Streamsong Resort Part 2: The Hotel

After playing Streamsong Blue and having a meal at the clubhouse, hubby and I drove to the Streamsong Hotel, which is a few minutes away from the golf course. From afar, it looks like a commercial building or some sort of factory.

Close up, its clean, curved lines and Mondrian windows make it look like an art school or a fancy new library. 

It was certainly quiet as a library in the lobby. We were checking in around 4pm, and there was no one else around.

The lobby lounge area is full of modern leather seating options in brown tones.

 

The panoramic lake view is spectacular.

The gym is spacious and clean, with the usual treadmills and new-fangled cardio machines. 

On the first floor is a reading area where you can learn about the geographic history of the local surrounds and look at cool artifacts. When a hotel has a giant fossil of jaws, you definitely feel like you're in an usual place.

We requested a Lakeview room with a king-size bed. The space was roomy, with interesting views from various angles.

The TV has two sides, with the bed on one side and a sectional sofa on the other,

The bed looked pretty comfy, but later hubby would complain that the sheets weren't soft enough. He also expected that for the price we paid, the room should include a shoehorn and room slippers. At least there were two bathrobes.

The bathroom had marble countertops and high-end toiletries.

The floor and shower walls look like wood but are actually ceramic tile.

Kind of a modern Zen vibe, overall.

The view from the bed offers an excellent view of the sunset. The louvered wooden blinds shut completely if needed.



The bookshelf near the sofa has classic works of literature. Wonder which came first, the custom shelf or the perfectly fitted books?

At dusk, firepits and lights started to appear outside on the hotel grounds.

But hubby and I were mesmerized by the sunset view...

I would recommend staying at the hotel if you're playing either of Streamsong's courses. It's quiet and restful and gives a sense of place. I slept well and awoke refreshed and ready to play Streamsong Red.

Streamsong Resort Part I: Streamsong Blue

As our Christmas gift to ourselves, hubby and I took a mid-December trip to stay and play at the Streamsong Resort, one of the most talked-about golf destinations of the past year. The resort has two 18-hole courses, Streamsong Blue (designed by Tom Doak, architect of Pacific Dunes at Bandon Dunes Resort and Bally Neal in Colorado) and Streamsong Red (designed by Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw, the duo known for Kapalua Plantation course on Maui and Bandon Trails at Bandon Dunes Resort). To truly appreciate the Streamsong experience, the resort strongly encourages walking golf. In fact, riding a cart is allowed only after a certain time each day, and it's not even an option from January to mid-April. As a proponent of walking golf, Streamsong sounded like my kind of course.

Streamsong has a big fleet of caddies, too, so we decided to hire caddies to carry our bags for our first round, which was at Streamsong Blue. For the second round, at Streamsong Red, we planned to walk with pull-carts. Streamsong Blue is a slightly longer course, so if you can only hire a caddie for one of the courses, the consensus seems to be to hire one for the Blue.

The closest major airports to Streamsong are Tampa and Orlando. We flew into Orlando, drove an hour south and stayed at a hotel in Lakeland the night before our Streamsong Blue round, so the next morning we'd have a half-hour drive to the resort. The resort is situated in a pocket of remote nature, with the nearest sign of development being at least 20 miles away. Streamsong's courses were coaxed out of the remains of an old, neglected phosphate mine, with sand dunes and grass patches and lakes, features that others have said are more evocative of Ireland or Scotland or Oregon than Florida.

The clubhouse has a modern feel, with concrete and steel complemented by natural woods. I would describe it as rustic-industrial chic. The facade is minimalist, so it's a little unclear which door to enter. (It's the one furthest left, under the roof.)

Once inside, I checked out the women's locker room. It's small, but pretty swank.

After signing in at the pro shop, an attendant drove us in a golf cart to the practice area. I was a little self-conscious when he stood behind us, watching and waiting till we were done. My husband said, "It's like Downton Abbey. You have to get used to the servants being around all the time."

From the driving range, you can walk to the chipping and putting practice area. It has an otherwordly feel, like you're walking on the edge of the moon.

You can practice chipping, but unless you're playing with balls covered in velcro, you're better off practicing putting. The greenside rough is trim and firm, and the greens are undulating and smooth, so running putts up to the hole is a better strategy than trying to get a chip to stick. I learned this later, after playing both Blue and Red courses and realizing I'd hardly touched a wedge unless I was in a bunker.

After practicing for a bit, it was on to the first hole. With all the fluffy white sand, I felt like I was at a beachside course, though the ocean isn't around for miles.

Streamsong has four sets of tees. I played from the Gold tees, which are the forward tees.

The weather was in the low 60s and sunny, perfect for walking golf. There was some wind, but nothing too distracting. Soon there was a nice view of the clubhouse from above.

Here's a candid shot of our caddies.

My caddie was named Matt (the guy on the left in the picture). He was a young local guy from Lakeland, who was probably a good golfer but didn't seem to be a very experienced caddie. He was pretty quiet. Although he carried my bag, cleaned my clubs and balls, and even kept track of my score for me, he wasn't very forthcoming about explaining the layout of each hole. I had to ask him for yardages to the pin and any hazard of obvious concern. After a few holes, I felt like I would have been better off using a yardage book and my own laser rangefinder. Also, he seemed bored to be caddying for me. I know I am an average golfer, but if I'm shelling out $80-$100 for a caddy, it would be better if he didn't act like he was doing me a favor. It was unfortunate, since Matt was my first caddy ever and I wish he hadn't been such a dud.

On the other hand, my husband's caddy (the guy on the right in the picture) was awesome. His name was Erik Nelson. He is a professional caddy with experience at Bandon Dunes and on the Web.Com Tour. He even has a business card. Erik was upbeat and had a great sense of humor. He announced the yardage and explained the layout of each hole with a flair for the dramatic that was not only entertaining but also conveyed the uniqueness of the course. He was quite chatty, and later he told us that some golfers have criticized him for being too "verbose," but for us first-timers at Streamsong, he was perfect. He kept the round lighthearted in mood, and helped us have a good time even if our golfing wasn't the greatest.

While my game wasn't the best that day, the beauty of the course made up for it.

Many of the putting greens were quite large, and it was sometimes hard to tell where exactly the rough ended and the greens began.

Some of the gold tees didn't seem to have a proper tee ground. Instead, they seemed plopped down in the middle of the fairway. Like this one:

And this one:

If I hadn't lost two balls at this par 3, I might have had a shot at breaking 100.

On steep steps like this, I was glad to have a caddy carrying my bag.

Here's a decent approach shot of mine:

Most times, the pin seemed more than two putts away.

Beautiful blue skies, though. Never mind that bunker on the right.

More often than not, there were bunkers that couldn't be ignored.

Missing a bunker was no small victory.

Yet another bunker:

If you don't land the green, whether to chip or putt is not an obvious choice.

There were some water hazards too.

But even the hazards weren't hard to look at.

Here's hubby in the mother of all bunkers.

He got out in one shot. Erik told us a story of a golfer who took 7 shots to get out.

I missed this bunker, but not by much.

A pretty picture, yes. But not a great place from which to take a shot. (That's hubby on the lower right, under the tree.)

Here's another of the forward tees, conveniently plopped down in the middle of the fairway. I can see the clubhouse in the distance, so this must be the 18th hole.

Yes, the approach to the 18th green is guarded by --- you guessed it --- bunkers.

Finally, the pin. In the end, I shot a 104. I couldn't wait to pay off my caddie and let him go home. He didn't even look me in the eye when I handed him the cash. Erik stayed and chatted with us. We promised to look him up when we get around to playing Bandon Dunes.

Then it was off to the clubhouse restaurant for some post-round grub. I think my cheeseburger cost $16 and the french fries cost $8. Kinda pricey, but worth it.

The ultramodern decor of the clubhouse restaurant gives just a taste of the hotel itself, as we would soon find out...

Blue Balls

I realize the title of this blog post could be construed as provocative. But get your mind out of the gutter. I am about to write, quite literally, about blue balls. Not that it's easy to talk about blue balls without creating an air of discomfort.

For example, at Golf Galaxy the other day, I brought a box of multi-colored Callaway Supersoft balls to the checkout counter, opened it to show the neon blue, orange, yellow and plain white shades, and asked the clerk, without double entendre intended, "Have you heard any complaints about these blue balls?"

   The man looked at me with a straight face and said, "No."
   "Because I've been seeing a lot of these blue balls and was just wondering if you'd gotten any feedback on them," I said.
   "No, I didn't even know we had blue balls," said the man.
   The woman at the counter looked at the man, and then at me, as if to scan our faces for any realization of the absurdity of this dialogue exchange. The absurdity had gone unnoticed to me, until later, when my husband (who had been standing next to me at the store) told me that I should probably never speak of blue balls in mixed company again.

But I wondered about blue balls. I mean, grass is green and the sky is typically blue and it didn't seem logical to use a golf ball that would blend in with either background. But then again, these Callaway balls were neon blue. Maybe they were more visible than a regular blue?

Anyway, I bought the blue balls, along with its multi-colored compatriots, plus a box of 12 neon pink balls of the same brand. Having recently read that it's good to have a low-compression winter ball to give one's golf game some pep in the cold weather, and having discovered that the Callaway Supersoft have the lowest compression numbers in the market -- 38 of whatever units compression is measured in -- I bought these balls, and I bought them in various colors to give me extra cheer along with, hopefully, extra yardage.

So did the blue balls pan out? Well, no. In fact, they were an epic fail. Sunday, temps warmed up enough for even hubby to golf with me. I was able to hit a blue ball off the tee, and it went sailing, but I could not see it at all in the fairway till I was about three feet away from it.

I switched to the Callaway pink ball for the remainder of the round. These worked well, giving me good visibility and distance and straighter shots with less spin, as advertised, though it is true about the loss of control around the greens, where you're supposed to want more spin on occasion. And when I hit the pink balls a number of times, they seemed to turn a bit purplish in some spots. But maybe that's just my imagination.

In any case, it is decided. My summer ball is the Srixon Soft Feel in tour yellow (which has a 71 compression), and my winter ball is the Callaway Supersoft in pink. You can even learn some French by reading the box. Somehow, it sounds more polite to say "la plus douce de nos balls" instead of "the softest of our balls." But I digress.

Bottom line -- colored balls are here to stay. Volvik and Nike Mojo even make golf balls in neon green. But given my experience with blue balls, green balls seem like an even less reasonable gambit.

10 Things I Can Finally Do in the Off-Season

Between work and life, golf sucks up a lot of time. Like most women golfers, there are certain things I just don't have time for during the prime playing season. So when the weather turns cold, I can finally take care of those tasks. Here's my personal list of 10 things I can finally do in the off-season:

10. Do my nails.

9. Wear my hair in a style other than a ponytail.
8. Try Zumba, unironically.

7. Clean my golf clubs.

6. Wash my golf towel.

5. Vacuum pine needles and dried mud from my car trunk.

4. Watch golf on TV.

3. Skim back issues of golf magazines for advice I should've followed in warmer months.

2. Surf the Internet for golf vacation deals.

and finally,

1. Let the black toenail heal.

End-of-Season Wrap-Up

In my home state of Maryland, the handicap season goes from March 15 to November 15. Toward the end of October, I had a string of low-90 scores and was anxious to end the season by breaking 90 again, which I had achieved a handful of times in the previous months. Instead, I fell into a deep, dark slump.

It started on Halloween, when I ventured out on my own and got paired with two retirees boasting single-digit handicaps. They rode a cart together and I walked, which meant I was on the run the entire time, just trying to keep pace. The adrenaline boost from the expected cardio seemed to help power some long drives, but after a few holes, I was huffing and puffing and just wanted to slow the round down. By the 18th, I was mentally and physically exhausted and ended up with a 100 on my card.

Rather than take a break, I decided to push through and play back-to-back days. Since the Defectress only plays on Tuesdays, I reunited with Seri and Bea and some new Korean golfer gal pals of theirs. I even ran into Dodi and played an impromptu 9 holes at twilight.

While it was nice to see some familiar faces, I just couldn't catch a break on my scoring. I could blame a million things -- my playing partners were too chatty, the lawn mower guys on the course were too loud, the group ahead was too slow, the group behind was too fast, I didn't have a snack at the turn, the sun was in my eyes on that drive, a bug landed on my ball on that putt, I think I pulled a muscle in my tricep, my bunions are bothering me, and so on -- but what I think it boiled down to was I was just trying too hard.

By November 15, two things were certain: the handicap season would be over and the weather would be too cold to golf. I had two goals: play as much golf as possible and score well. At least I met one of those goals.

So I end the season with an 18.6 handicap. Not terrible but not as low as when I started keeping a handicap earlier this year. As soon as the weather allows, I will get out there again. Scores won't count now that the handicap season is over. And without the pressure of scoring, maybe I will actually have more fun.

Minding Manners

For the past month or so, I've been back to playing with the Defectress on Tuesdays. A few weeks ago, we were paired with two OMGs, one of whom was kind of a douche bag. He was the kind of guy who complimented his own shots. For example, on one of his drives, he said to himself, "That's a good shot!" On another tee shot, he said, "That'll work!" These are the kinds of things you typically say to another golfer, not yourself. Maybe he was used to playing alone and talking to himself to keep himself company.

Anyway, Mr. DB (short for douche bag) got on the Defectress's every last nerve, what with his putting out of turn and general lack of decorum. Since etiquette is a sticking point for the Defectress, she point-blank asked him to please stop putting out of turn. Instead of apologizing, Mr. DB simply shrugged, "Okay." After that, he stayed pretty quiet. The other OMG, who looked a little like Anthony Bourdain, had been pretty quiet for the whole round, with the exception of the occasional, "Nice shot" (to someone else, not himself). Later I found out that the Defectress had already played with the Anthony Bourdain guy a couple of times before. The first time, he made the mistake of starting his golf cart in the middle of her backswing, and she set him straight. By now, he knew better.

Like the Defectress, I am also a stickler for etiquette, but I have different pet peeves. For example, I hate it when someone drops the flagstick three feet from the hole because they are too lazy to carry it off to the side of the green or can't visually calculate the best spot to place the flagstick so it is not intersecting anyone's putting line of sight. I also find it distracting when someone stands directly behind the hole toward which I am trying to putt. The USGA's etiquette guidelines back me up: "Players should not stand close to or directly behind the ball, or directly behind the hole, when a player is about to play." I don't even like people to tend the flagstick for me because it requires them to stand too close to the hole. 

And of course, I detest when other people touch my balls, for any reason. During the round with Mr. DB, I landed an approach shot close to a hole, but since Mr. DB couldn't wait 20 seconds for me to get to the green to mark my ball, he actually marked my ball for me. I couldn't help but wonder if he would have done this had I been a man. I doubt that even this douche bag would dare touch another man's balls. Looking back, I should have unleashed some fury on Mr. DB, but since the Defectress was already gunning for him for putting out of turn, I felt like it would have been overkill.

But the more I play golf, the more I realize that many people either don't know or don't care about etiquette. One of the most basic guidelines is "Players should always show consideration for other players on the course and should not disturb their play by moving, talking or making any unnecessary noise," and yet this is violated nearly every time I play golf. Everyone thinks their "golf whisper" can't be heard, so I guess I must have keen ears.

I learned about golf etiquette from hubby or from breaking the rules and being politely chastened (like the time my shadow fell across a golfer's putting line and he kindly asked me to move). So I tend to be fairly well-behaved on the course, especially among strangers. But I am constantly shocked and amazed how little people know about etiquette, even if they've been playing for decades. In fact, I recently played with a 60-year-old duffer who claimed to have a 6 handicap, and yet chatted incessantly during my shots, dropped the flagstick less than a yard from the hole, and trampled my putting line without a second thought. The spirit of golf depends on courtesy for others, so I'm not sure what game that guy thinks he's playing, but it isn't the same game I play.