SI Vault
 
PUBLIC OPINION
Michael Bamberger
February 18, 2013
WITH ITS STEEP PRICE TAG, STREAMSONG WON'T APPEAL TO EVERYONE, BUT THE ESSENCE OF THE BREATHTAKING, 36-HOLE FACILITY IN THE FLORIDA WILDERNESS IS THAT IT OFFERS UP GOLF IN ITS PUREST FORM
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
February 18, 2013

Public Opinion

WITH ITS STEEP PRICE TAG, STREAMSONG WON'T APPEAL TO EVERYONE, BUT THE ESSENCE OF THE BREATHTAKING, 36-HOLE FACILITY IN THE FLORIDA WILDERNESS IS THAT IT OFFERS UP GOLF IN ITS PUREST FORM

View CoverRead All Articles

To start, I offer you some neutral, Wiki-style boilerplate: Streamsong is a new central Florida golf complex with two public courses on a remote stretch of neo-linksland in Polk County, about 80 miles south of Disney World, with a Blue course designed by Tom Doak and a Red one designed by Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw.

Yes, you say: But are they good?

Well, if $370 for 36 holes is in your golf budget, I urge you to get there and decide for yourself. (Resort public, but public.) Given the people behind the place, the dearth of American introductions in recent years, and Streamsong's open-door policy, you owe it to yourself. Plus, everybody seems to be shouting an opinion about something these days, giving out grades, handing out numbers. I'm on strike.

That the courses are spectacular is not a question. They are Thomas Hart Bentons, big-armed manly grotesques, with, like the Benton murals, a peculiar beauty. They are sui generis. The guys, Doak and Coore-Crenshaw, were surely showing off for each other all through construction and here we are a couple years later, losing track as we count up our three-putt greens. One downhill putt of mine finished in the water. In fact, over two days and 45 holes, I lost more balls than I made pars. (It is a place of wide fairways and wider ponds.) But it's all good. Really. You're playing golf, right? Even better, you're playing golf in the wilderness. Three miles of dirt road were paved over so you could get your unlimited-mileage rental to the clubhouse. The speed limit signs are marked 18.

Arnold Palmer said recently that he thought about building courses on drives through this stretch of armadillo country years ago. The Mosaic Company, miners of phosphate for fertilizer, beat him to it. The Mosaic bosses backed the project on a vast sandy tract the company already owned. Many of the holes are defined by man-made dunes, the detritus of long-dead mining operations. These are massive, windblown, living things covered with vegetation and rising more than 200 feet above sea level in places, powerful reminders of how tiny we are in the face of nature and our machines.

Mosaic is now building a 216-room spa hotel, a draw for the ladies in somebody's optimistic business plan. As for Streamsong, the actual name, it's a marketing department invention meant to appeal to the gals. The company name conjures up way more. It sounds like it was plucked from the script of Chinatown, doesn't it? I hear the Mosaic people are coming and you know what that means. So meaty. Palmer did some guesswork accounting for me—10 million for this, 10 for that, another five for something else—and concluded, "That's nothing for a company like Mosaic." The bold attitude that made this country great.

Streamsong is Ballybunion with brownish Bermuda fairways, caddies who sound like Delta pilots and alligators in the excavation lakes. During a solo emergency nine on the Blue, I was held up for 20 minutes by a napping 10-footer just off 14 tee. Lake left, lake right. There was nowhere for a singleton golfer to go.

It is not Bandon East. People like to say that Bandon Dunes, on the Oregon coast, was the first North American if-you-build-it-they-will-come golf destination. Say what? Have you heard of Pinehurst? Anyway, you could say Cabot Links, in a way-out nook of Nova Scotia, with 18 in and 18 coming, is Bandon East. By that logic, Streamsong is more like Bandon South.

People were actually having conversations like that on the Sunday and Monday after the PGA Merchandise Show last month, when Doak had his annual Renaissance Cup, this year at Streamsong. What a confab. The first person you saw was Linn (Growler) Strickler, the veteran Tour caddie, working Streamsong these days when the tide is right. (The man is golf.) Crenshaw was there for a while, and so was Coore. Doak, of course. Scottish architect David McLay Kidd. Mike Keiser, the golf impresario who hired those four for Bandon, was there. People were debating whether it was the first time Crenshaw, Coore, Doak and Kidd were all in the same place at the same time. (It was.) It was super golfy. It was a celebration.

It was also a congregation of persimmonheads for whom Hootie Johnson's 1999 decision to grow that backyardish "second cut" at Augusta is a scandal they cannot give up. (I'm sympathetic.) John Paul Newport, the golf writer from The Wall Street Journal, was in the house. (When John Paul is around, you got a happening.) Also Bob McCoy, who once played the GOLF MAGAZINE list of the top 100 courses in the world in 100 consecutive days. Bill Shean Jr., a highly accomplished senior amateur from Chicago, went deep in the competition. Ben Cowan-Dewar, Keiser's partner at Cabot Links and one of the big mahoffs behind golfclubatlas.com, was digging the scene with a gangsta lean, as the old song goes. BCD told me later that the Renaissance Cup at Streamsong generated a notable spike in GCA traffic and hundreds of online comments. The sandy hillock to the right of the 7th green on the Red, people are going wild about that thing.

Continue Story
1 2