Nick Price and a fine Bahamian bonefish.

While shepherds were whacking bits of dried sheep dung around the spongy coastline of eastern Scotland in golf’s formative days, in the late 15th century, sportsmen and women to the south, in England, were tinkering with the use of artificial baits in what would come to be known as fly-fishing.

The two sports share more than their ancestry. Both tend to appeal to those with contemplative, even analytic, temperaments. Both can arouse a powerful, even obsessive, fascination among the faithful, as well as a never-ending accumulation of gear.

The connection between golf and fly-fishing first struck me 10 years ago, when a fishing guide recounted a day when he had taken Tiger Woods and Mark O’Meara out on the Deschutes River in Oregon to cast flies for steelhead.

As my friend recalled this special day on the river, I noted that many golfers I know fly-fish, and vice versa. Perhaps it’s the outdoor setting, pitting man against an indifferent if not inimical nature, be it in the form of finicky trout or gaping bunkers. Perhaps it’s the similarity of the motions of swinging and casting — the fact that the ball or fly goes farther when you move smoothly.

“There’s never a locker room on tour that doesn’t have a fly rod in there,” said Davis Love III, a 20-time winner on the PGA Tour and the captain of the American Ryder Cup team. “Some of the guys will bring rods around with them on their practice rounds to make a few casts.”

Love said it was the lakes on golf courses that got him interested in fishing. He began dabbling in fly-fishing because several other players on the PGA Tour, especially O’Meara, Jack Nicklaus and Paul Azinger, enjoyed it.

Love has fished in places like the Bahamas and Silver Creek, in Idaho, but his current favorite fishing spot on the tour is the Blue Monster at Doral, near Miami.

“One of the ponds on the Blue Monster course has peacock bass,” he said. “You can see them hanging around the rocks way out. Sometimes a group of us will go out after the day’s round. You have to make your longest cast.”

For Nick Faldo, golf and fly-fishing are intimately connected. He said he became interested in fishing in 1986 when he was changing his swing.

“My doctor took me down to the River Test in the south of England to give me a break from the range,” Faldo said. “There’s a famous mayfly hatch that occurs on the Test at that time, known as Duffers Fortnight. If you can’t catch a fish then, you’ll never catch one. I was hooked.

“I find fly-fishing completely engrossing. I love the tranquillity, the sound of the river. When you come upon a rising trout that’s picky and you have to try six different fly patterns to get him to take, 30 or 40 minutes will fly by, and that fish has had your complete attention. When you’re fishing, you’re not clock-watching. You get lost in time.

“Fly-fishing is like golf in that you don’t get a second chance, especially when casting to a bonefish. You quickly learn to get everything right — cast, line position, drag. One thing wrong, and ‘bogey!’ — you lose the fish.”

Nick Price, winner of 18 tour events, including three majors, said one appeal of fly-fishing for golfers was the way the fields of play changed and demanded different techniques. “Each golf course has its own kind of beauty, though a parkland layout is quite different from a links course,” he said. “Likewise, a steelhead river in British Columbia is quite different than a chalk stream in England, though both have appeals. And both require different approaches to find success.”

Pro golfers, Price added, appreciate the solitude of fly-fishing.

“You can be playing in a major championship on Sunday, surrounded by throngs of people on the course, signing autographs before and after,” Price said. “A day or two later, you can be alone on a bonefish flat in the Bahamas. The seclusion fly-fishing provides is a nice balance.”

Ben Crane, a four-time winner on the tour, described fly-fishing as a “mental vacation” from the grind of the golf tour. “Playing on tour can be a little one-dimensional, as you’re constantly on the road, thinking about one thing: golf,” he said.

But when he is fishing, Crane gets to think about something else.

“When I’m out there, I think of only one thing for seven hours: what is the fish thinking?” he said. “You still have to be very focused. Where’s the fish holding? What’s the depth of the fly? Is it the right fly?

“In golf, saving one stroke a day can be huge; the difference between 72 and 71 can be $5 million. Likewise, in fly-fishing, little details can mean catching more fish. Out on the course, golfers tend to go all-in. The best fly-fishers also go all-in.”

This story originally appeared in the New York Times.

Fifty Places to Bike Before You Die:  Biking Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

Author Chris Santella is back at it again with the ninth installment of his bestselling Fifty Places series, this time exploring the world on bikes with Fifty Places to Bike Before You Die (Stewart, Tabori & Chang; U.S. $24.95 / Can. $27.95; 978-1-58479-989-4; October 2012). Biking has grown increasingly popular in recent years as both a leisure and extreme exercise activity, and Santella covers trips for cyclists of every skill level. With an eclectic mix of international and national locations, the fifty chapters capture breathtaking cycling trails around the world. Some highlights include:

• Arizona: Grand Canyon—North Rim
• Costa Rica: Arenal to Guanacaste
• Italy: Tuscany
• New York: New York City
• Oregon: Chief Joseph Country

As always, the destinations are brought to life with breathtaking color photographs and are accompanied by fascinating essays. In addition to his own writing, Santella features commentary by top names in the field, including author Joe Kurmaskie (aka “The Metal Cowboy”), and editor Andrew Bernstein of Bicycling magazine. Fifty Places to Bike Before You Die is a highly giftable book, perfect for anyone looking to have a unique biking adventure.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chris Santella is a freelance writer and marketing consultant based in Portland, Oregon. A regular contributor to the New York Times and Forbes.com, he has also contributed to the New Yorker, Travel & Leisure, Golf, and Delta Sky. Santella is the author of eight other titles in STC’s Fifty Places series.

Fifty Places to Bike Before You Die: Biking Experts Share the World’s Greatest Destinations

By Chris Santella

Stewart, Tabori & Chang / October 2012

U.S. $24.95 / Can. $27.95

ISBN 978-1-58479-989-4

Hardcover with jacket

224 pages / 7″ x 8″

40 color photographs

Looking west from 1,800 acre Brasada Ranch in Powell Butte, Oregon. (photo courtesy of Brasada Ranch)

Each time I visit central Oregon, I’m taken with the crisp, clear quality of the air, fragranced, at times almost pungent with the perfume of sage and juniper.  As I teed off at Brasada Ranch on a recent June day, these familiar high desert smells were tinged with more than a hint of lavender.  I searched for hints of purple amongst the sage and fescue adorning the first tee and realized that the lavender was instead radiating from yours truly, a sweet reminder of my first ever pedicure earlier in the day.

Comfort in the Sage

Brasada Ranch is a residential/resort development in Powell Butte, Oregon, in the sage and juniper country north east of Bend.  From its inception, Brasada has cultivated an identity of sustainability; it was the first U.S. resort to obtain a Gold LEED certification.  (The resort’s initial developers – the door and window manufacturing giant Jeld-Wen – presumably had access to a good stock of high-efficiency building supplies.)  Unlike nearby Pronghorn, which began its life as a private complex and was compelled by market conditions to open its gates to public visitation, Brasada has always been partially open to the public.  45 tastefully designed cabins are available for guests, and Brasada’s two restaurants – The Range and The Ranch House – are open to visitors.  (Friends who live in the region frequent The Ranch House with some regularity, and have commented how welcome they are made to feel.)  Private dwellings (currently there are roughly 40) for community members stretch to the north toward Powell Butte (the landmark).

Brasada was acquired in November 2010 by Northview Hotel Group, which has deep expertise in fostering luxury properties.  Brasada had a great start, but most agree that under Northview’s management, the property has blossomed.  A new spa (with four treatment rooms) was opened, and The Range – Brasada’s premiere restaurant – was re-imagined by Chef Adrian Carpenter, who arrived from Little Nell’s in Aspen.

45 cabins are available as guest rentals. (photo courtesy of Brasada Ranch)

It’s impossible, however, for Northview to improve upon the views.  From its 4,000 foot elevation vantage point, Brasada’s public facilities – and most of the cabins, tees and greens, for that matter – look west to the Cascades, some 20 miles distant.  The panorama that unfolds over more than 50 miles, from Mt. Jefferson in the north to Mt. Bachelor in the south, is only enhanced by the clouds that roll in from the Pacific, but are generally unable to breach the mountains, leaving central Oregon dry…or at least much dryer than the Willamette Valley where I reside.

Tapping into Outdoor Opportunities

Greater Bend has upwards of 30 golf courses open to some level of public play.  This assemblage includes some fine tracks—Crosswater, Pronghorn (Nicklaus and Fazio courses), Aspen Lakes and Tetherow among them.  This may be enough to attract many vacationing golfers.  What really sets the region apart from other golf hubs, however, is the quality (and quantity) of its other outdoor recreational opportunities.  Road and mountain bikers will find plenty to command their attention in and around the Cascades west of Bend.  There’s world-class rock climbing just to the north at Smith Rock, a number of fine fly fishing rivers (including the Crooked, the Fall, the Metolius and the Middle Deschutes), white water rafting/kayaking, horseback riding and in the winter and spring, skiing and snowboarding at nearby Mt. Bachelor.  (Powder/Putt days are a feasible option through most of the ski season, as the course at Brasada closes due to snow only a handful of days each year.)

To help guests take full advantage of central Oregon’s many recreational options, the resort operates Brasada Adventure—basically a concierge service for outdoor sports.  Adventure Planner Kacy Hjeresen

Horseback riding is one of many outdoor activities available at Brasada.

and his associates can arrange any number of activities for you, working with local guides and outfitters from the community.  During our visit, my wife and daughters opted for a horseback ride on one of the many trails around Brasada (the property was once an actual sheep ranch.)  If you’re less inclined to go off-resort, the Athletic Club has three lovely pools (two outside/one in), one of which features a “lazy river” to push swimmers along.  There’s a nicely appointed fitness center, a sand volleyball court, tennis courts and a children’s area (The Hideout) with ping pong, air hockey and big screen wii games for the rare rainy day.  We brought bikes, and my daughters Cassidy and Annabel and their palAudrey spent a good deal of time riding the trails that climb around the public section of the property.  (While I didn’t find time to fish the nearby Crooked, I did find a few largemouth bass on popping bugs on some of the stocked ponds dotting Brasada’s grounds.)

Beyond a Resort Course

The 15th at Brasada, one of several shorter par-4s that will temp big hitters to gamble. (photo courtesy of Brasada Ranch)

Brasada Canyons is a Peter Jacobsen/Jim Hardy design that takes excellent advantage of the resort’s 1,800 acres, and its elevation changes.  Nearly every hole sits alone in its own little valley with no sign of adjoining holes; likewise, nearly every hole offers a slightly different perspective of the snowcapped Cascades to the west.  Brasada has a desert course feel, though in most cases, the barranca carries are not terribly intimidating, and the landing areas are generous…and where the fairway narrows, the sides are banked to keep the ball in play.  (If you do happen to push or pull a shot off the green stuff, balls are fairly easy to find and play back to the turf; sage seems kinder in this respect than cacti.)   When I ventured in the pro shop that I might like to walk, head pro Daniel Wendt raised his eyebrows slightly and suggested that I could always get a cart at the turn.  I soon understood what he meant; the course has nearly 800 feet in elevation change, and the distance between green and tee was frequently longer than my best drives.  I persevered (a walk that Director Zach Swoffer guestimated at eight miles) and felt like I had accomplished a feat akin to finishing a marathon.

Dinner with “Chef”

We prepared most meals in our cabin, but one evening my wife Deidre and I left our 12 year old Cassidy in charge of the younger girls and walked down to The Range for a slightly late celebration of our 20^thwedding anniversary.  It was worth the wait.  Situated in the same building that houses Brasada’s spa facilities, The Range splits seating between a high ceilinged main dining room and an ample deck; beyond the deck there are circular stone fireplaces where guests can converse and even toast marshmallows (stick and marshmallows courtesy of Brasada, of course).  Chef Adrian Carpenter – who all staff members refer to simply as “Chef”, rather than “the Chef” or “Chef Adrian” – sources as many of his ingredients as possible from the immediate area, including produce from Windflower Farms and eggs and poultry from Great American Egg.  As we sipped drinks (a Boneyard IPA for me, The Range’s orange and lemon infused take on a Margarita for Deidre) and awaited our entrees, Chef paraded a host of starters to our table.  I’m an admittedly timid eater, especially when it comes to less traveled meats.  But given Chef’s fine reputation and our server’s patient and reassuring explanations of the game that rest before us, I found myself eating (and enjoying) duck rillettes and venison sausage (smoked in-house).  The goat (braised in red wine and

The sunsets at Brasada are as attractive as the brochures promise!

served with pappardelle pasta, porcini mushrooms, pancetta and goat cheese) proved a bit of an acquired taste for my unadventurous palate, but Chef should consider it a victory that I even tried it!  For the main meal, I opted for forest mushroom risotto (with fungi foraged by Royce the ‘Shroom Guy, I learned later), Deidre the plum & mustard glazed pork chop, served with smashed sweet potatoes, blistered asparagus, Madeira-plum jus.  Both were outstanding, though given our earlier charcuterie indulgence, we brought the lion’s share of our entrees home.

A side note:  Brasada’s promotional literature makes much of the sunsets.  Their copy is not hyperbole.  Through our leisurely 2.5 hour meal, we watched the mountains assume various shades of yellow, orange and salmon, while the sky above displayed spectrum-like bands of color – truly amazing.

Sincere Hospitality

There are some higher end resorts that I’ve visited where one has the sense that staff members have had their front cortex scrubbed and re-programmed so they behave in the “____(luxury brand here) way.”  This was not the case at Brasada.  Everyone we encountered – from housecleaners to servers to the Spa and Adventure Center staff – were extremely friendly and service-oriented. We enjoyed genuine conversations with everyone we met, and every staff member went out of their way to be accommodating.  (Special thanks to Heidi Miller at the Spa for braving my ungainly feet, and the story of her elk hunt.)

And that’s the kind of treatment that will bring us back.

Play/stay packages at Brasada begin at $329 per person/per day.  Visit www.brasada.com for details. 

Kirk Deeter holds a fine carp landed on the fly.

Fly fish for carp?  For many anglers, the first response to this question might be “Why?”  For coldwater anglers, carp have long been the fodder of mean-spirited jokes, a species more likely to be pursued with a bow and arrow than a beadhead nymph.  But the fly fishing frame of mind regarding Cyprinius carpio is changing.

Will Rice, an outdoor writer based in Denver, had his moment of “carptharsis” a number of years ago.  “During the spring runoff, trout fishing in the Colorado Rockies is just not happening,” he said.  “One May, a friend and I were eager to wet a line, so we headed east from Denver to fish a reservoir for wiper (a hybrid between striped bass and white bass).  We rented a boat and began zipping around.  At the edges, high water had pushed over the banks into some grass flats.  We took a closer look, and saw all these fish moving around – 10- to 12-pound fish – finning, mudding, even tailing.  They were carp.  We didn’t catch any that day, but it was eye-opening to see fish behaving like this—the way bonefish and permit behave.  Carp are a species you can sight cast to with a fly rod without traveling to the Caribbean.”

Comparisons to bonefish in terms of their similar skittishness and strength have earned carp the moniker “golden ghost.”

Common carp are of the cyprinid family, the largest group of freshwater fish.  Distinguished by large, sometimes golden scales, barbells, a stout profile and a small mouth, carp can grow to over four feet and nearly 100 pounds, though two to three foot specimens between ten and twenty pounds are more commonly encountered in U.S. waters.  Lacking the streamlined shape and the delicate water color patterns of trout, carp aesthetics are an acquired taste for some.  “I think carp are maligned here because they’re not considered classic table fare—though they were brought to North America in the 1800s specifically for that purpose,” said Kirk Deeter, an editor-at-large for Field & Stream and part of a clan of fly fishers that regularly stalk carp in the South Platte River in downtown Denver.  “They are one of the most resilient fish in the world.  They can live in almost any conditions – warm or cold, clean or dirty water – and are readily accessible just about wherever you live.  Go to a local lake or a golf course pond, carp are the fish you’re likely to see.  If you want to sight cast to a tailing fish that might be ten pounds or more, carp are it.

“I like to equate carp fishing with soccer,” Deeter added.  “Around the world, carp is the number one sport fish.  A staggering amount of money is spent on carp angling.  But here in America, it’s just starting to catch on.”

This may be true among casual anglers, but many pros know better.  Ask many guides on the finest trout streams in the American West what they do on their days off, and they will sheepishly admit that they chase carp.  “There’s a pretty common theme for anglers who get excited about carp,” Rice continued.  “They start out fly fishing for trout, and then take a saltwater trip where they catch bonefish and tarpon.  In the course of the saltwater fishing, something clicks about getting bigger fish on the fly.  When they get back home and fish for trout again, that big fish thrill is a little lacking.  Then they discover carp.”

Carp are catholic feeders; they’ll feast on aquatic insects in all life stages, crayfish, baitfish, and even plant matter, such as blackberries.  Anglers shouldn’t mistake the carp’s broad appetite as license for sloppy presentations.  Carp possess highly developed senses of sight, hearing, touch, and smell. This makes them extremely spooky.  A spooked fish emits a pheromone that warns other nearby fish of potential danger.  If you misfire and put one fish off, odds are good that any other fish in the immediate region will go off the bite as well.  “On the South Platte, I believe the fish are mostly eating crawfish, so I rely on crawfish or crab imitations,” Rice continued.  “I use the same crab patterns that I use for permit.  In the end, it’s all about watching the take.  Seeing a nice carp suck up a fly is always a thrill.  When you set the hook, they don’t even know what’s going on; they just continue on their way.  When they do realize that something’s wrong, the water explodes, and they’re gone.  The big ones roll off slowly like an 18-wheeler in low gear.  The smaller fish can melt line off the reel.”

“Before I had a family, fishing meant going to the end of the road and bushwhacking as far back into the woods as I could,” said Chris Wood, President and Chief Executive Officer of the conservation organization Trout Unlimited.  “The further back you go, the fewer people and the better the fishing.  Now, one of my favorite places to go is the C&O Canal in Washington DC.  I take my sons out with me and we fish from the towpath, and we catch some big carp.  When the Texas Mulberry trees are ripe with berries and the berries are dropping in the water, the fish will take them on the surface.  We use mulberry patterns and fish them like dry flies.  If the hatch is on, it’s as exciting as catching bonefish.”

(A version of this story originally appeared in The New York Times)

The Challenge Course at Monarch Dunes (in Nipomo, California) is ranked in the top ten of the nation's par-3 courses. (photo courtesy of Monarch Dunes)

On May 1^st, more than 150 golfers lined up to plunk $100 down to play a 13-hole par-3 golf course called Bandon Preserve, at the Bandon Dunes Golf Resort, on the coast of southern Oregon.

$100 for a par-3?

This is not your father’s chip & putt.

Par-3 courses are a frequently overlooked facet of the golf world, a playing field that’s not taken completely seriously.  As the name implies, the holes are all fairly short – generally 200 yards or less – and can hypothetically be reached by players of modest ability in one shot.  Par-3 layouts are generally not sanctioned by the United States Golf Association, and hence need not adhere to any particular rules.  Some might be 9 or 18 holes, though you’re almost as likely to come upon 6-, 10- and 12-hole layouts.  Par-3 courses are frequently perceived as practice areas, an extension of the driving range, and somehow not quite “real golf.”  Given this shaky status in the pantheon of golf course experiences, it’s no surprise that many par-3s have received somewhat less care in design and maintenance than, say, a U.S. Open venue.

“When I was learning the game, I played par-3s pretty regularly. My mom would drop me off and say ‘Here’s ten bucks, I’ll get you in 3 hours, have fun,’” said Drew Rogers, ASGCA, a golf course architect based in Toledo, Ohio.  “Sometimes you’d  have to search hard to find a guy that you could pay.  The holes were pretty pedestrian and didn’t have much in the way of features. The greens were all identical circles, usually crowned, and they were often lighted for night play.  Not much effort was ever put into their creation or their maintenance.  It was always fun to play the par-3′s, but I wouldn’t label my experiences then as anything too special.”

“If you were to review every par-3 course in America, most would fall into the ‘rudimentary’ category,” said Ron Whitten, Senior Editor/Architecture for Golf Digest.  “However, the same can be said for most regulation golf courses.  Par-3’s play an important role.  They are the sandlots of golf, where people can go to build a passion for the game.  After World War II, par-3s started to appear in greater numbers, thanks in part to the efforts of architect Geoffrey Cornish, who built many short layouts.  These were entry-level courses, created with the hope of getting people interested in the game.  With a little luck, beginners could hit some greens, maybe even make some birdies.”

The roots of par-3 golf can be traced to Great Britain.  The first known par-3 course opened for play in Portsmouth, England in 1914, primarily for the diversion of non-golfing vacationers.  Short courses gained some competitive élan in 1933 with the launch of the Short Course Professional Championship, now known as the British Par-3 Championship.  Irish golfers also advanced the cause of short courses, forming the Irish Pitch & Putt Union in 1961 to govern competitive events.

While the image of par-3 courses is decidedly downscale – flat, monotonous, unimaginative are descriptors that come to mind – short need not be ugly nor unchallenging.  Noteworthy examples include the par-3 course at Augusta National, which has holes that replicate some of Augusta’s greens and approach shots.  There are also par-3s at Pine Valley in New Jersey and at San Francisco’s Olympic Club, where this year’s U.S. Open will be held (on the regulation par-71 course).  “There’s a par-3 tournament held at Augusta the day before the Master’s begins,” Whitten continued.  “It’s been televised the past few years, and that’s done a lot to elevate the status of par-3 golf.”  Public golfers will find fine par-3 layouts in Alabama along the Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail (a series of golf complexes spanning the state), in California north of Santa Barbara at Monarch Dunes, in northern Michigan at Treetops Resort…and now in Oregon, at Bandon Dunes.

There’s reason to think that golfers will see resurgence in the popularity of par-3 courses.  First, there’s the economics; short courses don’t require as much land, and the holes are cheaper to construct and maintain.  Demographic trends also favor short courses.  “People have less time for golf, and you can get around a par-3 in just an hour and a half,” said Mike Keiser, the owner of Bandon Dunes Golf Resort, which features four regulation courses.  “And baby-boomer golfers are getting older.  Many of our clients used to play 36 holes a day for several days.  Bandon is a walking only facility, and some of these players simply can’t walk 36 anymore.  When I mentioned to some regulars that I was considering a par-3 course – a memorable par-3 course – to a man, they said ‘Hurry up and build it.’”

Does one think small when envisioning a smaller golf course?  Not necessarily.

“Philosophically, we approach the design of par-3 courses the same way that we approach a full-length course,” said Bill Coore, ASGCA, of the golf course architecture firm Coore and Crenshaw, creators of Bandon Preserve.  “No different design tenets come into play.  I’ve always felt that short par-3 holes can be some of the finest holes in golf.  They negate the need for strength.  An 18- or 20-handicap player can hit a shot that’s as good or better than the shot a tour player can hit.  Par-3s balance the playing field, and that makes things fun.”

The 13 holes at Bandon Preserve range from roughly 80 to 175 yards, and unfold on undulating land that slopes gradually to the Pacific.  The fescue turf, the shape and speed of the greens, the bunkering are all in keeping with the look and feel of the long courses at Bandon.  “Our directive was to build the best holes we could find on the available land, holes that would fit in on the other courses,” Coore continued.  “We thought Mike (Keiser) might be concerned when we came up with 13, but he said, ‘I don’t care.  I’m not superstitious.’

“I don’t think Bandon Preserve will be perceived as second class golf,” Coore added.  “Even the little 78-yard 8^th hole will hold its head up.  ‘I may be little,’ it might say, ‘but I’m in your face.’”

 (a version of this story originally appeared in The New York Times)

Amazingly, an award-winning title.

A few weeks back, I visited New Orleans for the International Fly Tackle Dealer show.  I would have preferred visiting Denver, the historical site of the show, as New Orleans in August is a little sticky for my taste.  (The day I touched down, the temperature was 97 and the humidity 90%, giving the Big Easy a heat index of 116 – nice!)  Nonetheless, it’s always fun to walk through hotel lobbies where almost every single person is wearing a technical fishing shirt and a hat bearing the logo of their favorite lodge, and every other conversation you overhear concerns an insect hatch or bait blitz.  I felt right at home.

I had several objectives going to this year’s IFTD show:  to visit with old friends, to take advantage of free beer at any number of industry events, and to help my friends at Anglers Book Supply promote my newest book – Fifty More Places To Fly Fish Before You Die.  My publisher – Stewart, Tabori & Chang – had generously created a blow-up poster of the book and had scrounged up a dozen or so books to give away (no small task, as the book had not officially arrived in warehouses from the printing presses in Asia).  The hope was to let fly fishing retailers in attendance – and anyone else who cared – that a new “Fifty Places” book would soon be available…perfectly timed for the holidays!  (There’s no coincidence there:  we estimate that nearly 75 percent of my books are given as gifts!)

Walking the show floor with friends, I was introduced to many new folks.  My pals would introduce me, saying “This is Chris Santella, the writer.”  The other folks would look at me and smile with a hint of pity, undoubtedly thinking “He must sit in his underwear in his mother’s basement, typing a blog that no one ever reads.”  After the pause, my friends would say, “He did Fifty Places To Fly Fish Before You Die.”  Immediately listeners would perk up, mentally dressing me in pants (at least shorts) and a shirt and placing me in a non-basement room, perhaps even in my own house.  Which is to say—people in the fly fishing world know and respect the book, even if they don’t know me.  And that bodes well for the success of the second Fifty Places fly fishing book.  For better or worse, brands work.  And the Fifty Places series has, much to my amazement, become a small brand.

The award logo -- there's a trophy, too!

It’s my hope that the follow-up to my first Fifty Places book will fare a bit better than some of the big screen sequels that we’re tortured with each summer.  Fifty More Places To Fly Fish Before You Die follows the same formula of my previous books – interviews with knowledgeable people from the fly fishing world talking about some of the world’s most exciting angling destinations – all enhanced with beautiful photographs.  Whether it’s mako sharks of San Diego, golden dorado in Bolivia, bonefish off Los Roques, Venezuela or giant rainbows on Alaska’s Kanektok, the book tries to capture the excitement, the passion and the joy of fly fishing – and how place informs our experience.

There was a new twist to this year’s IFTD show – the new product showcase, which was sponsored by Angling Trade magazine.  Whether it was because of the pretty poster, voter’s familiarity with the first book, or an act of pity, I was very proud to learn on the second to last evening of the show that Fifty More Places To Fly Fish Before You Die had won the best new book award for 2011!

I half expected snow to begin falling through the balmy 92-degree air.

One that can be very hard on trailers.

I own a 1/3 share of a drift boat, and consequently am sometimes asked to donate a trip for a school auction or assist friends with overflow guests.  One weekend last September, I was slated for two such trips, back-to-back, both floating from the Beavertail campground to Mack’s.  Prior to the adventure, I had my tires rotated and checked, knowing the travails that waited.  I picked up the boat from my friend’s driveway and proceeded to Maupin.

At 4:30 the next morning, my friend (and his sturdy Tacoma Supercab) began the drive north to Beavertail.  When we left the paved road at Sherars, my Subaru was engulfed in his dust; but soon his taillights were out of sight.  That’s because I drive very slow on the access road, hoping to get my rig down and back in one piece.  There was a blush of pink above the rim rock as I descended from the road to Beavertail.  Reaching the bottom, I could see my friends at the put-in, wadered up and waiting.  I circled the campground and rounded the final bend to approach the put-in.  As my wheels straightened, there was an abrupt thud.  I stopped, expecting I’d hung up on a rogue rock or popped one my recently rotated tires.  My eyes drifted to my passenger side mirror.  There, I spied one of my trailer tires rolling toward some brush.  Its slow revolutions, with a woozy wobble and finally a dramatic leftward flop, had a cartoon quality about it.  I found myself snickering, even though I sensed that the parting of the wheel from the trailer’s axle had ended my fishing day, and would likely pose other hardships.

I turned off the car, rolled the wheel from the brush back to the trailer, and looked at the axel.  I’m not mechanically inclined, but even a cursory glance in the half-light the canyon made it quite apparent that I’d be needing professional assistance.  The hub was gone, and the odds of finding it somewhere between here and Sherars seemed less than low.  I walked to the put-in to alert my party that they’d be going it alone, and returned to the trailer.  For a good ten minutes I stared at the axel, hoping that I could re-attach the wheel through some force of will.  This failed.  My friends waved as they floated downstream.

It was 5:30 a.m.

In retrospect, I should’ve had the trailer checked out as well.

There’s no cell reception to speak of at the Beavertail launch, and I’d be adding insult to injury if I got stuck with a shuttle fee for a shuttle that would not happen.  So I detached my crippled trailer and drove back up to the access road.  A few miles toward Maupin I found coverage and left my shuttle driver a message.  Part of me wanted to keep driving and leave the trailer to heal itself.

I was back at the trailer by 6:15.

Some campers in Beavertail were beginning to stir, but lacking a flatbed, I doubted that they could offer much more than sympathy.  Then I recalled that Beavertail had a camp host – and the camp host, Chris, was the wife of a steelhead guide I knew.  As I approached the camp, Hawkeye (the guide) was making coffee; he had just come off a trip from Mack’s to the Mouth. He fixed me a cup and I explained my quandary.  “Chris will call Barnett’s for you when she wakes up,” Hawkeye said with a reassuring grin.  “This isn’t the first time a trailer has gone bust down here.”  Another cup of coffee and Chris was up.  Soon she walking around the campground with an antenna-like apparatus affixed to her cell phone to get coverage.  She was smiling when she returned.  “George has one emergency to take care of, but he will be down in about three hours,” she reported.

Hawkeye put another pot of coffee on (and then another), heated up some pop ‘n fresh cinnamon rolls, and we waited.  We chatted about the current steelhead season (okay), the previous season (very good) and future seasons (hopeful).  The cool of dawn gave way to the pleasant warmth of mid-morning.  After the fifth pot of coffee, the rumble of the flatbed could be heard.  Soon the wounded trailer and its cargo was loaded on the flatbed.  I extended Chris and Hawkeye a heartfelt thanks and followed George the 17-odd miles back to Maupin.

It was 11:15.

Back in Maupin, George assessed the situation.  “Your wheel’s okay, the axel is okay.  You just need a new hub to hold everything on.  I’m gonna have lunch, and then I’ll get on it.  Should be a few hours.”  That didn’t seem too bad.  I’d missed one trip, but maybe my second could be saved.  I considered wadering up and finding a run to fish, but didn’t want to be absent if George needed me.  And the sun was high anyway.  I made myself a sandwich, resisted the temptation to break into the beers I’d brought for my guests, and parked myself on the steps of the public library adjacent to George’s shop and perused a copy of The New Yorker, which I’d thrown in the car.  There was a particularly good story by John McPhee on the British Open golf tourney.  One hour passed, then two.  I didn’t want to seem pushy, but I was beginning to become concerned about my auction trip the following day – would I have a trailer?  I meekly approached George in the back.  “How are we looking?” I asked.  “Oh, my wife had to pick up a part in The Dalles,” George replied.  “She’ll be back in an hour or so.  I forgot tell you.  Sorry.”

As the sun made its way west, I moved across the street to a set of benches outside The Redside Tavern, downtown Maupin’s premiere (and only) watering hole.  Believing, again, that my trailer situation would not become better with beer, I abstained.  Three guys on Harleys pulled up and waddled into the bar.  They seemed like wannabe bikers; their helmets and panniers were decorated with tasteful stickers like “Thanks, Virgins – for NOTHING!” and “Save a Mouse – Eat a Pussy!”

Several more hours passed.  I read the McPhee article a second time.

At 5:15, George motioned me over.  The trailer was done.  I called my auction guest in Portland and told her all systems were go, reunited with my trailer and drift boat, and rolled back down the hill to my evening’s lodging.  It had been an arduous day, marked by long hours of waiting and brief crises of faith.  Not unlike steelhead fishing.  Though I could’ve easily parked the trailer, popped a beer and called it an early night, I knew the sun was dipping below the rim rock, and decided that the last hour of daylight may as well be enjoyed on the river.

I’m not a religious person, but I do vaguely believe in Karma—or at least the notion that one’s good or bad actions eventually come home to roost.  I had not performed any great acts of charity, courage or selfishness that Friday, but given the problems I’d faced, I’d behaved with a certain level of decorum.  I hadn’t sworn (much) or kicked the trailer when the wheel departed.  I’d been patient in Chris and Hawkeye’s camp, and perhaps even more patient on the library steps in Maupin.  I had resisted the default urge to drown my disappointments, had kept my promise to the following day’s guests, and had opted to persevere and visit the river instead of accepting the easy defeat of sitting my lazy butt on the porch of my rented cabin.

For these reasons, I was rewarded with a steelhead, even though another angler had just left the run I fished…and that I cast for only 15 minutes.  As it was a hatchery buck, I conked it on the head, walked up to the access road and handed it to the first passerby who stopped.

I want my trailer karma to keep circling back.

(A version of this story appears in Fly Fishing Journal.)

The author (and guide Moana Kofe ) with a smallish GT.

As a non-fish eater, I was taken aback when Peter Kairaoi, lead guide for Christmas Island Outfitters, took a healthy bite from a dead and rather pungent milkfish he was shredding and tossing into the water for chum.  My gag reflex was pre-empted by a burst of adrenaline as Kairaoi interrupted his sashimi snack to yell “Trevally!”  A large shadow moved onto the flat, zigging and zagging in search of its next meal.  It sped toward us in the shallows until half of its immense head was above the water.  I cast my 12-weight – a telephone pole of a rod – in the fish’s direction, hoping that my offering would prove tempting, or at least discourage its advance.

Giant trevally are a little bit scary.

Giant trevally (GTs) are the largest of the 33 species of trevally that swim in the Pacific and Indian oceans.  Silver-shaded with prominently forked tails, they are easily distinguished from other trevally species by their steep head profile.  GTs will prey on anything they can catch and squeeze into their capacious mouth—mullet, juvenile milkfish, even bonefish.  Generally found in deeper water, they will sweep onto the flats – often in groups of three, four or five fish – in pursuit of prey.  Giant trevally can reach weights of 120 pounds and more, though anglers are more likely to encounter specimens in the 10 to 50 pound range.  Many are thankful for that.

“Anyone who has had the opportunity to fish for giant trevally knows that if you get an opportunity at a trophy GT – a fish of 50 lbs or better — many things need to go right get the fish to hand,” said Brian Gies, co-owner of Fly Water Travel.   “More often than not, somewhere in the string of events something goes wrong – a rod breaks, knots give way or a coral head severs the line – and you’re left standing on the flat, heart and mind racing, knees  weak,  playing the situation back in your mind.”

It was the promise of bonefish that initially lured anglers to Christmas Island, an isolated coral atoll some 1,200 miles south of Honolulu, part of the island nation of Kiribati.  Since the early 1980s, the atoll’s vast interior lagoon – a mix of sand and coral flats interspersed with deep cuts that usher tidal water to and fro — has been renowned as one of the world’s most prolific and reliable venues for the sleek, finicky sport fish.  In the course of stalking bonefish, anglers discovered GTs – sometimes in hot pursuit of the bonefish they attempted to play to hand!

Dr. John Smith (and Moana) with a more gigantic GT.

There are three ways that fly anglers can pursue giant trevally on Christmas Island.  One can establish a post on a flat adjacent to channels with a healthy current and chum, waiting for the fish parts to draw in other baitfish that will (hopefully) in turn lure in the GTs; one can slowly cruise the edges of the flats in one of the island’s motorized catamarans, scanning for GTs that can then be stalked on foot; or, one can pursue bonefish on the flats while carrying a 12-weight rod in your pack, and switch rods if you happen upon ambushing GTs (easier said than done).

Chumming proved most productive for my group, though it was not until the fifth day of fishing that our flies found purchase.  After capturing a brace of milkfish in a seine net, guides Moana Kofe and T. John anchored our cat on a small coral island and positioned four anglers opposite a channel.  Darkening hues of turquoise hinted at the deepening water before us—the domain of trevally.  As Kofe and John tossed chunks of milkfish into the water, Great Frigatebirds hovered just above them, occasionally plucking a morsel from the surface.  GTs materialized in less than 10 minutes—two fish at the point of the island, a gang of four in the shallows in front of the channel.  They moved deliberately in search of food, churning the water, swirling at our flies.  Two anglers hooked up in rapid succession; one had only six feet of leader outside of his rod tip when the fish took.  Soon we had all hooked and landed fish from the melee, the largest approaching 40 pounds.

Before the fishing slowed, I flipped my streamer, a concoction of long white chicken feathers, to the edge of a group of circling trevally.  A leviathan – Kofe estimated it at near 60 pounds – charged out of the depths, seizing the fly on the run.  Though my drag was tightened to maximum tension, the fish peeled line and backing off as though I were using a toy reel.  The fish raced toward the channel at the far end of the island, and I chased after it, dodging under the lines of my fellow anglers in an attempt to keep the leader and fly line high and away from coral heads.  After 75 yards, I could go no further.  My rod pulsed as the reel gave up line, 100, 150 then 200 yards.  For a moment I entertained the vision of my rod shattering under this immense pressure, shards of splintering graphite piercing my carotid artery.  I would perish by trevally on this lonely coral isle!  There was nothing I could do but hope that the fish would stop and let me regain some line.  Then there was simply nothing.

I reeled in several football fields of backing to learn that my 100 pound leader had been sliced.

At least I had not lost my fly line, too.

(A version of this story appeared in The New York Times on 7/17/11)

The par-3 14th at Pronghorn, just outside of Bend, Oregon.

I wake each day to National Public Radio’s Morning Edition.  One recent morning, the story corresponding to the opening of my eyes did not concern troop withdrawal in Iraq or flooding in Arkansas.  It was about America’s glut of golf courses and how the laws of supply and demand are compelling many courses to close.  “The golf courses that were built, in many cases, were built purely as an amenity to sell real estate, where the developer really didn’t do any due diligence to determine whether the golf course could survive and thrive as a business on its own,” Greg Nathan of the National Golf Foundation said in the report.  The story went on to explain how some of the courses that are closing are being transformed into public parks.

I’m very much in favor of public green spaces.  Yet as I nursed my coffee that morning, I found comfort knowing that despite some real estate challenges, Pronghorn – an upscale golf course development outside Bend, Oregon – was not going away anytime soon.  And thanks to the aforementioned challenges, the resort was now open (on a limited basis) to the likes of me.

Perception No Longer Reality

I was living in Portland in 2004, and have nary a memory of Pronghorn’s June opening that year, just over the mountains in Bend.  Considering the fanfare that would follow (Golf Magazine Living (2006) ranked Pronghorn “#1 Best New Community in the West”; Travel & Leisure Golf (January 2009) ranked “Pronghorn the #1 Golf Course Community in the Country”; LINKS names Pronghorn one of the 20 “Best of the Best” golf properties in the prestigious Premier Properties Real Estate Guide for 2008-2009…and on and on), this seems surprising.  In retrospect, I’m fairly certain that I blocked out any mentions of Pronghorn because it was clearly going to be the kind of place where I would only spend time if I moved to central Oregon and took up looping…and got pretty good at it.  Pronghorn was ultra-private, and it was unlikely that I’d be able to pony up the half mill (or much more) for a villa or estate while I was still spry enough to swing a golf club.  No one in my golf group traveled in such fiscally blessed circles either, so Pronghorn was written off as another course I would likely never play.  My Oregon golf fantasies focused on Bandon.

Six years and several economic downturns later, things have changed.  Without going into the drudgerous details, some lots and homes at Pronghorn remain unsold, and greens and fairways still need to be watered and mowed.  For now, the 640 acres of Pronghorn (much of it, anyway) are now open for public visits.

Guests at the once all-private Pronghorn enjoy suites or villas along the 18th fairway of the Nicklaus course.

Pronghorn is set in the midst of a vast swath of juniper forest just northeast of Bend, a region of high desert that looks out on both the perpetually snow-clad Cascades to the west and the rugged Ochoco Mountains to the east; rock climbers will recognize Smith Rock to the north.  The property rests four miles from any public road, so there’s truly a sense of being away from it all.  Oregon’s high desert has a special feel – serene with long views, but more inviting than the bleached landscapes of the southwest – all scented with sage.  Lodging for guests is in one of a series of villas along the 18^th fairway of the Nicklaus Course.  Upon my family’s arrival at our appointed domicile, my girls ran from room to room to room, screaming “This is the nicest place we’ve ever stayed at!”  The rooms are very nice, the picture of rustic elegance, with lots of leather, tasteful golf course photos and landscape watercolors on the walls, and a gourmet kitchen with glistening Viking appliances – the stove was far too nice to cook on.

Though the villa was quite inviting, I was a bit more interested in the fairway outside the window.

The Nicklaus Course – Bandon by the Sagebrush

The Nicklaus Course at Pronghorn is billed as a desert course.  By some criteria, this may be so.  But as Central Oregon’s high desert is less austere than

The short par-4 13th, one of the few water holes at Pronghorn's Nicklaus course.

the Sonoran desert, Pronghorn seems less target-, landing area to landing area-oriented than other desert courses I’ve experienced—which is to say, not unduly punitive.  Yes, there was scrub to clear on some tee shots, and I have little doubt that one could find rattlesnakes if you were to slice a drive into the junipers during the summer.  (It was still cool during my visit, and the “buzz-worms,” as some of my Bend friends call them, were still languid.)  But I found the course very playable for someone of my ability (a shaky 20-handicap), with generous landing areas and accessible paths to the green.  A key barometer of playability – I lost only one ball over 18 holes!  In this respect – and in the manner in which the course blends with the contours of the surrounding landscape – it’s oddly reminiscent of Bandon Dunes…albeit a Bandon Dunes where the Cascades have supplanted the Pacific, lava ridges have replaced grassy hummocks, and juniper and sage stand in for gorse.

Location, Location, Location – The Bigger Appeal of Pronghorn

The Nicklaus course at Pronghorn is a treat – and by all reports, the members only Fazio course is every bit as good.  But the real appeal of Pronghorn (and all of central Oregon) for golfers is the abundance of other high quality outdoor amenities available in the region.  I’m

The author with a Deschutes steelhead.

a passionate fly fisherman, and within 25 miles of the resort I can find four first class trout streams (the Crooked, the Fall, the Metolius and the Middle Deschutes) plus a dozen decent lakes.  Expand the radius a bit more, and you can include the world famous Lower Deschutes, with its native rainbow trout and summer steelhead; the Deschutes also attracts rafters and kayakers.  (Guided fishing is available from Deep Canyon Outfitters.)  Road and mountain bikers will find plenty to command their attention in and around the Cascades west of Bend.  Mt. Bachelor – while perhaps not quite up to Vail/Snowbird standards in terms of terrain and powder – is a quality ski/snowboard hill that dwarfs eastern ski slopes…and is open during several months of the golf season, allowing for “powder/putt” days.  There are lava tubes and other interesting geologic phenomena to explore, horseback riding – the list goes on and on.  If you have younger family members along on your visit, Pronghorn offers several pools, and organized kids programs through Camp Pronghorn; in the summer, these programs include week-long camps built around different themes, such as “Discovering Dinosaurs” or “The World of Bugs.”

For a city of less than 100,000 residents – and especially given its humble lumber town origins – Bend boasts a fine assortment of restaurants.  Yet you needn’t stray off property to enjoy a fine meal.  We teed the kids up with mac and cheese one evening during our stay and enjoyed a leisurely sunset dinner of beef tenderloin at Cascada (in the 55,000 square foot clubhouse), which fittingly looks west over the mountains.

The Packages

Pronghorn currently has a number of packages available, including a “Stay & Play”  deal entitling guests to one round on the Nicklaus Course, a night in a Junior Suite at one of the villas, one full-service breakfast and access to many of the resort’s facilities, including pool, sports courts and kids programs ($279/individual; $399/couple).  If you don’t have time to stay, outside play is available on the Nicklaus Course for $195 (plus forecaddie fee).  Visit www.pronghornclub.com to learn about other package options – include the golf/fly fish/ski Trifecta.

The famed #3 at Mauna Kea, a 260 yard carry from the back tee!

There’s a thrill that comes from visiting a new destination and finding that it rebukes every one of your expectations – but that it’s still wonderful.  There’s also a thrill that comes from reaching that destination and finding that it perfectly matches the image you carried in your mind’s eye.   The latter is how Darrin Gee characterizes Mauna Kea.  “For me, Mauna Kea frames the mainlander’s vision of Hawaii golf in every conceivable way.  There’s a perfect juxtaposition of elevation changes, native vegetation, crystal blue waters, expanses of lava and emerald green fairways.   It’s exactly what a Hawaii course should be.  Mauna Kea is not only about aesthetics.  It’s a wonderful strategic design – holes that are challenging, but fair.  There’s also Mauna Kea’s lore.”

Mauna Kea rests at the northern tip of the island of Hawaii, on the Kohala Coast.  It takes its name from a dormant volcano that looms to the south, a mountain that’s tall enough (at 13,796 feet) to seasonally be frosted with a patina of snow, despite its tropical locale.  (Mauna Kea translates from the Hawaiian language as “white mountain.”)   The original golf course at Mauna Kea and the adjoining Mauna Kea Beach Hotel (now operated by Prince Resorts Hawaii) was the vision of Laurance Rockefeller, the fourth son of John D. Rockefeller, Jr.  Besides helping to oversee the family’s investment and philanthropic interests, Rockefeller established resorts at several locales in the Caribbean.  When he arrived on the big island’s Kohala Coast in the early 1960s – then still largely undiscovered – he saw the potential for a world class golf course amongst the vast expanses of black lava rock.  He purchased nearly 2,000 acres above Hapuna Beach and Kauna’oa Bay and flew in the world’s pre-eminent designer, Robert Trent Jones, Sr., to evaluate the possibilities.   “The story goes,” Darrin explained, “that after the two men walked the property, Rockefeller asked Jones if he could build a course.  Jones picked up some lava, crushed it in his hands and replied, ‘You will have your course.’”  Thus, the 50^th state’s first great course was born.  (Jones would later consider Mauna Kea among his three best original designs.)

“There are so many good holes at Mauna Kea,” Darrin continued.  “All four par-3s are great [each one plays over 200 yards from the back].  There are excellent short par-4s (including one that’s potentially drivable), long par-5s that require two monster shots for a chance at eagle, and dogleg lefts and rights that require players to use lots of different shots.”  A great part of Mauna Kea’s lore arose from its third hole, an audacious par 3 that in its original incarnation measured 261 yards from the tips – nearly all of that two and a half football fields a carry over the Pacific, from one rocky promontory to the next.  If the very existence of such a hole (with its green encircled by seven bunkers) weren’t enough to put Mauna Kea on the golf map, a 1965 match orchestrated to help promote the new course would etch it onto the collective golf consciousness of a generation…and help begin to establish Hawaii as a golf destination.  Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player – all in their prime – were invited to play a “Skins” style competition.  Darrin picks up the story:  “During the warm-up round, the three players went to the back tee on number three, holding drivers.  The wind is said to have been up that day, and only one of three was able to poke it to the green.  Fearing embarrassment, one of the other players refused to play from the back tee on TV – and they instead played from the blues, which measure 210 yards over the water.  For many years the back tee was closed for golf and used instead for weddings.  Now the back tee is open again.  I have to say that whatever tee you choose, it’s a spectacular shot; none of the drama is lost from the front tees.”  (Some sources identify Arnold Palmer as the long hitter on that fateful day in Mauna Kea’s history; he would later return, with design partner Ed Seay, to design the sister course at Mauna Kea Beach Resort, Hapuna.)

It’s worth noting that many players consider the 247-yard par-3 11^th hole an even more challenging hole than number three.  It plays downhill 100 feet, which makes it a bit shorter than the card would imply.  Four deep bunkers guard short right, short left and short center, respectively; a shot that goes long is in the Pacific.  Where number three is largely a play of strength – you make it or you don’t – number eleven has a level of subtlety.  A three here is well-earned; a four is nothing to be ashamed of.

As of this writing, Mauna Kea is undergoing a significant restoration.  In a fitting passing of the torch, the work is being led by Rees Jones, one of RTJ’s golf course architect sons.  “One major aspect of the restoration is the bunkering,” Darrin explained.  “They’re being deepened and fashioned to have higher lips.  While the restoration work is welcome after 44 years, it’s a testament to Mauna Kea’s quality that the course remains challenging to top players.  If you happen to watch the broadcast of the Big 3 match and then play the course, you’ll see that it’s the same, except that the trees are taller.  It’s withstood the test of time.  To score, you have to think and play your best.  To me, that’s a sign of a classic course.”

The bunkers of Mauna Kea (in their pre-renovation state) play into Darrin’s most lasting memory of the course.  “I was out playing the course with a good friend, and we got to the 18^th, a 428-yard par 4 that’s considered one of the toughest finishing holes in Hawaii.  I hit a beautiful drive, but put my approach in the bunker that guards the hole on the right.  I climbed in to make my shot, and my friend stood watch to see where the ball would land.  I thought I made a great swing and pured it out of there, but neither my friend nor I ever saw the ball come down.  As far as I know, it’s still in the air.  I feel like I’m forever playing the course.”

Darrin Gee is golf’s newest authority on the mental and inner aspects of the game. Based on the Big Island of Hawaii, Darrin is praised for bringing people to (and back to) the game of golf. Over 10,000 golfers have experienced his golf program and The Seven Principles of Golf™ since 2000.   Darrin’s The Seven Principles of Golf: Mastering the Mental Game On and Off the Golf Course (Stewart, Tabori & Chang 2007) is a classic akin to Harvey Penick’s Little Red Book and Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.   His second book, The Seven Personalities of Golf: Discover Your Inner Golfer to Play Your Best Game was published in 2008.  He also released two top-selling mental game DVDs, Mastering the Mental Game, Volume 1: Putting and Mastering the Mental Game, Volume 2: Full Swing.  Darrin has been featured in numerous publications, print and TV, and has been featured in several bestselling golf instruction books, including The Secret of Golf by former GOLF Magazine Editor-in-Chief, George Peper and 1001 Reasons to Love Golf.  He is a sought-after motivational speaker for corporations, incentives, meetings and conventions throughout Hawaii, the US mainland and abroad.

If You Go…

Getting There:  Mauna Kea is on the northern tip of the island of Hawaii, 26 miles from Kona.  Kona is served by many major carriers, including Alaska (800-ALASKAAIR; www.alaskaair.com) and American Airlines (800-433-7300; www.aa.com).

Course Information:  Mauna Kea (800-882-6060; www.maunakeabeachhotel.com ) plays 7,114 yards from the tips to a par 72, with a slope rating of 143.  Green fees range form $125 to $175.

Accommodations:  There are two resorts on premises at Mauna Kea – the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel and Hapuna Beach Hotel.  Both are operated by Prince Resorts Hawaii (888-9PRINCE; http://princeresortshawaii.com).  A variety of Hawaii golf packages are also available.

Follow the nationwide golf tour when it goes to the Plantation Course at Kapalua, Kapalua, Maui, Hawaii in January.