ranked ninth in U.S. craft brewery sales in 2010 (16^th in overall brewery sales), while Brooklyn was 16^th (25^th overall).

The two beers in question were mildly radical for the time and place of their introduction. As they enter adulthood they’ve more or less settled down into mainstream respectability, considering the wild experimentation going on around them. Neither will knock your socks off; nor will they let you down.

Brooklyn Lager harkens back to pre-Prohibition brewing days in the borough, when almost 50 breweries plied their trade, with a Vienna Lager-style recipe formulated by William Moeller, a fourth-generation brewer who went back into the notebooks. The Milton Glaser-designed logo harkens back to the Brooklyn Dodgers. (Talk about festering wounds!)

It’s a lightly amber beer with a nice sudsy head, an appealingly grainy nose with a touch of lemon zest probably from the (somewhat unusual) dry-hopping during lagering. (Hallertauer Mittelfrueh, Vanguard and Cascade in the hop mix.) The bottles I had from a recent variety pack were just past their freshness date with no apparent harm done. The palate is lightly malty, suitably crisp, with a bittersweet finish.

I hadn’t had a Brooklyn Lager for awhile. When I cracked one open a few days ago I had a bit of a flashback, on first sip, of the old New Amsterdam Amber, which both Brooklyn Lager and Sam Adams Boston Lager are the immediate descendants of from back in the mid-80’s. But that’s a bit of history for another time.

Interestingly, though, Brooklyn Lager is brewed at the Matt Brewing Company, as was New Amsterdam, Sam Adams and Harpoon for a time. However, the expansion of the company’s Williamsburg brewery is expected to double capacity in 2012 and again in 2013, so that may change.

The Harpoon IPA was introduced in 1993 as a summer seasonal beer, but sales went off the charts and the company quickly made it a year-round offering. Now it’s the number one house brand.

I suspect its very ubiquity makes beer geeks take it for granted. But I know I’m happy to call on it as a go-to beer when choices are otherwise suspect or limited. It’s not a west coast in-your-face IPA, but a solid Cascade hop-accented IPA with a fruity nose, a toasty malt character and a good bit of hop zing in the finish. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, I’ll have another.

There, now wasn’t that more fun than talking about football?

Name: Brooklyn Lager
Brewer: Brooklyn Brewery, New York
Style: American Amber
ABV: 5.2%
Availability: Year-round, 25 states and D.C.
For More Information: www.brooklynbrewery.com

Name: Harpoon IPA
Brewer: Harpoon Brewery, Boston, Massachusetts and Windsor, Vermont
Style: IPA
ABV: 5.9%
Availability: Year-round, 26 states
For More Information: www.harpoonbrewery.com

Related Posts:
TAP Beer(s) of the Week: Harpoon 100-Barrel Island Creek Oyster Stout and Single Hop ESB
TAP Beer of the Week: Brooklyn Local 2
TAP Beer(s) of the Week: Summertime Brews
Super Bowl XLV

Jim McLean

Here at The A Position we’re given a topic to address (or not) each month for The A List feature, in a neat 150 words or so. The January challenge was pretty much the same as last year’s–to make fearless predictions about the golf year ahead. Click here to see just how far off the tracks The A Position writers careened then.

This year we enlisted the prognosticating skills of Jimmy Roberts of NBC Sports to lend the expertise gleaned from his many interviews with the game’s top players, surely adding more gravitas to our wild imaginings keen and insightful looks ahead. For the full collection of 2012 crystal ball gazings, click here.

I went for cheap laughs in 2011, but played it straight this time. I recently interviewed Jim McLean for a piece that will appear next month in the spring issue of Celebrated Living, on some of the top instructors in golf. He qualifies six ways to Sunday, and with a couple of his star pupils lately prominent in the news, I felt emboldened in putting the following prophecy on the record.

***

This should be a pretty good year for Jim McLean, not that 2011 was too shabby, marking the 20^th year of the first Jim McLean Golf School at the Doral Golf Resort in Miami, and the opening of the newest in November at SunRidge Canyon outside Scottsdale.

His eleventh book (with Tom McCarthy) appears next month, The Complete Hogan: A Shot-by-Shot Analysis of Golf’s Greatest Swing.

But the man who estimates he’s given 12,000 private lessons in his time now has two pupils succeeding at the highest levels of the game. The talents of Keegan Bradley and Alexis Thompson burst like bombshells at the end of last season and inject needed vitality into the 2012 PGA Tour and LPGA schedules.

Look for more excitement to come. McLean says, “Alexis is such a sweetheart, but she has no fear. As for Keegan, I’m going to go play Augusta National with him in March.”

Lexi Thompson

Keegan Bradley with the PGA Championship Wanamaker Trophy

My wife gave me the t-shirt for Christmas (and took the picture). I think she might be on to me. But Happy New Year all, and here’s to a fun road ahead for 2012.

Scott Willis demonstrating the power of yoga (courtesy of Timothy Thrasher, Thrasher Graphics)

In the year of his grieving, 2001, Scott Willis would hop in his car and just drive south from Brattleboro, Vermont, on Route 5, the back road through Guilford, into Bernardston, Massachusetts, Greenfield, Deerfield, as far as he needed to go until his equilibrium returned. Then he’d turn around and head home. His father, Ed, had died that June, and then the shock of 9/11 just compounded the dislocation.

Golf had been a big part of Scott’s childhood in Walpole and Keene, New Hampshire. He would caddy for his dad and mom, he and his dad would play together occasionally, and the pair would frequently watch golf on television together. For a time hardly a spring or summer day went by when Scott and his friends weren’t playing or caddying out at the nine-hole Hooper Golf Course in Walpole. But he essentially quit the game after ninth grade, to concentrate on baseball, music, girls.

By 2001, he had barely played a half dozen times in 35 years. Then one day, motoring between Bernardston and Greenfield, he decided to stop at Sammy K’s driving range and hit out a few balls. Another day he veered over to the Northfield Golf Club, went to the practice green in a medium to pouring rain and just stayed out there, putting. “It felt good,” he recalled recently. “I liked it.”

He played a few times at Northfield in 2002, then joined in August. The next year he signed up at the Brattleboro Country Club, where he is still a member. “Not long after I resumed playing I realized it wasn’t a big step from there to putting my two loves together.”

The other love is yoga. After a varied career path as a musician and academic counselor, Willis took his first yoga class in 1987, when he was 35, “And it all immediately felt so good, physically and emotionally.”

It still does. The way Willis puts it to his students–he has now taught yoga since moving to Brattleboro in 1992–is that, “Yoga is like a well I can always go to to get water. And for me, golf is yoga outside.”

Be the Ball

From the Sanskrit root, yuj–to bind, or unite–yoga is the ancient means to unite mind, body and spirit. How this is done can be interpreted in a bewildering number of ways, not a few of which Willis has studied. “Yoga is about postures, breath work, meditation and philosophy. I think of it as a practice of three things: gratitude, loving kindness and forgiveness, mindfulness in daily life. There is a spiritual component to it; I encourage people to connect to whatever that means to their deeper selves. “

Be the Ball

But his classes–particularly his Golf Yoga classes–are laid-back and easy-going, conducted with a sense of humor, urging students to go at their own paces, to the comfortable edge of a stretch or yoga pose.

“I tell students yoga is an oasis of time where they’re not responsible to or for anyone else, with no need to impress anyone in class or the instructor. Pretty much like a round of golf.” Willis finds golf such an opportunity to really focus that he has occasionally put together “Meditation in motion” foursomes that play for nine holes in relative silence.

He doesn’t teach golf technique. The Golf Yoga classes he conducted over the last four years consist of six dynamic stretches and nine static stretches–some classic yoga postures like Warrior, Dance, Willow with golf club in hand–all at a relaxed pace. In place of meditations that might begin and end typical yoga classes, Willis plays taped excerpts from the likes of golf psychologist Dr. Bob Rotella, and might wrap up a session with a Jim McLean video.

Scott holding the coveted Be the Ball Scramble trophy

Ten weekly sessions culminate just about the time the golf season opens in Vermont–and then it’s time for the Be the Ball Scramble for all current and former students.

Does it help? “Using myself as an example,” he said, “I was a 24 handicap when I started playing again. I’m a nine now.”

But he’s not stopping there. He suspended the class in 2010 in favor of giving private lessons, going a little deeper into the sports psychology angle, but he’s taking them up again early in 2012.

“The idea is to maximize the enjoyment of the game. It’s like Bagger Vance says (in Steven Pressfield’s novel)–through focusing one can experience levels of awareness deeper than usual.” If we play to the level that our subconscious lets us play, then we need to convince the subconscious to let us play better. And to that end Willis has created methods for players to become more factually aware of their games, and affirmations that help them visualize playing better.

In his own case, he’s created a precise scenario that has him shooting a 68 on October 15, 2013, thereby lowering his handicap to four. He won’t promise this will happen, but for now he’ll admit no doubt about it, either, merely commenting: “Check back with me then.”

———————–

More information on Scott Willis and his Golf Yoga classes can be found at www.Solarhillyoga.com; he can be reached at Scott-willis@comcast.net, or (802) 257-1926.

The Yoga Center at Solar Hill studio, Brattleboro, Vermont

How golf and yoga went down in the desert during the Golf Road Warriors Scottsdale trip, “The Golf Yoga Connection” here.

So it’s no great surprise that a compact Marc Sleen Museum stands alone in Brussels across the street from the more expansive museum holdings of the Belgian Comic Strip Center, one of the major tourist stops in the city.

Belgians love their comics, and their Art Nouveau, which makes the Center a perfect fit, housed in a 1906 Art Nouveau masterpiece designed by Victor Horta.

The animating spirit of Belgian comic art, Tintin, is now animated (well, in 3-D motion-capture animation at any rate) in the Peter Jackson-produced and Steven Spielberg-directed “The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn.” Spielberg was on hand for the premiere in Brussels on October 22, preceding the widespread U.S. debut now on hand:

Tintin and his creator, the late Hergé, are Belgian icons. Hergé was born Georges Remi in 1907 in Brussels, but signed his drawings Hergé for his initials in reverse (RG). Tintin came along in 1929, Hergé did 23 books of his adventures up to his death in 1983, and then there were no more–as he had directed in his will.

About the time of Hergé’s death the Horta building was looking for a stay of execution. The former textile warehouse, empty for twenty years except for squatters was in ruins, on the verge of destruction, about to become a parking lot.

Some 200,000 visitors now stream through the site annually to see the happier ending that ensued.

Nero striding at entrance to the Marc Sleen Museum

Sleen, meanwhile, is still very much alive as he approaches his 90^th birthday on December 30. He’s reportedly delighted with the museum in his name, and with the beer named after his best-loved character.

In the very first Nero strip Sleen drew in 1947, a criminal is uncovered using beer to brainwash Belgians into doing his bidding; in a subsequent adventure Nero discovers a beer tree in Rwanda which makes him rich.

There’s no beer tree at the Marc Sleen Museum, but there is the beer, available only there or in the café at the Comic Strip Center. It was brewed as a one-off by the De Proef Brouwerij in Locristi, but proved popular enough that larger production is being considered. I was lucky enough to sample some there in early May and bring a bottle safely home as well.

Willem De Graeve, director of the Belgian Comic Strip Center, pours a glass of Nero Bier

It’s a cloudy amber ale that is quite hoppy by Belgian standards, verging on an IPA, with a deep hop nose. It’s floral and fruity, the Nelson Sauvin hop throwing off notes of pineapple and mango. There’s a hearty malt character, but not overly sweet, with a brisk finish.

I just finished off the bottle fairly briskly as well in the spirit of it all–not only movie premieres, but the fact that the country finally has a new government.

We talk about gridlock in this country, but we have nothing on Belgium which, like Sleen, also set a record–the longest period in peacetime without an official government. Since the last general elections in June, 2010, the regions of the country–Flemish-speaking Flanders to the north, French-speaking Wallonia to the south (with a sliver of Germanic influence to the east)–were unable to agree on a ruling coalition.

Think René Magritte, and Belgium’s surrealistic side may suggest the political imbroglio, only just settled after 541 days. Having historically been invaded by everyone from the Vikings and Romans to the Spanish, Dutch, French and Germans, the Belgians can perhaps be forgiven a slightly oblique world view.

When the record was broken last February many Belgians, typically enough, partied. In Ghent in the north citizens stripped in public. In Louvain-la-Neuve in the south, free beer was given away. Not Nero, though it surely would have worked as well.

Name: Nero Bier
Brewer: De Proef Brouwerij, Lochristi, Belgium
Style: Belgian ale
ABV: 6.5%
Availability: Only in Brussels at the Marc Sleen Museum and the Belgian Comic Strip Center
For More Information: About Marc Sleen: www.marc-sleen.be
About De Proef: www.sbs-imports.com/deproef.php

But I behaved myself this trip, since I was really out Christmas shopping, and had actually stopped in hope of finding some gift beers.

The Wassail was a gift to myself. I hadn’t had any Full Sail beers since I got on the bus in Portland, Oregon, as part of the 2011 Beer Bloggers Conference in mid-August. We were heading for the Goschie Farms hop fields right in the middle of harvest season. The trip from Portland to Silverton in the Willamette Valley should have taken about an hour, but late on a Friday afternoon in good weather, we wound up trapped on the bus for well over two hours.

Trapped, in this case, wasn’t so terrible, since representatives from the Full Sail, Widmers, Rogue and Ninkasi breweries were on hand to introduce and pour their beers. A picnic and the smell of fresh hops was awaiting us at the end of the journey and there was a working bathroom on board, so all was well.

Full Sail will soon hit its quarter-century mark, a ripe old age for a microbrewery. It began in an old fruit-pressing factory overlooking the Columbia River Gorge and in 1989 became the first craft brewery in Oregon to bottle its beer, the Full Sail Amber. What’s lost now is that an amber beer was rather startling at the time, and so was the name. The Amber is still the company’s flagship beer, but it puts out a full range of year-round, seasonal and specialty brews.

At its twelve-year mark in 1999 the brewery became employee-owned, and it still bandies the number of the owner/employee workforce on each bottle (47 currently).

Executive brewmaster James Emmerson of Full Sail Brewing, on the bus

Full Sail's brewing supervisor Barney Brennan

Two of them were on the bus, brewing supervisor Barney Brennan and executive brewmaster James Emmerson. They poured three beers for us, marching upwards in ABV.

The first came from the throwback session lager series–Session–meant as a tribute to the way beers used to be pre-Prohibition, including the squat 11-ounce bottles. We had the Session Black, indeed as black as night, but a 5.4% ABV lager that was crisp and appealing, with a bare hint of roast.

We followed that up with one of the lagers in the rotating LTD series, meaning limited edition, although Emmerson said it also meant “Living the Dream,” which apparently all of the Full Sail employee owners are doing.

The LTD 03 lager, also on the bus

We had the LTD 03, a Pilsner-style lager at 5.6% ABV, that had a spot of wheat in the grain bill, and all Sterling hops. It was also a crisp, bright beer with a nice hop bite at the finish.

From the year-round beers we had the IPA, which for a northwest beer was not overwhelmingly hoppy, brewed more to the English-style, but still with a sturdy 6% ABV.

Like the Celebration Ale from Sierra Nevada I drank last week, and despite its name, there are no spices or additives other than malt, water, hops and yeast in the Wassail; its inveigling character derives solely from the four ingredients.

And not that the Celebration needs any kind of corrective, but non-hop heads might find it with the Wassail, and the two beers make for an interesting contrast.

Freshly harvested hops at the Goschie Farms in Silverton, Oregon

Brewed since 1988, the Wassail is a deep mahogany brew that, though it still has a considerable hop character, is skewed toward malt. The nose is sweet, fruity, with a touch of dark cherry. The palate is spicy, woody and toffee sweet, and the finish is subtly bracing rather than aggressive. It’s a mouthful, all in all.

Full Sail actually puts out three holiday or winter beers. The Wassail is the most potent, followed by Wreck the Halls from the Brewmaster Reserve Series (6.5%). A newer entry is the Fest Lager in the Session series (6.2%).

It would have been nice to try all three, but maybe that’s something for next year’s Christmas list.

Name: Full Sail Wassail
Brewer: Full Sail Brewing, Hood River, Oregon
Style: Winter Warmer
ABV: 7%
Availability: September-December, 29 states
For More Information: www.fullsailbrewing.com

Rarely has a beer been so aptly named as this holiday offering from Sierra Nevada. Mental fireworks blossom each November when I run across it on market shelves.

Although following the lead of Anchor Brewing, which first produced its annual holiday ale in 1975, Sierra Nevada was pioneering as well in annually producing a special winter beer since 1981, long before it became a brewing commonplace–and virtually a requirement for a brewery these days.

Unlike the product shot on the right, each bottle of the Celebration ale is dated with its vintage year. But this doesn’t mean that each year is different and that collectors should be laying down bottles for vertical tastings.

I once labored under just that impression, with the further thought that Celebration was a platform for trying out new hop varieties from year to year.

Apparently I was misinformed. Last year Dan Becker of The Full Pint website approached the always approachable Bill Manley of Sierra Nevada to ask him about certain myths that have grown up around Celebration Ale. The post is still up here but the gist of Bill’s remarks was that the recipe for Celebration has been unchanged since 1983. The only difference between batches would be due to the usual vagaries in hop crops.

The ale is bittered with Chinook, finished and dry-hopped with Cascade and Centennial hops, and despite any tasting impressions, has no added spices or flavorings.

But there are plenty of impressions to be found in a bottle. One is just how moreish Celebration is; it’s so delicious that the temptation is to drink it by the gallon. This would not be a great idea, since at 6.8% ABV it’s no shrinking violet of a beer.

Ken Grossman ponders the bottling machine in Sierra Nevada's early days

A bright amber in the glass, it is wildly floral, however, as well as fruity in the nose–citrus to be sure, some spiciness, a hop lover’s dream bouquet.

For those whose memories aren’t quite as long as mine, I have to report what a revelation this beer was when it first starting showing up on the east coast back in the day. There was simply nothing else like it around, or nothing that could be easily found in any case. Well, Sierra Nevada itself wasn’t that easily found back in the early ‘80s.

“Balance” is a term bandied about as a desirable goal in brewing, meaning the malt sweetness and hop bitterness have reached some grail of equilibrium. I’ll buy it in this case (and by the case). Celebration Ale is the epitome of poise, with its rousing malt opening followed by a quenching hop bitterness.

It’s a beer to be reckoned with, and I reckon I’ll have another one.

Name: Celebration Ale
Brewer: Sierra Nevada Brewing Company, Chico, California
Style: American IPA
ABV: 6.8%
Availability: Nationwide, winter seasonal
More Information: www.sierranevada.com

Related Posts:

TAP Beer(s) of the Week 49: Oh, Bring Us Some Clootie Dumpling…

TAP Beer of the Week 46: Sierra Nevada Pale Ale

TAP Beer(s) of the Week 37: Fall Classics

TAP Beer of the Week 7: Sierra Nevada Glissade

TAP Beer of the Week 2: Life and Limb

2 – Big rocks

Out on the Troon North Monument Course

3 – Bigger rocks

Fifth hole, Boulders South Course

4 – Tough lies

5 – Tougher lies

6 – Cacti

7 – Cacti with embedded golf balls

McDowell Mountain Ranch Golf Club

8 – Distant mountains

Greyhawk Raptor Course

9 – Famous holes

TPC Scottsdale Stadium Course, sixteenth hole

TPC Scottsdale Sixteenth Hole

I had a great day playing the TPC Scottsdale Stadium Course this morning. Not because I was playing well, because I wasn’t. I chalk it up entirely to a lack of sleep and my aching back, with nothing left over for an inherent lack of skill.

But it was a lovely morning that dodged the bullet of predicted rain. We saw a bobcat on the first tee, eagles in a tree on the second, and a few birdies from Scottsdale CVB National Sales Manager Stuart Evans. We being the rest of the threesome, myself and The A Position CEO Bob Senoff, playing his second round of the year. That he beat me by a stroke should shame me, Bob said, but that’s not easily done. It’s golf, after all.

We also enjoyed the company of forecaddie Bryan Fischer, who’s a plus-four handicap, and who will be taking a run at qualifying for the Waste Management Phoenix Open, which begins here on February 2. Construction is already well underway on the stands that surround the famous, or infamous sixteenth hole, here introduced by Stuart:

If proof is needed that the west can still be pretty wild, the tournament supplies plenty each year. More fans attend this early event in the PGA Tour season than any other golf tournament, and by late Sunday afternoon, about the time the networks tune in, there’s a good chance many will be wired. The raucous cheering that attends shots at the sixteenth is as rowdy as any NFL game, and reached its extended epitome in 1997 when Tiger Woods aced the hole. To say the crowd went wild is to use a vastly understated cliché.

The Stadium Course comes by its name honestly; aside from temporary bleacher seating, there are raised mounds around many of the greens where fans can pack in to watch the action, and there’s usually plenty, particularly on the closing holes.

I not only played the course on my first golf visit to Scottsdale almost exactly ten years ago, taking part in an International Media Golf Shoot Out, it was my introduction to desert golf. Although, as my partner that day, John Davis of the Arizona Republic, said, “This isn’t true desert golf. The desert areas here are more cosmetic than treacherous. Wait until you play Troon North.”

I parred the sixteenth that day, and so I was hoping not to mess up my career stats when I stepped to the tee today:

I promptly put it on the putting surface with a nine iron, rammed my first putt about eight feet past the hole, and sunk the comebacker. I’m even through two rounds on sixteen, ten years apart.

My first look at the TPC Course startled me with what looked like tiny stripes of vivid green fairways, with bleached out wilderness areas beckoning from just beyond the rough.  Certainly, it’s a sound idea to keep the ball in the fairway at this Tom Weiskopf-Jay Morrish design, built in 1986.  But it isn’t that tough to find the ball in the arid waste areas, just tough on the irons when playing out.

The breadth of the mountain vistas (the McDowell range) in the Sonoran Desert setting makes the visual aspect of play more deceiving than firing through the wooded corridors I’m used to in the northeast. But once off the tee, it’s easy to see that the fairways are actually fairly generous.

The seventeenth hole has had its share of excitement as well. But let’s let Bryan explain:

The other player Bryan mentioned was Tom Byrum. Magee teed off while the previous foursome was still putting.  His ball rolled onto the green, bounced off Tom Byrum’s putter, and into the hole for a double-eagle one on the scorecard.

His shot of the year was matched by the quote of the year from Byrum’s caddie, Robert Uresti, who quipped, “It was the first putt Tom made all day.”

Invoke Cave Creek in these parts and people seem to roll their eyes a bit, as if you’ve mentioned an eccentric uncle who is a lot of fun, even if he asks you to pull his finger from time to time.

Cave Creek’s bent rears toward a wild west heritage, with a heavy streak of pigskin fanaticism woven in. Though Buffalo Chip began life in 1951 as a feed and bait shop, it has evolved into an ample western dance hall and saloon, complete with bull-riding.

Not mechanical bull-riding, the real thing. And on Wednesday nights, which this was, it’s amateur night. Anyone with sufficient balls and lack of sense enough to sign a waiver can mount up and try to hang on to a 1,800-pound manically lurching bull for eight seconds. The evidence (and amateurs) on the ground suggested this was nearly impossible, and no one in our group was about to chance it.

I felt at sufficient risk asking the bartender if she had any good craft beer available. Her disdain was like a pointed cowgirl boot to my crotch. But actually they did have Widmer Hefeweizen on tap, which went pretty well with the pulled pork, grilled sausage, biscuit, beans and coleslaw I larded onto my plate.

The Buffalo Chip is also known as a Green Bay Packers bar. Walk a little ways across a large parking lot, which a few of us did, and you come to Harold’s Corral, which I was told is the largest Pittsburgh Steelers bar in the U.S. (And therefore, presumably, in the world.)

I neglected to ask how that was measured, precisely, or where Cardinal fans go. But in 2009 over 4,200 fans jammed into huge tents set up on the property to watch the Steelers beat Arizona in Super Bowl XLIII, 27 to 23, and then doubtless went crazy on beer.

I wasn’t crazy about the selection at Harold’s, but across the street we struck paydirt. The Cave Creek Tap Haus is a new kid on the block, opened only a few weeks, but for good beer fans it’s the mother lode, offering over 50 craft beers on tap, and claiming to have the largest local selection in the state.

By this time our entourage had been whittled down to me and Jerry Rose of Communication Links. As this post suggests, Jerry and I have been spending most of our time together of late atop barstools. We can deal with it.

We took our time deciding on our pints because bartender Pam Porter (perfect name for a beer bar), kept giving us samples so we could make up our minds.

Fifty taps at the Cave Creek Tap Haus can make selection a little tricky

I wanted to keep it local, and so settled happily on an Old World Brewery Eclipse Black IPA, a not overly hoppy but fairly rich and slightly roasty dark ale that seemed more like a porter than anything. Fine by me.

I can’t say I know much about the Phoenix-based brewery beyond what’s on its website and Facebook page, noting that the lineup of regularly distributed beers include an Old World Wit, a Nitro Blonde, a 4Leaf Irish Red Ale, a Dark Knight Porter and seasonals like the Eclipse, which is probably eclipsed by now. The brewery and a taproom is located at the old Capital Station Post Office at 334 North 25^th Avenue in Phoenix.

I sort of lost track of the beer because we were soon chatting and taking pictures with Pam and assistant bar manager Carrol Douglass, before one of them pointed out that Robbie Knievel was sitting at the bar right alongside us.

Knievel, who turns 50 in May, was eight when he first performed on a motorcycle with his legendary dad, Evel Knievel. Robbie carries on the family stuntman daredevil ways as Kaptain Robbie Knievel, having made over 250 jumps himself, sometimes replicating the feats of his late father, often surpassing them.

Robbie has jumped over a 228-foot span of the Grand Canyon, broken all sorts of records for leaping over cars and buses, and hopes someday to cap his career with a jump of the Snake River Canyon in Idaho–the feat he father attempted in vain in 1974.

Golf Road Warrior Tom Bedell and Road Warrior Robbie Knievel (right)

Robbie has had his own share of wipeouts, surely enough to sympathize with the amateur bull riders over at Buffalo Chip. But this night, he had the old man on his mind. Evel Knievel was 69 when he died on the way to a hospital on November 30, 2007.

“I haven’t had a drop of hard liquor in quite some time,” said Robbie. “But it’s exactly four years ago today that my dad passed away. So I’ve been thinking about him. I thought I’d have a drink in his memory.”

That sounded like a good idea to us. So we clinked glasses, and joined in on the memories.

Name: Eclipse Black IPA
Brewer: Old World Brewing Company, Phoenix, Arizona
Style: Black IPA
ABV: 7.3%
Availability: Seasonally, Arizona
For More Information: www.oldworldbrewery.com

The beer list at Talavera and the resort’s Onyx Bar Lounge is limited, but it does have some of the stars of the craft brewing show–Anchor Steam, Fat Tire, Dogfish 60 Minute IPA, and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

Even better, they have a local list that includes Four Peaks 8^th Street Pale Ale and Kilt Lifter, Oak Creek Amber and Nut Brown, a canned Lumberyard Red Ale, and Nimbus A-1 Pilsner and Pale Ale.

I made it a Nimbus night, trying both beers from the Tucson brewery (there’s also a bistro outlet in East Tucson). I don’t know a lot about the brewery other than that it began in 1996 and was originally owned by Nimbus Cousin. Cousin–for some reason unknown to the Nimbus bartender I spoke to on the phone–opted for a simian theme for the brewery.

When James Counts took over the brewery in 2000, he decided to keep the monkey around–now part of the brewery logo, with the key phrase, “It’s a natural selection.” A monkey is also on most of the labels, often placed in quasi-religious artwork context.

An exception is the one lager made by the company, the Nimbus A-1. It is a re-creation of an old Phoenix beer from the Arizona Brewing Company, with an attendant old timey label. I liked the label more than the beer.

But the Nimbus Pale Ale turned out to be a keeper. It’s amber, a bit cloudy, with a decent but hardly overpowering hop aroma, more evident as the beer warms a bit. (Unfortunately, they seem to be big on frozen glassware in Arizona.) The flavor is tilted toward sweet rather than hoppy, with not a lot of middle to the profile. But with four additions of Cascade, Chinook and Columbus hops, the finish is bracingly bitter.

Name: Nimbus Pale Ale
Brewer: Nimbus Brewing Company, Tucson, Arizona
Style: Pale Ale
ABV: 5.5%
Availability: Arizona
For More Information: www.nimbusbeer.com

But considering the trepidation I had this morning about my back, I was all in for the post-round Golf Yoga session at the Movement Studio in the Spa at Four Seasons Resort Scottsdale at Troon North. Though five of us were signed up to attend, only Jeff Wallach and I summoned the courage to go to the mats.

Well, our videographer colleague Jamie McWilliams was there, but he was merely skulking about trying to take shots of Jeff and me in distress, as at right. (Guess I was taking a break, though, since I took the photo.)

But we were in good hands. Dodie Mazzuca is not only a certified yoga instructor, but a former LPGA Tour player. Clearly in great shape herself, she works out of the Four Seasons and her own GolfPROformance enterprise to take players through a threefold approach–body awareness, technical skills, and a mental state of peak performance.

This being the Four Seasons, yoga is but one item on a vast menu of fitness options for visitors–golfers, tennis players, joggers or otherwise, including mat Pilates, spinning or zumba classes.

In our abbreviated session we stuck with classic yoga poses as Dodie explained how they could apply to our games, while making sure I avoided those that might strain my back.

We weren’t unfamiliar–both Jeff and I have done yoga before, in my case in specific yoga for golfers classes that culminate in an annual Be the Ball tournament back at the Brattleboro Country Club in Vermont.

It eventually occurred to me–after a check of the records–that Dodie and I had probably crossed paths once before, clearly unknowingly, back in Vermont in 1999. Dodie was in her third year of the FUTURES tour then, and she played at the SmartSpikes FUTURES Classic at the Green Mountain National Golf Course in Killington.

I played in the pro-am event for the tournament. No time machine available, alas, to see if I spilled a beer on her at lunch, whether we spoke or even came within fifty yards of one another. But I do know she finished in a four-way tie for 15th that year, taking away a whopping $798 for the accomplishment.

She was back in 2000, her best on the FUTURES tour, winning the Capital Region FUTURES Classic in Guilderland, New York, making 18 out of 18 cuts, reaching third on the money list and gaining exempt status for the LPGA, where she played in 2001 and 2002.

She eventually headed west and did well on mini tours before turning more toward yoga and teaching.

After putting Jeff and I through our paces, we decided she would be the ideal player to fill in some of the empty tee slots we had for later in the week. Her dance card had some openings, so it’s probably a date.

More on the day’s round in the preceding post, “Meet and Beat” here.

More on yoga and golf as practiced in Vermont, “The Yoga Oasis” here.

Peter Kessler lining up his tee shot on the first hole at the Troon North Monument Course

Though I’d been on Peter Kessler’s “Making the Turn” radio show once, the Golf Road Warrior Scottsdale trip was my first chance to meet him, get to know him and play golf with the Voice of Golf, so called thanks to his stentorian tone, his many years with The Golf Channel and his regular stint now on the PGA Tour Network (SiriusXM).

Kessler had chided me about my back complaints in an email before we even departed for the GRW trip:

Enough with the back shit. I have had two back surgeries, minimally invasive and one on my neck. I have trigger finger in my right hand, all finger tips are numb, I dislocated a hip and tore my hip abductor and ripped a major tendon playing golf in northwest Ireland with friggin’ Wallach in July. I have painful sciatica from my back to both of my numb AND pins-and-needles-ridden feet, and some body parts wake up 20 minutes later than others. And I have two stents. I am however an amazingly flexible and gifted lovemaker….

Turned out he’s a damn good golfer, too. And as the self-appointed Rules Chairman, he laid out the GRW Scottsdale ground rules:

1. The highest score you can take is a triple.
2. All putts for double bogey or better must be holed.
3. If you lose a ball or can’t play it, you throw one down at the nearest point of relief where it entered the trouble and add a stroke, so that everything is played as a red-staked hazard. Saves lots of time and aggravation.
4. We try to play the courses at between 6,400 and 6,600 yards for maximum enjoyment.
5. Summer rules, strict rules of golf, no improving lies anywhere on the course.
6. Play ready golf.
7. The two best net balls per group, an individual net score and a foursome net best ball are the competitions when we have two groups of players.

Please advise any tweaks you think appropriate. Be advised, as your chairman, that any tweaks suggested better make sense or they will be dismissed promptly.

Grow the Game Golf works with smartphones and the web.

As it turned out, proviso No. 7 had to go, as the games and teams had already been set up by Grow the Game Golf, a new cross-platform web and smartphone app we were being introduced to in a trial by fire. With all the data for the matches entered beforehand (more easily done at the GTG Golf website, gtggolg.com), on the day of the round players can enter scores on their smartphone for an ongoing live update of individual and team progress throughout the round, no matter how many foursomes are involved. (And that’s up to 1,000 players!)

What this meant today was that, along with individual gross and net honors, our foursome was a four-man team using one best ball net against the foursome in front of us, all easily checked as the round unfolded.

I guess I have a dumb phone, since all it does it make and take calls, so my cart mate, the Voice of Golf, had to enter the scores on his phone. Kessler found this unclear and irritating at first–or pretended to, salting the air with some creative obscenities.

Our actual opening nine scores on the GTG Golf app. A rocky start for me, but note the eighth hole birdie, first of three.

But once he found out he could also check on Jeff Wallach’s score, he was sold: Kessler and Wallach have had an ongoing personal match since a past trip to Scotland, resumed in Ireland in the baptismal Golf Road Warrior trip, and carried over in Scottsdale.

It’s a friendly match, of sorts. To hear either crow about winning the day’s round, or moaning about losing it, you might think it falls just shy of a grudge match. But I had plenty of vicarious laughs listening to Peter cackle when he saw on the GTG Golf leaderboard that Jeff had double-bogied a hole ahead.

It worked the other way, too. Our fourth Golf Road Warrior, Terry Moore, is a stick, and he drove the par-4 fifteenth green, playing 283 yards from the gold tees, then sunk a long putt for the eagle. Hole safely won, he thought. But he was soon astonished to note on the GTG Golf leaderboard that Dave Akin, in our group, also eagled the hole.

Akin’s was more impressive, actually. Dave had been struggling all day, and his pop-up drive on fifteen wasn’t a thing of beauty, but it did land in the fairway. Then he hit what he thought was a pretty good second shot, though it was blind.

When we walked up to the green together he was puzzled, because he couldn’t see his ball anywhere. Until he found it in the hole. Ah, golf!

Dave Akin tees off toward the real Four Peaks, not the Four Peaks Brewery I’d visited the evening before.

More on this round in the preceding post, “My Aching Back vs. The Monument Course.”

Turned out to be a herniated disk pressing on my spinal cord (spinal stenosis), big enough to warrant an operation.

As it was the week before Thanksgiving, I proceeded to tell the doctor the story of the upcoming Golf Road Warriors trip complete with 27 8×10 color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one.

I couldn’t back out: by this time the Scottsdale CVB had already reserved my flights, I’d been fitted for new Callaway clubs, new luggage from Travelpro was on the way and cigars from Certifresh were waiting to be smoked. I had sponsor commitments!

The doctor said, “Well, then you might want to consider a cortisone shot.”

Done. And when it was done, that doctor suggested it might take two weeks to kick in, which would coincide precisely with our first tee time at the Troon North Monument course.  So for two weeks, anxiety ensued as I obsessed over whether I’d be able to hit a golf ball.

Did I sleep well the night before the round, in the cushy surrounds of the Four Seasons Resort Scottsdale at Troon North? I did not. Luckily, we didn’t rush out to the course on our first full day; instead we eased into The Spa.

Golfer's Massage at The Spa at the Four Season Resort (Photo courtesy of Scottsdale Convention & Visitors Bureau)

It was time for a Golfer’s Massage, which incorporates stretching into the routine, as well as the use of heated golf balls instead of stones. (That’s not me in the photo above, but trust me, she’s better-looking. And I didn’t get worked over by Titleists either; I checked: Top Flites.)

This bit of pampering set a nice tone for our Golf Road Warriors tour of duty. But pretty soon I had to face the music on the practice tee, where I would swing a club for the first time in weeks–and my new Callaway clubs for the first time ever.

To end the suspense quickly, I seemed to be rejuvenated. Not free from pain, but able enough to swing a club, sometimes well. I marched off the eighteenth green with an 87, pretty decent for me from the Monument Gold tees, 6,716 yards, 137 slope. I fired three birdies, so the Callaways seemed to be doing the job, too.

Well, who wouldn’t be pumped up, as the Golf Road Warriors adventure was finally unrolling on the fairways, and at a superb golf course?

The Golf Road Warriors! From left: Peter Kessler Jeff Wallach, Tom Bedell, Terry Moore

The third hole at the Monument course is unsurprisingly called The Monument

On my first visit here about ten years ago I was actually rained out of a round at the True North Monument course (a Tom Weiskopf-Jay Morrish design that opened in 1990). But I did play the Pinnacle course (a solo Weiskopf effort opened in 1995). By the time I returned in 2009, a two-year project to renovate and reroute the two courses had been completed under Weiskopf’s direction.

The Monument course now comprises the two original front nines of Monument and Pinnacle, but as always, the setting in the high Sonoran desert couldn’t be more dramatic, and the giant granite boulders strewn about the landscape give the course its apt name.

I played with Peter Kessler, Dave Akin of the Four Seasons and Mike Friend, Troon North’s director of golf events. The original Monument course was the first course in the Troon Golf stable, now coming close to 200 courses worldwide, so clearly they chose wisely.

On TV, desert golf looks a little artificial, oxymoronically like a colossal miniature golf course, with giant pieces of felt slapped over the desert wastes. On the ground, it all looks pretty lush, though from the tee it sometimes seemed like it would take a miracle to keep the ball in the fairways. But they were pretty broad.

Cholla cactus with golf ball

Go awry, and the rock, saguaro cactus and scrub areas can be pretty punitive, which is why the desert is often played as a lateral hazard to speed up play, go a little easy on scores, and keep players away from rattlesnakes in the warmer months or the cholla cactus anytime. The cholla is sometimes called jumping cactus for its seeming penchant of leaping onto and impaling itself into unsuspecting golfers.

The flora is only a part of the intriguing desert wildlife.  The fauna includes deer, cottontails and jackrabbits, prairie dogs (affectionately called desert rats), not to mention all sorts of talented birds, including grackles that think nothing of stealing wrapped granola bars right out of golf carts.

More on this round in the next post, “Meet and Beat.”

Jerry Rose, a vice president at the Communication Links public relations firm, picked us up. The last time I saw Jerry was atop a barstool at a Yard House near Miami, so this wasn’t hard service for him.

He took us to the Four Peaks Brewery in Tempe, which I had heard was a favorite hangout for Arizona State University students, but the immediate world actually seemed to be here; it was a Monday night, and the place was packed inside and out. (And since Four Peaks can serve roughly 350 at capacity, my guess is that about 349 people were there.)

The brewery has been in existence since 1996, housed in a brick building dating from 1892, home of the Pacific Creamery, the first functioning dairy on the west coast, according to manager Matt McCormack. There’s a second location in North Scottsdale. McCormack also quickly delivered the bad news: the brewpub had plowed through 51 kegs of its popular Pumpkin Porter seasonal by Thanksgiving, and there was no more to be had, nowhere, no how.

Well, revise, adapt and improvise. We made do with a sampler tray, and we pretty much went through this entire list:

Matt McCormack

The Kilt Lifter is the flagship beer, a Scottish-style ale, though thanks to reverse osmosis tanks and clever water chemistry, Four Peaks mimics foreign styles pretty well. They also cultivate their own yeast cultures, and the big news, according to McCormack, was that a lease had been recently signed for a 16,000 square foot new production facility in Tempe.

Doing three brews daily six days a week in its 40-barrel brewhouse (all boldly on display in the brewpub), isn’t quite enough for Four Peaks to expand distribution beyond its 300 accounts in Arizona. But the new 60-barrel brewhouse will enable it to brew, bottle and can even more fine suds (over the current 10,000 barrels annually).

Kilt Lifter was suitably malty, with a bare hint of smokiness, and perhaps even less hop character as befits the style, coming in at 6.0% ABV. It’s a solid beer, and the wink and a nod name undoubtedly adds to its popularity. “My marketing guy tells me it’s the number one selling craft beer in Arizona,” said McCormack.

When we finally arrived at the Four Seasons Resorts Scottsdale I had another bottle to wrap up the night. But I can’t say it was my favorite beer of the evening. I was taken by the bold attempt to brew two different IPAs, the Raj and the Hop Knot.

The Raj is an attempt at an English-style IPA, though at a hefty 6.9% ABV, with Magnum, Fuggles and Golding hops, while the Hop Knot is the New World version, an American-style IPA at 6.7% with Cascade, Glacier, Magnum, Liberty and Simcoe hops. The latter is a hop bomb, and it suited me quite well.

Name: Kilt Lifter
Brewer: Four Peaks Grill and Tap, Tempe, Arizona
Style: Scottish Ale
ABV: 6.0%
Availability: Year round in Arizona
For More Information: www.fourpeaks.com

Kolbee Feese at the taps at Four Peaks

I’m like the absent-minded professor who buttered his dog and patted his pancakes. I’m sure I’ve lost days of my life in search for lost keys, missing wallets, vanished cell phones–all of which usually turn up, if in some unlikely outreach of the house: atop a bookshelf, out on a deck railing, in an upstairs bathroom, under a pile of newspapers.

Since nothing concentrates the mind like a trip to the gallows, deadlines are useful in keeping me on target. Fear in general works well.

So does order, which is why my wife long ago tacked up a key rack, so I’ll always know where my keys are. (If I remember to hang them there, that is.)

It’s also the reason Lynn rightly says, “You don’t like change.” It’s not true about everything; there are plenty of things I’d like to see changed in the running of the country. I always say I’m liberal in politics, conservative in baseball.

But when it comes to routines–how I do things or where things are, it’s true, because order helps. Hence I’ve become rather fastidious about packing and moving through airports. I’ve had some close calls–almost forgetting to pick up my car keys after going through screening, or the time I had to dash back from a gate to a distant bathroom, where I was lucky to find my datebook and passport folder still resting atop a toilet paper holder.

All by way of saying when two new suitcases arrived from Travelpro, I could see the applecart was about to go flying.

When last packing, in my first Long Haul post, I speculated that the sturdy Travelpro T-Pro Bold 30” Drop Bottom Rolling Duffel was perhaps a bit too large for my typical golf travel situations, if dandy for transporting beer.

Travelpro came to the rescue with a 26” Expandable Rollaboard Suiter, and a Walkabout Lite4 20” Expandable Business Plus Rollaboard, both in black.

I won’t need a suit on the Golf Road Warriors trip–all resort casual–but one could be neatly folded between pressboards in the larger suitcase, which in all other respects seems ideal for my checked luggage piece. I easily packed all my necessary gear for this week’s trip, which will include warm days and cold nights.

The knotty problem came with the carry-on bag. My usual routine is to take along a L.L. Bean knapsack (monogrammed, by the by) that has a padded sleeve for my laptop, and ample zippered pockets to fling all kinds of stuff into. Which is naturally what I did.

But the Business Plus Rollaboard eliminated the need for the knapsack. It also has a neat laptop pocket, one that would clearly make removing the laptop easier at airport security. It also had the boon of getting a heavy knapsack off my back, and the goods onto the ground on wheels.

I don’t like change; nonetheless, I began emptying the knapsack and finding equivalent or better locations for the stuff in the Travelpro bag. About halfway through I realized I’d probably actually need the knapsack on the ground, heading from golf course to golf course. Problem solved: I packed the knapsack in the Travelpro.

I’m writing this in the air, enroute to my Dallas connection to Scottsdale, and all is going well. I may not quite be over the mental hurdle, as I had some uneasy moments this morning driving to the airport. I knew my passport and boarding printouts weren’t in the knapsack, and I had a spasm of panic because I couldn’t visualize where they were.

And my mental rehearsal of going to the ticket counter, taking the knapsack off my back to pull out all the necessary documents and debit card wasn’t going to happen either, I realized; actually, it should be easier.

And, gentle reader, it was.

Fellow Golf Road Warrior Jeff Wallach can attest to a third category I shine in (making me a Triple Crown winner?), Things I’ve Lost or Forgotten on Golf Trips. At the drop of a hat, or pants, he’ll happily tell the story of a time I actually forgot my pants (the official version of which I hope to post soon).

But we’ll tally it all up at the end of the week and see if Travelpro helps dreamers as well as Road Warriors.

The MSRP for the Walkabout Lite4 20” Expandable Business Plus Rollaboard is $300, and the 26” Expandable Rollaboard Suiter, $400. Both retail for about half of that.

I’m hoping to pull off a TAP Beer of the Day throughout the week, because there will be beer. But no promises, because the days will be long and hard and loaded with (mostly golf) activity. I foresee much nodding off at night, while looming over the laptop.

After landing tomorrow I’m heading straight to the Four Peaks Brewing Company in Tempe (there’s a second location in North Scottsdale). Whether they’ll have any of their touted Pumpkin Porter left on tap will be promptly answered, preferably in the affirmative.

I’ll take what comes the rest of the way; a mini-pub crawl is in the works for Wednesday night in Cave Creek and who knows what by Saturday night. Stay tuned.

All right, profound apologies to Herman Melville, but it was a damp, drizzly November day in Vermont, and I was grim enough about the mouth, when I noticed that UPS had left a few telltale packages at the door.

As I tore into the boxes, unwrapped the clubs and started to put them into the bag, my wife snapped off this picture, which looks anything but grim. Appears more like a genuine S-E grin starting there.

Well, I knew the clubs were coming, since I’d been fitted for them two weeks before. But the Callaway Hyper-Lite stand bag was a happy surprise, since my old PING Hoofer has reached a shaky antique status after long and noble service. It has earned a period of honored rest in the garage before I find someone to give it away to.

Cigar cutter, check; deck of cards, check....

It was easy enough to empty the PING and quickly render the Callaway Hyper-Lite less hyper by checking off the essential items: folding reading glasses (also a Callaway product I noted), regular gloves, cool weather gloves, rain pants, long-sleeve wind shirt, short-sleeve wind shirt, towel, spare towel, sunblock, sunglasses, balls, ball markers, ball marking pen, tees, divot repair tool, cigar cutter and a deck of cards.

The old bag was bedizened with tags from courses I’d visited. I transferred but one for ID purposes, and I was ready to go.

Making the switch to a complete set of new clubs is likely to be something more of a shock. The old set was a bastard child collection no doubt, clubs from TaylorMade, Tour Edge, Mizuno, Bobby Jones and a mid-weight Heavy Putter.

New bag, new clubs, new game?

The new club selection is the same: driver, three wood, five wood (RAZR); three and four hybrids and five through sand wedge irons (RAZR XF). But except for the putter, I’m all Callaway now.

A combination of the lousy weather and a back problem will keep me from swinging the new sticks, alas, until the Golf Road Warriors tee it up Tuesday morning at Troon North in Scottsdale.

I’m not quite sure how things are going to work out with another sponsor, Grow the Game Golf, which works with smart phones and a web program to provide instant scoring and live leaderboards. I have a sinking suspicion that my scores may be broadcast throughout cyberspace right after each triple bogey. This may not make me or Callaway very happy.

But a Golf Road Warrior knows no fear and perhaps less sense, so what the hell. I wish I could say all bets were off, but I think my fellow Warriors have something else in mind, so let the voyage begin.

A Callaway Performance Center

As the plans unfolded for the second Golf Road Warriors trip mounted by The A Position–this one to Scottsdale, Arizona–the good folks at Callaway came on board as a sponsor and offered to custom fit the foursome. Only problem for me in Vermont–no fitting center anywhere nearby.

That seemed like a shame, so in full GRW spirit, I went on the road to get the job done.

Okay, I was heading off on an assignment anyway, to the Lansdowne Resort outside of Washington, D.C. But this was temptingly close to the jumbo Golfdom store in McLean, Virginia, which does over a thousand swing analyses a year at its Callaway Performance Center within.

After a few email exchanges I was set up to meet with the store manager, Matt Trenton, in early November. Matt had me take a few swings with my six iron to warm-up and see what my current numbers were. Then he basically just asked me about my game and what I was looking to get out of a new club.

Testing, testing...

"I don't normally hit it that badly, of course."

The numbers in question are about club head speed, ball speed, launch angle, side angle, back spin, side spin, swing path and the angle of attack. All the fittings at CPCs are done on CPASs–the Callaway Performance Analysis System, and analyze these numbers it does, thanks to a dual camera-based 3D launch monitor system, the same as that used for fitting Callaway’s players on the PGA Tour and LPGA Tour.

“Every player is different, of course, and the motivation may be completely different, too,” said Trenton. “Someone may have been using the same clubs for six years and is basically happy with them but feels it’s time for an overhaul. Or someone may have been using a new set for six weeks and doesn’t like them. Some are just testing the waters.

“We’ll go through that thought process, plus what your current handicap is, how often you play, and are you really looking to get better?

“We then have you hit a club in the Callaway line closest to what you have, and see where those numbers fall in comparison to your clubs. After that we start zeroing in on specific models, with different shafts and so on.”

Matt Trenton crunches the numbers

The numbers are well-crunched after each set of swings. The entire process takes about an hour to an hour and a half, costs $100 a session, with $50 back with a purchase of clubs. The sessions have become a popular gift item, said Trenton, particularly around Christmas time and Father’s Day.

I was pretty much swinging like a rusty gate, but Matt told me what the numbers meant and all did not seem hopeless. With a fairly low back spin rpm, however, I needed something to give me a little boost there.

If heavy on the science of the swing, there’s still an art to a fitting. “We’re not out to sell clubs that wind up sitting in your bag all day long,” said Trenton. “So a player has to be satisfied in two other key ways–does the club feel and sound good, and does it look good?”

There was no question that the clubs that wound up on my specifications form looked very good indeed–the RAZR Hawk Driver, three wood and five wood, and the RAZR XF three and four hybrids and five through sand wedge irons.

The RAZR XF line was introduced only in mid-September, aimed squarely at a mid-handicapper like me.

RAZR XF iron

Heading back north from the Virginia adventure the only remaining problem seemed to be waiting patiently for UPS to deliver the goods. But some early snow in Vermont produced more waiting–to escape the creeping chill.

My first time hitting the clubs outside of Golfdom is going to be on the ground in Scottsdale, at the Monument Course at Troon North on Tuesday. This is a tough assignment for a new set of clubs. But these are, after all, Golf Road Warrior clubs, with the additional TNP specification–take no prisoners.

Golf Road Warrior Tom Bedell with Golfdom manager Matt Trenton, right. (Testing photos by Eric Singer)

A similar tip of the golf cap goes out to sportswriters Neil Hayes and Brian Murphy, who collaborated on The Last Putt: Two Teams, One Dream, and a Freshman Named Tiger (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2010, $26), about the 1995 NCAA Men’s Golf Championship.

There may be a Sooner who doesn’t know that Oklahoma State won the title that year, besting Stanford in the first playoff in the tournament’s then 98-year history. Although I doubt it. (Oklahoma State prevailed again in the only other playoff, in 2000, over Georgia Tech.)

The authors set up the narrative with the final showdown in sight, and then take a leap back for the long buildup over the season to the final payoff. One would think any sense of momentum would be derailed by constant backing up for more back story–profiles of coaches, the players, even the players’ parents and grandparents. Yet all those back stories are so thoroughly researched, fleshed out with detail and compellingly alive, that one just keeps marching through the pages.

One does tend to glaze over the endless list of tournaments and individual scores that fly by, but secure in the knowledge that Hayes and Murphy will soon be serving up more intriguing anecdotes.

And what a cast of characters and contrasts!–the intense, critical yet always supportive coach Mike Holder of Oklahoma State (shepherding such players as Alan Bratton, Chris Tidland, Trip Kuehne and Kris Cox), versus the laid-back and easy-going Wally Goodwin of Stanford, defending its 1994 title.

Stanford’s formidable 1995 squad included seniors Notah Begay and Casey Martin, as well as that already famous freshman named Tiger Woods. Considering all that has befallen Woods since, for good and ill, the book certainly looks back to a more innocent time in his life, although he was one of the few participants who did not cooperate in the authors’ exhaustive research.

No matter, the authors nonetheless make a strong and riveting case for what they call “the greatest NCAA Championship in the history of the sport,” one that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.

***

I’ve drawn up a rap sheet against Zachary Michael Jack’s Let There Be Pebble: A Middle-Handicapper’s Year in America’s Garden of Golf (University of Nebraska Press, 2011, $24.95), beginning with the fact that he spent a year living near Pebble Beach and I didn’t.

It was an inspired idea, no question, Jack’s year in Carmel-by-the-Sea, covering a variety of tournaments leading up to the 2010 U.S. Open, turning into an investigation of what makes playing Pebble Beach the nearly mystical experience that many believe it to be.

When not on deep research sabbaticals Jack teaches literary sports writing and seminars in sports sciences at North Central College in Naperville, Illinois, but I would have handed this one back to him heavily marked. His attempt to commit art here is frequently strained, repetitive and too long, although he unaccountably refers to only one round of his own play at Pebble.

The publisher’s proofreaders and fact checkers were complicitous, too; there are a raft of typos and careless errors–Stuart Cink instead of Stewart, Pat Moriatory instead of Morita, Jean Harlot instead of Harlow, although perhaps this one is more understandable.

Still, these are mostly misdemeanors, irritants, in what is otherwise a fairly rollicking account of Jack’s time in the sun, which brings him cheek-by-jowl with a parade of pros enraptured by the course (including Tom Watson, Johnny Miller and Notah Begay), with actor Bill Murray, with Golf in the Kingdom author Michael Murphy, with billionaire Charles Schwab and former Carmel mayor Clint Eastwood.

Jack’s woeful love life is an appealing background running joke, while his relationship (golfing and otherwise) with his ailing father injects a poignant note into this mid-life crisis odyssey to what Robert Louis Stevenson termed, “the most felicitous meeting of land and sea in creation.”

***

The University of Nebraska Press proofreaders were apparently more alert in going over Bill Kilpatrick’s Brassies, Mashies, & Bootleg Scotch (2011, $16.95), perhaps because the manuscript was smaller, its 164 pages feeling lightweight next to Pebble’s 331.

Yet compared to Jack’s fervid prose, the pace is languid in this genial memoir by a former general features writer, columnist and golf writer for the Fort Myers News-Press in Florida.

Kilpatrick’s father, Bill Sr., was a native Scotsman reared in St. Andrews who turned to greenkeeping and made his way to the United States in 1908 to practice the trade at private New York clubs.

So the young Kilpatrick passed his youth at the Sunningdale Country Club in Scarsdale, the Maidstone Club in East Hampton, and particularly at the National Golf Links of America in Southampton up to World War II, hence the book’s subtitle, “Growing Up on America’s First Heroic Golf Course.”

The book should certainly appeal to fans of Charles Blair Macdonald’s 1911 masterwork, and I count myself among them. I’ve played National but once, yet it remains firmly ensconced in my top five all-time favorites. (Naturally, I was playing well that day.)

There’s not really a firm narrative drive at work here as much as an amiably anecdotal approach in describing the members Kilpatrick sometimes caddied for, workers he occasionally assisted, pros and chums that passed through his boyhood days.

I grew up right next to a golf course, and was more than once chased off the grounds by the superintendent and his dog who, unfounded rumor had it (probably started by the super), liked to bite children.

But I also saw some of the vanishing old methods, lovingly documented here, once used to care for golf course turf. This included the lugging of fire engine-sized hoses to power the fairway sprinklers, an endeavor that turns Kilpatrick into the lyric bard of greenkeeping:

“The sprinklers covered a circle as much as a hundred yards in diameter. Their spray majestic, launched into the air at a high angle and spewing out in a graceful arc, they were all power, and under a bright full moon the spray seemed almost ethereal.”

Speak, memory!

This piece first appeared, in slightly different form, in the October-November 2011 issue of Golf Oklahoma.

Now virtually every brewery in the land, and worldwide for that matter, puts out some kind of holiday ale or winter warmer, usually a strong or spiced or in some way out of the ordinary brew. I went on about this in a piece last year, noting a few others as well as Anchor’s.

But back in 1975 when Anchor brewed its first Our Special Ale, there was virtually nothing similar on the landscape. Fritz Maytag and his crew look positively visionary in retrospect.

Anchor continued the custom annually, supposedly varying the recipe each year, though keeping the brewing details close to the vest. One early version became part of the regular portfolio, however, as Liberty Ale (day-to-day one of my favorite beers).

The company definitely varied the label from year to year with some kind of tree–either stylized or actual. For the arborists in the audience, this year’s specimen is the Bristlecone Pine, and that’s Pinus longaeva for the sophomores in the crowd.

The company produced a nice little video about the whole magilla this year, so why not trot it right out?:

The beer is in its 37th iteration, and I can’t say that I’ve had them all. I barely knew Anchor existed in 1975. But I’ve had most at least since 1988, the first Our Special Ale bottle in my collection.

The beer is always a welcome sight when it appears in stores each November, and not buying at least a six-pack is virtually unthinkable.

Though the brewers won’t say what’s in it, I’ve suspected some kind of spruce adjunct for quite awhile now, or maybe even spruce tips. In any case, the ale is a spicy concoction with clove and nutmeg notes, and its piney aroma in a complex weave of hops, spice and malt all streaming out of the glass.

The beer is nearly opaque, with mahogany hues when held to the light. The flavor delivers all that the bouquet promises–sweet, tangy, full, well-bittered.

The spruce character seems somewhat less aggressive to me than in years’ past, which I think is a good thing. The beer has tended to taste as though it’s straight from the forest, maybe a stand of Bristlecone Pine. It still tends to summon the image of a Christmas tree. And, since ‘tis the season, all is well.

Name: Our Special Ale 2011
Brewer: Anchor Brewing Co., San Francisco
Style: Spice/Herb/Specialty Beer
ABV: 5.5%
Availability: Nov-Feb, nationwide
For More Information: www.anchorbrewing.com

Related posts:
Anchor Porter
Anchor Steam Beer

Kangaroo Island

Congratulations to the U.S. team for its Presidents Cups win in Melbourne earlier today. Watching some of the play on the Royal Melbourne course put me in mind of the time I was fortunate enough to play there. So I thought I’d pull this one out of the vaults as a nod to the land down under, part of a trip I took eight years ago, and which remains one of the high points of my globetrotting.

I’ve left the piece as it was in early 2003. By way of minor update, the Jacob’s Creek Open Championship ended its sponsorship with the Nationwide Tour after the 2007 tournament. Tommy Tolles kept his hand in on some mini-tours, winning a 2007 tournament on the Tarheel Tour, now the eGolf Professional Tour.

***

It was after emerging from the sheep-shearing shed on Kangaroo Island that it began to sink in, looking up into a night sky I had never seen before, and finally finding the Southern Cross: I was below the equator for the first time, in a new country, on a new continent.

I wasn’t there to shear sheep. The shed had been transformed into a dining room for a few golf writers, golf tour officials, and employees of our host, Jacob’s Creek. The Australian wine company was the primary sponsor of the Jacob’s Creek Open Championship, the first Nationwide Tour event of the year and the first of two tournaments co-sanctioned with the PGA Tour Australasia.

It was the first of a packed two weeks in Australia for me, the first in and around Adelaide, the second in Melbourne and environs, roaming over some of the country’s finest golf courses, sampling plenty of its fine food, and wine, and beer, and enjoying the hospitable and energetic Aussies. Australia may be far away, but it’s nice to know we still have friends somewhere in the world.

True, some may interpret Scott Kelf’s suggestion that I try some Vegemite for breakfast as a hostile act. Scott, from Melbourne, was my seatmate on the Qantas flight, which lasted about fourteen hours. (Luckily, I was in business class, with a six-hour flight to L.A. behind me, and another hour’s flight from Melbourne to Adelaide ahead of me).

Scott filled me on the Aussies’ sports mania, particular for Aussie Rules Football, a roughhouse blend of rugby, our soccer (their football) and our football (gridiron), though with little protective equipment.

And then there’s cricket. Since the Cricket World Cup was underway in South Africa, attended to by much of the rest of the world if ignored in ours, I made dogged and repeated attempts to interpret the rules. I made feeble progress, though I’m on top of it enough to know that Australia is currently in the lead, and the final match is Sunday.

Vegemite jars are stamped with a “Best Before…” date, and the phrase seems a bit euphemistic. Even the flight attendant suggested I might not be ready for such a taste adventure. But the stuff is made primarily from spent yeast and malt extracts used in brewing, and a lot of salt, so how bad could it be? Australians are raised on Vegemite, and love it. (However, no one in Australia drinks Foster’s Lager.)

Scott said to spread a lot of butter on my toast, and then cover it with a thin veneer of Vegemite. It wasn’t actually that bad. Sort of like a spreadable bouillon.

It was a benign omen that things are a little different down under. I sure felt different, and never quite shook the sensation that I was living in a parallel universe from home, where it was a day earlier, freezing, looking distantly toward spring. In Australia, it was sunny, toasty warm, heading toward fall.

Good golfing weather, to be sure. After landing in Adelaide, South Australia’s capital and the country’s fifth-largest city, I was whisked an hour north to the prime wine-making region, the Barossa Valley. Next to the Jacob’s Creek Heritage Site, where Bavarian immigrant Johann Gramp planted the first vines in 1847, we fired some short irons at a temporary flag.

Jeff Wallach displaying some beach cricket form

Tom Mackin works on his sand play on Kangaroo Island

This included fellow golf writers Jeff Wallach, Tom Harack, and Golf Magazine associate editor Tom Mackin, all of who had arrived a few days earlier. We made great hay throughout the trip that three of us were named Tom, and with the Aussie penchant for nicknames, we were soon known as Beds, Harry, and Macca.

Les Perchevski, originally from Newcastle, Australia, now lives near San Francisco and runs a market in Corte Madera that sells enough Jacob’s Creek wine that he garnered an invitation, too. Greg Stirling, a senior brand manager, was our Jacob’s Creek impresario for the week.

If I was spacey from travel, my cohorts were logy from just having sampled the entire Jacob’s Creek portfolio (about 18 varieties) with one of the winemakers, Bernie Hickin. They tasted a few again in a lavish lunch at the site, which introduced us to the local King George Whiting fish.

The lunch almost made dinner that evening redundant, but we strolled down the boardwalk from our seaside Stamford Grand Hotel in suburban Glenelg, where I tried the tasty barramundi lungfish at the trendy Salt restaurant.

All in all, we were in fine shape for the pro-am the next day at the Kooyonga Golf Club, where the tournament proper was to be held. I was teamed with Greg, Harry, and Peter O’Malley, the Aussie who beat Tiger Woods 2 and 1 in the opening round of last year’s WGC-World Match Play Championship.

(Left to right) Pro-am partners Tom Harack, Peter O'Malley, Greg Stirling, Tom Bedell

O’Malley splits his year between Australia and England, where he plays the European Tour. Now 93 in the world rankings, the 37-year-old displayed some marvelous driving accuracy and near-wizardry with his short irons. “I figure I get about 80 percent of my shots from 160 yards and in, to within eight to ten feet of the cup,” he said, and he went on to prove it.

On the fourth hole, I actually out drove O’Malley, and we were playing from the same tees. (He was using a three wood to my driver, but still.) My bragging rights lasted only until he walked away from the hole with a birdie to my bogey, and I was reduced to saying, “That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

The Tommy Tolles incident occurred near the end of the gala dinner that evening at the Stamford. Tolles, 36, from Flat Rock, North Carolina, was riding high on the PGA Tour in 1996 and 1997, winning over $800,000 each year, ranking 16 and 27 respectively. He never won on the big tour, though he came tantalizingly close in some big tournaments—third in the 1996 PGA, second in the 1996 Players Championship, third in the 1997 Masters. But after 1997, things started to head south. I’d always wondered why, and his caddy, Mark Pace, said, “Ask him.”

Five Toms: Pros Tolles and Biershenk (left and center) and writers Bedell, Mackin and Harack

So when Tolles wandered within earshot, I did. But all my traveling mates heard was the blunt, “So what the hell happened?” and for the rest of the trip suggested that my zinger would destroy any hopes Tolles had of playing well, now or ever, and that he would probably be seeking me out before the end of the trip to throttle me.

I protested that they hadn’t heard my sensitive lead-up to the question, in which I praised Tolles for single-handedly helping me win my golf rotisserie league in 1997, and that ever since I had looked for his name in tournament results.

“You’d have to look pretty low, lately,” he admitted.

With that out of the bag, I decided it was okay to ask, “So what the hell happened?”

Tolles pointed to his head, and said, “It’s all between the ears.”

I began to wonder. The next day we took our side trip to sample the natural wonders of Kangaroo Island, and where we heard from the mainland that Tolles had opened the tournament with five consecutive bogeys, and wasn’t likely to make the cut. “You’re a dead man walking,” said my mates.

Our meal in the former sheep-shearing shed had been another eye-opening production—spit-roasted grain-fed beef topped with Kangaroo Island lobster and béarnaise sauce with vegetables. There were four Jacob’s Creek wine selections, and a sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce dessert that was worth flying all day for alone.

Outside, looking skyward, contentedly filled, I contemplated that whatever universe I was in, it was a good one. All I had to worry about was being clubbed to death by Tommy Tolles.

Johnny Bench

Here at The A Position we’re given a topic to address (or not) each month for The A List feature, in a neat 150 words or so. The November challenge was to offer our assistance to Presidents Cup captains Fred Couples and Greg Norman in naming celebrity co-captains that might really get the boys going this week in Melbourne. We even enlisted the guest services of baseball Hall-of-Famer Johnny Bench in taking a swing at the question.

Click here to see whom Johnny and my colleagues put forward–not all of them actually living, mind you. My contribution follows, and naturally I’d be willing to tee it up with my picks anytime, anywhere.

***

I’d go with Cate Blanchett for the Internationals and Cameron Diaz for the U.S. squad. And it’s even possible (if not entirely probable) to look beyond the usual sexist reasons, though there’s no denying that both are babes.

Blanchett is an Aussie, which will lend her beaming smile home-court wattage in Melbourne. And it’s not like she’s never had a club in her hand: In her role as Katherine Hepburn in “The Aviator,” Blanchett did her actorly training for a golf scene with Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughes, not that we ever quite detect her swinging the club:

As for Diaz, she’s been quoted as saying that golf is more addictive than crack cocaine. True, not a slogan Fred will want to sew onto the team blazers, yet indicative of her magnetic zeal. But should boyfriend A-Rod (shown with her, left) join her down under, Fred should keep him away from the practice range: Last big swing A-Rod took was a whiff.

Cameron Diaz and A-Rod at home on the range

Bonus question (for which I have no answer): Anyone recognize the course/resort the beautiful couple is practicing at?

Nice of Stone to release their Veterans’ Day Vertical Epic Ale 11.11.11 a few days earlier than the label date. That meant I actually found a few bottles on the Brattleboro Food Co-op shelves today. And since I’m a vet, my path seemed clear.

It also seemed apt that the chilies in the beer–yes, chiles–came from the Hatch Valley in New Mexico, since I was mainly stationed in New Mexico back in my army days. (I was an MP, but you’ll have to get me pretty liquored up before I start dishing army stories.)

Dr. Fabian Garcia

Let’s talk about Dr. Fabian Garcia instead. A member of the first graduating class in 1894 of the New Mexico College of Agriculture and Mechanical Arts (later to become NMSU), Garcia eventually returned to serve as a professor of horticulture for more than 40 years.

And it was his work in breeding cultivars that led to the New Mexico No. 9 chile in 1913–also known as the Anaheim or long green–and the main deal in Hatch, where the annual Hatch Valley Chile Festival is held in early September.

As I said in my review of the 09.09.09 beer on 10.10.10, the brewery’s Vertical Epic series began on 02.02.02, continuing on 03.03.03, 04.04.04 and so on, the next brew always appearing a year, a month and a day after its predecessor. Though all are strong beers made with Belgian ale yeasts, each recipe is different (in more ways than one), and so the notion of an actual vertical tasting of the eleven ultimate releases is a bit of a misnomer.

No matter–should be a lot of fun on 12.12.12 anyway, when those who have managed to annually horde bottles begin sharing their stashes.

For the record, I have a bottle each of the 09-11 releases. So far. I was quite fond of the 09.09.09 Imperial Belgian Porter, less enamored of the 10.10.10, which added wine grapes and chamomile to the mix.

I’d say Stone has nailed it again. The 11.11.11 is a reddish amber ale with all sorts of intriguing and appealing aromatics swirling together–banana esters from the Flanders Golden ale yeast, touches of clove, cedar, cinnamon, and a suggestion of chile peeking through.

This is all apparent in the flavor as well, though the chile rises immediately to the foreground. Not in flamethrower fashion–the chiles used are mild green Anaheim chilies, and they add more zest than real heat, although it’s there, and lingers through the finish. The light addition of cinnamon is at play as well.

At a hefty 9.4% ABV, the beer has plenty of sweet malt character at work as well, and the interplay of all the varied elements add up to a complex, compelling, and quite delicious beer.

I’m thinking I may have to go buy a few more, so I was happy to see the bomber bottle coming in at well under $10. (All the $15 to $25 bottles of beer I’ve been running across lately are becoming vexing.)

Bring me the chiles of Fabian Garcia!

Name: 11.11.11 Vertical Epic Ale
Brewer: Stone Brewing Co., San Diego, California
Style: Belgian spiced ale
ABV: 9.4%
Availability: Nationwide, but usually doesn’t last long.
For More Information: stonebrew.com

All this because ‘tis the season for pumpkin ales, which I suspect are now outselling Oktoberfest beers as far as fall seasonals go. I was going to bypass them this year but as I was just on a whirlwind trip to Cape Breton, where the fall colors were still vibrant, it’s only a week from Halloween and a Propeller Pumpkin Ale came to hand–so be it.

This isn’t my first acquaintance with the Propeller Brewing Company, as my book group buddy, Mary Lou Treat, brought me a six-pack of the Propeller IPA after her last visit to her Nova Scotia summer home.

And it was a treat. The less assertive hop character might have put this more in line with an English IPA than a west coast U.S. IPA, but it does come on strong at 6.5% ABV. And in any case, there are plenty of hops to keep all but the most rabid satisfied.

Our ride to Cape Breton

So I thought I was lucky then. But then the offer came to visit Nova Scotia, specifically Cape Breton, and visit it in style, aboard a privately chartered eight-seater Citation Sovereign jet. The point of the trip wasn’t to drink Propeller Pumpkin Ale–except as a further incidental exhibit of Nova Scotian talents. The point was to visit and play at the new Cabot Links golf course in Inverness, as well as a classic Cape Breton course, Highland Links.

And this we did–we being a group of eight golf travel writers, editors and publishers–taking off from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey and landing in Port Hawkesbury, where we boarded a comfortable bus well-equipped with beers from Nova Scotian micros (Propeller and Garrison) as well home-baked cookies and scones courtesy of Katherine MacDonald’s mom. (Katherine is the director of marketing for Golf Cape Breton.)

The golf I’ll go into in greater detail in another venue. But briefly, there’s going to be plenty to celebrate in terms of golf up this way, both in the full scale opening of Cabot Links in early July, and in the continuing work at Highland Links, not to mention the other four courses that make up the Golf Cape Breton association.

Highland Links

Highland Links was our first stop, a more than 70-year-old Stanley Thompson design that makes full use of the bold contours and backdrops of its locale within the Cape Breton Highlands National Park. The course has been tinkered with over the years but is in the throes of a restoration.

David Baum, publisher of Golf Odyssey and Golf Vacation Insider, in the throes of the lobster feed

Playing partner Vic Williams and I tried an Alexander Keith’s IPA out on the course. It had no bold contours; it was like any pale lagerish Canadian ale, with no hop character to speak of at all.

We had better luck that evening at the Castle Rock Inn in Ingonish Ferry where we stayed, and where we had a traditional Cape Breton lobster feed, which involves tossing lobsters onto a table covered in newspapers, the heck with the plates, and then digging in atavistically.

We had a choice to wash down the lobster (and a killer chowder) with Keith’s Red Amber Ale, a Clancy’s Amber Ale (from Moosehead), and a Rickard’s Dark (made by Molson). As a passable porter the Rickard’s was actually the most interesting of the bunch, save for the Propeller.

Okay, so, John Patch did not invent the Archimedes Screw. (Nor did Mrs. Archimedes.) The term is a colloquialism for a marine screw propeller, as Archimedes used a rotating screw as a mention of lifting water for irrigation. The principle was turned toward shipping in the early 1800’s, and one of the first demonstrations came in 1833 with an invention by Patch, a Yarmouth sea captain.

John Patch

But the SS Archimedes launched as the first steam-driven screw propeller vessel (with a design by Francis Pettit Smith) in England in 1835, and any credit Patch was due was already evaporating. He was never able to patent his design, and he eventually died in poverty in Yarmouth.

John Allen ran across the Patch history when seeking a name for the microbrewery he was starting. Since Allen was a props man himself in the TV and film industry, it all seemed to fit, and the Propeller Brewing Company took off in Halifax in 1997.

PBC has a few seasonals and seven year-round beers. “We’re big on keeping it classic and represent the beers to style the best way we can,” said sales and marketing director Andrew Cooper.

The Pumpkin Ale first appeared 2004. “It was a logical fall seasonal,” said Cooper. “It’s become legendary in Halifax. We do send some across Canada, but it flies off the shelves as fast as it can be stocked. It’s a good representation of the style, but quite accessible, not too over the top.”

It’s an apt assessment–though there are the usual pumpkin pie spices at play, the beer is skewed more toward ale than dessert, with a nice hop finish.

Maybe the pumpkins have something to do with it. The brewery uses the world’s largest pumpkin variety, Dill’s Atlantic Giant.

Seems the late Howard Dill, a farmer from Windsor, Nova Scotia, was obsessed with growing giant pumpkins, to the point of endless experimentation with genetic crossbreeding. He was successful beyond words, and was able to trademark his seed varieties–which have spawned giant pumpkin competitions worldwide ever since.

For the record, the current record is a 1818.5 pound behemoth grown by Jim and Kelsey Bryson of Ormstown, Quebec. Or rather, was, since the pumpkin was then shipped off to the New York Botanical Gardens where master pumpkin carver Ray Villafane turned it into a aptly gruesome part of this year’s Haunted Pumpkin Garden. Here’s a video of Ray at work on the Bryson’s great pumpkin:

The Dill farm and Howard Dill Enterprises, now run by his son and daughter, is a major tourist stop in Nova Scotia. The Propeller Brewing Company is good for tours, too, and heading there is not a bad idea, since the beers are not available in the U.S. unless a friend transports some south.

Once in Halifax, it’s only about a three and a half hour drive to Cape Breton. And now that Cabot Links is built and set to officially open July 1, people will come.

They’re coming already, of course–Cape Breton was named the Best Island Destination in the continental U.S. and Canada in a 2011 Travel & Leisure poll, and it wasn’t hard to see why as we roamed over the Cabot Trail on our way to the golf course. The 298 kilometer (185 mile) roadway loops over the northern tip of the island, and the consistently scenic splendor backs up the current marketing slogans, “There’s no wrong turn,” or “Where the mountains meet the sea.”

Cabot Links is in Inverness, and the course wends from the town to the sea in classic links golf style. Ten holes opened for play this July, and we were privileged to be the first journalists to sample the full 18, if with still fairly shaggy greens on the newer holes. So tireless tweeter Stephanie Wei was fully justified in claiming the women’s course record when she shot a 79 on our second day of play on this coastal joy.

The course is designed by Ron Whitman, surely his masterwork to date. Whitman was involved pretty much from the beginning with managing partner Ben Cowan-Dewar–who eventually enticed Mike Keiser into becoming involved. When Keiser brought his Bandon Dunes playbook along, success was virtually assured, although it’s been a long road since Cowan-Dewer and Whitman first walked the land in 2005 and began acquiring 13 separate land parcels.

Cabot Links ninth hole

Like the courses at Bandon, Cabot Links will be walking only, but a mesmerizing stroll it is. It broke my heart to drop out of the second round due a back condition which has been bedeviling me for a few months, but it was pleasure enough just to be on the grounds, so attractive is the pull of sea and links land here. And heading back to the airport for our flight home a reprise of the Propeller Pumpkin Ale was succor at least.

Meat darts? About what it sounds like, according to Katherine. For a $5 or $10 entry fee at the legion hall or local bar on meat dart nights, players can compete for prizes that range from lowly bologna to more desirable moose steaks or loin of veal.

You can’t do everything in 48 hours, so no one took home any meaty prizes. But having seen Cabot Links once, there’s little choice in wanting to return as soon as possible. Next time, meat darts and more Propeller beer for sure.

Name: Propeller Pumpkin Ale
Brewer: Propeller Brewing Co. (John Allen Brewing Company Ltd.)
Style: Pumpkin Ale
ABV: 5%
Availability: You might find some through October, mainly in Nova Scotia.
For More Information: www.drinkpropeller.ca

Cabot Links

Tom Doak

Here at The A Position we’re given a topic to address (or not) each month for The A List feature, in a neat 150 words or so. The October challenge was inspired by Halloween, and we were asked to come up with treats or tricks–things we’re enamored with in our relationship with the game, or the mean-spirited opposite. We asked golf architect Tom Doak to chime in, and he offered a little of each.

Click here to see what Tom Doak and my colleagues put into the sack–or if they pulled out the can of shaving cream and let fly.

My contribution follows, if more about golf travel than the play itself.

***

What’s better than a massage? I’m like the Will Rogers of massages: Having been through a worldwide menu of spa treatments, I’ve never met one I didn’t like.

A treatment room at the Sense Spa at CordeValle

I should start ranking them like golf courses. For me the Pine Valley of massages was one I had a few years back at the CordeValle Resort in California—before it starting raining hot dogs on Tiger Woods out on the Robert Trent Jones Jr. golf course. It’s still on the Sense Spa menu, the two-hour Rain Room Rejuvenation.

What was essentially a steam bath followed by a horizontal shower—as close as one can come to being in a human car wash—was followed by an exfoliating scrub and deep-tissue massage. I’m not sure if it was more rejuvenating or stupefying, but I’m still looking for the treatment to top it.

[See a longer post about the CordeValle Resort here.]

What’s this heresy? I could go on and on why I think football is less of a healthy pastime in this country and more of a disease, but why bother? I know I’m in the minority, so I’ll just try to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs, painting them two colors, or stuffing them in over-sized foam hats.

But basically, I can’t see what all the excitement is about, unless it’s the betting. (That I can understand.) The games themselves are dreadful time-sucking bores on television. They speak to American excess however, in that the games are overly wrapped in wasteful packaging, with precious little meat on the bone.

To speak of the games being boring may sound strange from someone who would far rather watch baseball or golf. Football adrenaline junkies no doubt find these sports somnambulistic.

But baseball and golf are more individualized thinking man’s (or woman’s) games. Yes, baseball is a team sport, but when a batter is at the plate it’s one against nine. To win a golf tournament a player has to overcome a virtual horde.

Football, despite all the playbooks and specialists and endless X and O diagrams, is still basically about getting clobbered. It’s a militaristic advance and retreat that can’t help but appeal to the aggressive natures in players and spectators.  Good old George Carlin always had it right, when he said football was about “advancing deep into enemy territory,” while baseball is about, “going home.”

But then I said I wasn’t going to say anything. So I should move onto the beer. But even that bothers me in a football context, since many viewing party-goers or tailgaters drink too much beer, and too much lousy beer, and none of it works out well in the end.

If it weren’t for the boorish behavior, I could get behind tailgating, though, since it has potential for good communal fun, with grilled meats.

The San Diego-based TailGate Beer company launched its Blacktop Blonde in January, and followed up with its Hefeweizen about the time the football season kicked off. The name bespeaks the market the company has in mind, with a goal to bridge the gap between canned craft beers and canned mainstream beers.

Other than the obvious difference that both TailGate beers are ales, and not mass market bellywash lagers, neither is pushing any brewing envelope. That may be astute marketing, since pounding mainstream drinkers with a heavily hopped beer might not work out well. (The tide does seem to be turning in the direction of more flavorful beers even among the masses, but it’s still a big ocean.)

The Blacktop Blonde, said to be named with the help of Jay DiEugenio (otherwise known as Jay the Tailgate Guy), does have some Magnum and Cascade hops in the mix to lend a lightly spicy character. But this is an easy-drinking light ale. It’s a bit hazy in the glass–and yes, drinkers are encouraged to pour canned as well as bottled beers into a glass. There’s a distinct aroma of pineapple and a bit of pineapple tang in the flavor as well.

The Hefeweizen, too, has a bit of a canned pineapple juice aroma, along with a touch of sulphur, perhaps the barest hint of a clove character. But this slightly hazy golden brew seems to be in a limbo unlikely to appeal to too many tailgaters or craft brew fans. It reminds me of the old Rodney Dangerfield (not Carlin) joke: “I said to my wife, ‘Honey, was that good for you?’ and she said, ‘I don’t think that was good for anyone.’”

The TailGate beers, like the canned beers from San Francisco’s 21st Amendment Brewery, are contract-brewed in Minnesota at the Cold Spring Brewery. As mentioned in this post, Cold Spring is perhaps best known for having produced the infamous Billy Beer, back in the day.

If he were still alive and drinking it might be interesting to know what Billy Carter would favor these days. He might venture a spin on the blacktop, or even be downing some Georgia micros. The odds are he’d still be out in the mainstream mid-ocean, but at least unlikely to paint his face blue and gold.

Name: Blacktop Blonde and Hefeweizen
Brewer: TailGate Beer, San Diego, California
Style: Blonde ale and Hefeweizen
ABV: 5.0% and 4.9%
Availability: Year-round, four states: CA, MN, ND, PA.
For More Information: www. tailgatebeer.com

My last visit, chronicled here, turned into a quest to find Ambar Cerveza Oscura, the darker-hued sibling to the ubiquitous Presidente, the flagship beer of the sole brewery in the DR, the Cervecería Nacional Dominicana. With no more nights to spare on that trip, I was finally successful.

So this time I thought I’d get my order in early, so to speak, shortly after arriving at the Casa de Campo resort. At a cocktail party for our arriving group of golf writers, I already had a Presidente in hand when I met the resort’s general manager, Daniel Hernández Quiñones, and expressed the hope that he might be able to track down an Ambar for me.

As it turned out, he was not able, but he didn’t let me down, either.

Nor did anything else about the resort. I’ve been writing about Pete Dye’s Teeth of the Dog course for years–without ever seeing it–because one can’t write about golf in the Caribbean without mentioning it.

The Dye Fore Chavón nine

Ever since it opened in 1971, preceding the opening of Casa de Campo in 1975, Dye’s course has routinely been considered one of the best in the world. (Number 47 in GOLF Magazine’s current Top 100 Courses in the World list.) Its seven holes right on the water (four on the front side, three incoming) have become something of a Caribbean template.

The first seaside hole, number five, is an iconic eye-opening par-3 that starts putting the teeth into the course, which is showing no signs of wear. Dye has returned twice to polish the Teeth, which he still calls one of his favorites.

Others enjoy the Links course (undergoing work during our visit), and some have gone so far as to call the Dye Fore course their favorite. It was mainly to see nine new Dye holes that our group was invited, a nine that will become part of a 27-hole Dye Fore layout.

With the former front nine of Dye Fore (the Marina nine) also undergoing work, we began on the former back nine, now called the Chavón nine since it plays high above the Chavón River in spectacular fashion. In hopes of doing something completely different for the new nine, Dye went to small and sometimes tabletop greens in a links-style nine.

Eric Lillibridge, director of instruction at the resort’s Jim McLean Golf School gives a brief intro here:

Just as we were finishing up our round at Dye Fore some nasty looking clouds rolled impressively in, and the ensuing storm was a dozy.

Mostly the weather was drippingly hot, and under the circumstances Presidente sure began to seem like the beer of choice.There are others–Cervecería Nacional Dominicana also makes a Presidente Light and another cerveza tipo Pilsner, Bohemia and Bohemia Light. But the call of “beer” in these parts provokes the smiling response of “Presidente” to any local I spoke to, almost a point of national pride.

Presidente is a totally unremarkable pale lager, made with sugar and corn grits adjuncts, the kind of beer I pretty much stopped drinking years ago. So I was a little surprised by how much I was looking forward to one, or several, after coming off the golf course.

Golf writer Art Stricklin lines up a shot

Or after a round of shooting clays, one of the many non-golf activities available at the 7,000-acre resort. The shooting center is spread out on 245 acres, with 300 different stations available. Our group headed over, put on a protective vest, were handed a box of 25 shells and earplugs, and were soon merrily blasting away.

I expected to hit absolutely nothing. True, I was a sharpshooter with an M-16 back in my army days, but I think I’ve fired a rifle exactly once since the early 70’s. More surprise, when I had 17 hits, tops in our crew. But it was hot and sweaty work–time for another Presidente.

The weather wasn’t all that was hot. The Zimmerman Agency had arranged the trip and the two capable reps they had on the Casa case, Kerry Anne Watson and Jennifer Gillespie, also happen to be stunners. And one of the invitees, Renee Knorr, is the fashion and beauty director for The 19th Hole Magazine.

Left to right, Jennifer Gillespie, Renee Knorr, Kerry Anne Watson

Golf press trips rarely have a pulchritude level this high. Renee has, unsurprisingly, modeled and done film work, and she wore one killer outfit after another on and off the golf course, though if that dress above looks good from the front, its absence in the back was also tough to beat (eyes right).

The emphasis on fashion is something of a tradition here, if one recalls that the 1971 Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue used Teeth of the Dog as a backdrop.

The resort was owned in the early days by Gulf+Western, which owned Paramount Pictures, and a few movies were filmed on location here as well. (Dip back into “Apocalypse Now” and check out the river scenes, filmed on the Chavón River, pre-Dye Fore days.)

A Paramount set designer created Altos de Chavón, an artist gallery and shopping area near the Dye Fore course, made to look like a Mediterranean village. I took a stroll through one morning and it seemed like a fashion shoot was going on around every bend.

The cameras were firing the last night of our visit as well, as we’d all been asked to dress in white for a dinner at the Beach Club by Le Cirque.

White Night at the Beach Club by Le Cirque--Canadian golf writer Brian Kendall didn't get the memo.

Daniel Hernández Quiñones was at the dinner and he turned a little white himself when I mentioned that the Ambar beer had never shown up. As I soon discovered, he then set the wheels to turning, turning to executive chef Luca Banfi, something of a beer nut himself after over a decade of work in craft beer-crazy San Diego.

I’d spoken to Luca earlier in the trip and found out he’d been at beer-food pairing at a San Diego Beer Weekend event in June, 2010 that I had attended. Sure enough, when I returned home I spotted him in a photo I’d taken then–small world, getting smaller all the time.

Before long a Erdinger Dunkelweiss was sitting on the table and a Köstritzer Schwarzbier in the ice chest. I was a happy man, but still, I wondered aloud, no Ambar? Daniel pulled out his phone, and an acquaintance told him he didn’t believe it was being made anymore.

This I later confirmed–Cervecería Nacional Dominicana ceased production of Ambar in February. Descansa en paz.

I was a happy man as well when I asked Jennifer Gillespie to strike a pose and my misbehaving camera caught her at just the right moment. I think we have a chance to turn Jennifer into the Farrah Fawcett poster girl of the 21st century–if anyone reading is old enough to know what I mean by that.

Name: Presidente
Brewer: Cervecería Nacional Dominicana
Style: Pale lager
ABV: 5%
Availability: Ubiquitous in the Dominican Republic; 15 states east of the Mississippi and Washington, D.C.
For More Information: www.cnd.com.do

Click here to see what golf shibboleths Duffy and my colleagues decided needed toppling. My contribution follows, with the only further thought that I wouldn’t mind teeing it up with Duffy, either.

***

“Hi, Tom, it’s Mark Steinberg. I have a slot open for you to play a round with Tiger Woods and wonder if you can make it?”

Okay, Tiger’s agent isn’t going to be calling me any time soon, but you know what, Steiny? The answer is no thanks, anyway, because I’m certain there’d be precious little in the way of authentic invitation behind such an offer, yet a storehouse of calculation.

I’ve played with Ernie Els, David Duval, Loren Roberts, Matt Gogel, 2005 U.S. Women’s Open champion Birdie Kim and other pros. And, in what remains my greatest thrill in golf, I lucked into a full 18 at Bay Hill with Arnold Palmer, and tipped beers with him in the locker room, too. So I’ve had my share of rubbing shoulders.

But do I want to play with the greatest golfer of them all? Sure, if Nicklaus calls, I’m ready.

[Click here to see a review of "The Swinger" and here for a piece about Tiger during the scandal.]

Well, they’re juicy, for one thing. But in the hands of Sports Illustrated writers Michael Bamberger and Alan Shipnuck, they become suspenseful, comic and poignant by turns.

The Swinger (Simon & Schuster, 2011, $25) it should be noted, is neither an instructional book nor one you’ll want to let the kids get their hands on. The co-authors have not left the X-rated stuff out of this roman á clef, and readers will be forgiven for trying to figure out how many of the shenanigans depicted actually occurred. Isn’t that the appeal of the genre?

[Click here for a piece about Tiger during the scandal and here for a piece about playing with Tiger.]

The French literary term roman á clef literally means novel with a key. Though actual names and events are altered, if you figure out the key, you presumably unlock the passageway between fiction and truth.

With The Swinger a reader doesn’t really need the key; the door pretty much swings wide open: Tree Tremont is Tiger Woods, Will Martinsen is Phil Mickelson, Belinda DeCarlo is Elin Nordegren, Andrew Finkelman of the IGM agency is Mark Steinberg, formerly of the IMG agency–and so on and so on.

Sure, Belinda is Italian, not Swedish. The yacht is called Off Course instead of Privacy. Tree’s mother is from Chicago, not Thailand. But when Tree utters such press conferences Tigerisms as, “Family is everything to me,” or, “Welcome to my world,” we know what world we’re in.

I confess that I wasn’t really expecting much from The Swinger. Most books in the roman á clef genre tend to be fairly trashy, with Harold Robbins’ The Carpetbaggers (said to be based on Howard Hughes and Jean Harlow) as one dubiously classic example. Alternately, one could point to Robert Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men as an example that ascends to literature (his Willie Stark modeled after Huey Long).

Shipnuck and Bamberger aren’t aiming that high, and there’s plenty of trashy behavior in the book, but they have good story-telling instincts, and they’ve invested the character of Tree with enough complexity and the events with enough public complicity that the story rises above mere ripped-from-the-headlines retelling.

Warren used Jack Burden, a political reporter hired by Willie Stark and working through his own troubles, as the insider narrator. The Swinger supplies Josh Dutra, a sports reporter with an ex-wife and mounting debts, newly hired by the Tree Corp to help contain certain cracks beginning to appear in Tree’s carefully constructed public persona.

The story is basically told in three acts–before the fall, after the sexual allegations hit the proverbial fan (all told with mounting anticness), and then Tree’s month-long stint in a recovery facility–before gliding to a close.

Dutra, who had written about Tremont early in his career, characterizes him thusly:

[His] parents…hadn’t worked in years. Tree was their job. He was an only child, homeschooled by his mother and coached exclusively and secretly by his father until Tree entered, at age nineteen, the first tournament of his life, a U.S. Open where he finished ninth. Since then he had become not just the most dominant golfer of all time but also the richest, most powerful, and most popular athlete in the world. He was modest and handsome with perfect Hollywood teeth and the family to go with them: the beautiful wife, the adorable twins. Everybody wanted a piece of the action, and before long Tree Tremont became the first celebrity ever to have endorsement deals with Coke and Pepsi.

Dutra knows that Tree is a consummate actor, and that his squeaky clean image is just that, that the façade conceals a highly profane individual, prone to cheapness, probably drug dependent, and increasingly inattentive to details that suggest he is indeed “stepping out.”

But even as Dutra slides deeper into covering up Tremont’s, well, mounting indiscretions, he can’t rid himself of his ambivalence because of the man’s undeniable charm, his unworldly skills on a golf course, and his depth of knowledge about the game’s history–golf being, besides his children, Tremont’s purest abiding love.

Once the sexual revelations begin to hit the internet, the tabloids, the talk shows–and once Belinda hits Tree with a fireplace poker (instead of a five iron), leaving him with the face that launches a thousand quips–the story loses a little narrative steam in having to cover the sexting transcriptions, legal wranglings, allegations of homosexuality and steroid use.

Alan Shipnuck (Photo by Meredith Evans)

Michael Bamberger (Photo by Erick W. Rasco)

But the third act takes place at the Walden Pond Wellness Center in Mississippi, and includes perhaps the funniest set piece in the whole book, as Tree literally counts up and describes for Belinda each of his sexual encounters. Not to give too much away, but there are quite a few.

And it’s here where the authors, after serving up two hundred pages of reprehensible behavior on Tremont’s part, somehow manage to make him seem sympathetic, in many ways a victim himself, of his own and others’ unrealistic expectations for him, and possibly, possibly, now trying to make things right.

The Tiger Woods story is still unfolding in unpredictable ways–his firing of his long-time caddy Steve Williams, his lingering injury that has scuttled this season for him while making his pursuit of the Jack Nicklaus majors record increasingly uncertain.

But it’s still not giving too much away to say that The Swinger ends on a sweet and upbeat note, with most of the characters pairing off as neatly as in a Shakespeare comedy, and a new major title in the bag for Tree Tremont.

Tiger Woods should be so lucky.

***

This piece first appeared, in slightly different form, in the August-September 2011 issue of Golf Oklahoma.