Monterey Monopoly: Keeping Pebble Beach Accountable
Ever since its opening in 1978, The French Laundry has been the pinnacle of fine dining in America. Located in Yountville, California, deep in the heart of some of the most expensive real estate in the world which, for the most part, mostly consists of vines, the three Michelin star restaurant has always made jaws drop and checkbooks open. Head chef Timothy Keller has successfully translated notes of “Europhyllic roots” into the Bay Area dining scene. Reservations are booked out for months in advance. And for those lucky enough to get a spot in the coveted, jacket only dining room, one has to be willing to put down some major coin. $700 for a dinner of two, not including the option of having some celebrity sommelier pour a 30 year old bottle of California Cabernet and discuss how it contains hints of “your grandma’s closet”. Think you outsmarted the system and have a great bottle of your own you’d like to pop open for such a special occasion? Great! That’ll be a $200 corkage fee. Think again, oh wise one.
But just like in the greatest foodie film of all time, Ratatouille, there is nothing quite like a food critic that can completely dismantle what one believes and what is reality. Soleil Ho has been the lead food critic for The San Francisco Chronicle since 2019, and has had numerous experiences at The French Laundry. “On my first visit, Keller recognized me despite my use of a pseudonym. He shaved truffles over my pasta by hand, walked me through the wine cellar, sent out a glass bong filled with a superb mushroom consommé, and in the end, tried to push free cigars onto me and my dining companion. (We declined)”. After her most recent visit, Ho wrote a piece the likes of which I’ve never seen before in a legitimate publication, and probably Keller for that matter either. Nothing in comparison to an unamused, scathing lash like Anton Igo would write, but it sufficed for anyone yearning for a vastly different opinion than that of the majority’s. Titled “The French Laundry remains so hot there’s a black market for reservations. Is it still worth the splurge?”, Ho digs deep into what is really being served there, and is completely fine with “...committing a bit of sacrilege now and then in the pursuit of honesty.” In the process of describing the menu, words like “cheap fish ball” and “Starbucks egg bite” were accompanied next to words like “unremarkable” and “bland”. Ho was so surprised by her awful visits that she felt as though “There were dishes that were so disappointing that I was worried that I did something wrong…”
This story is as old as time itself. Supply and demand, or at least that’s what they taught us in my Intro to Economics class. Tons of demand, with a specifically selected amount of supply that only the seller obtains, complimented with just the right amount of greed and finagling usually results in one thing: a monopoly. Andrew Carnegie’s Steel Company, now called U.S. Steel, John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil Company and the American Tobacco Company were all precursors to The Sherman Antitrust Act, or what the system cheaters of the early 20th century would call the ultimate party foul. In 1890, as America was one foot through the door of the Industrial Revolution, this act was passed in response to an outcry of price fixing abuses by corporations like these. You want steel, oil, or tobacco? Well then you’re going to have to buy it at the price we want to sell it at. And because we know that you have nowhere else to go to obtain these items, we’ll take your money with one hand and punch you in the ribs with the other. The only thing citizens and small companies in need of those materials were able to say was Thank you. May I take another? Most of us have had experiences with monopolies. Maybe not as hierarchical and legitimate as those previously stated, but I guarantee that most of us don’t feel good inside when we pay $14 for a Bud Light at a baseball game, or even $30 for a portable, over iced whiskey highball at a Broadway play. Sorry sir, you can’t bring your own booze in. But we do have some concessions over there. Try me, pal. I have pockets not even I know about.
I may have transported you back to your junior year in high school, which for the last paragraph you pretended to seem interested in niche U.S. history. Thanks for that. But this economic phenomenon is not exclusive to big business or annoying prices at sporting events. There are some monopolistic tendencies in the world of golf as well. Some courses are well aware and confident in saying that they are the final stop on someone’s bucket list, as in playing there was a dying wish and they would give up a lung to enjoy a round there. The courses I am talking about are all public, due to the private, bucket list courses having no ear for the beggars of the public outside their gates. They don’t care if you’d pay some enormous and nonsensical amount of money. Sorry, they don’t need it, and they don’t see your name on the guest list. But places like Shadow Creek, Pinehurst, Whistling Straights, and TPC Sawgrass do have an ear for that kind of transaction. But at what price? That is the golden question every traveling golfer searching for the next best trip must answer for themselves.
Of the previously stated locations, only two of the four are even worth reaching deep in one's pockets for. The most anyone will ever pay for a round at Pinehurst #2, a Donald Ross masterpiece and U.S. Open anchor host, is $495. Trust me when I say that even at peak season with peak prices, this tee time is well worth the investment. And I don’t say investment lightly. Playing here has completely changed my perspective on architecture and design for years to come. And although shooting an 81, even though it felt like a 74, I have grown an affinity for domed greens, wire grassed native areas in replace of rough, and a somewhat flat yet interestingly contoured course that could be easily walked everyday.
Pete Dye, the architect of Whistling Straights, moved just over 1 million cubic yards of dirt in order to make the course located on the shore of Lake Michigan. And although that’s not necessarily my style of construction, I would still pay the $410 to play there at least once. Sure, everyone wants to play where the pros play, and everyone wants to hit that one shot they saw on television that one year (mine probably being Jordan Speith’s harrowing flop on the par-3 17th almost resulting in a running swan dive into the lake itself). But there are numerous reasons to play here other than just being the host of the 2004, 2010, and 2015 PGA Championships, as well as the 2007 U.S. Senior Open and the 2019 Ryder Cup most recently. The routing and the views are phenomenal, the risk reward strategy looks fun, and although it does have a slope of 146, the average in the United States being 113, Pete said and proved that he always made tees for everyone. Just scoot up a tee or two and don’t punish yourself by thinking it’s just like the hardest course in your neck of the woods. It’s not. It’s probably much harder. And it’s probably much better.
According to Golf Digest, I’ve played 22 of the Top 100 Best Public Courses in America and 10 of the Best Courses in America overall, private and public. I want to keep putting check marks next to those courses. I’m 23 and have more than enough time ahead of me to try my best at getting most of them done, whether it be shelling out the allotted cash or winning the friend lottery and getting to know someone who has more connections at private clubs than phone numbers in the Yellow Pages. But there are some courses where, in all honesty, it is just not worth the trouble. Want to spend $1,000 dollars at Shadow Creek in Las Vegas or $650 at TPC Sawgrass in the swampland of Ponte Vedra, Florida? Be my guest. Not just us golfers, but normal people as well, are looking for experiences that get more out of than we put in. And for some places, it never seems to feel that way. Curated and artificial experiences aren’t what inspire me personally. That’s not the game I fell in love with.
But above all of those locations, there is one that looms over the golf community like a dark cloud on the horizon, one that makes even the most die hard golfer question the expense. And although it might seem like an easy decision to pack up the sticks and start checking Southwest for the cheapest flights, I would warrant a second look before taking the trip. I’m talking about Pebble Beach, and let me tell you why.
Let’s be honest. Making a good golf course in Monterey should not be that hard. The land is more than suitable, bordering on almost perfect soil. If a superintendent can’t grow grass here, then he or she needs to find a new occupation. Sandy beachfront property is the norm, with some sites being so close to the water that it’s possible to feel the spray of the startlingly cold Pacific as it violently shoves itself upwards into the jagged rocks positioned next to a closely placed tee or green. It is referred to as the “best area code in golf”, even though that is a serious statement usually resulting in a serious debate. Numerous other tightly packed hotspots that come to mind are the greater Melbourne area, as well as Southhampton, New York on Long Island. But Pebble has the beauty. It has the pedigree. But there is something wrong with this famed location, and it’s time to address it. I am by no means the first writer to do so, and am therefore standing on the shoulders of those that have committed golf sacrilege in the name of honesty before me.
“You play golf? Where do you normally play? Have you ever played Pebble Beach?”, is the usual line of questioning among my age group in the Bay Area. And that’s okay. That's the first thing that pops up in their minds when it comes to the game of golf. If you take golf seriously enough, then you have to play Pebble; which, at face value, is popular enough to accept. Why wouldn’t anyone love that place? The views, the famed history, the maintenance, the challenge. But most of all: the prestige. Pebble Beach doesn't even have to try to get positive media attention anymore. It happens every year at the annual AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am, where celebrities, good and bad golfers alike, come together to say how much they endlessly gawk over the course. And with the infamous Cypress Point ordeal, in which the highly exclusive club which was one of the original three host courses of the tournament, declined to accept the sponsor’s ultimatum in allowing female membership, all AT&T had to do for a quick remedy was look down the beach a ways to another beautiful spot at the Shore Course at Monterey Peninsula Country Club.
These are all things that contribute to the powers that be deciding that a round is worth somewhere in the $600 range, not including whether or not you take a caddie, which can easily surprise anyone coming from the Midwest whose caddie fees are usually in the double digits. If you want to play at Spyglass, that’s another $435, with the Links at Spanish Bay being $315. Those are the three most played courses on the resort, and at peak season could be spending upwards of $1,400 if you wanted to play all three. The question truly is then: Is it worth it?
My brother and I, accompanied by a friend from high school named Jackson, walked under the Pebble Beach archway and were greeted by some appropriately swagged out volunteers. It was the 2018 U.S. Amateur and the tickets were $25 each. Neither my brother nor Jackson had ever been, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to at least take a look around the course, especially with such an amazing tradition as the Amateur Championship allowing patrons to walk behind the players inside the ropes. It’s one of the only tournaments in the world in which this is a possibility, making the spectator feel like he or she is actually a part of the tournament rather than just watching it from afar. We reached into our pockets and pulled out our paper tickets I had printed out the night before. “You’re fine guys, no need for those”, was what one of the volunteers said. I looked around in confusion, then realized why the tickets were pretty much useless: there was no one there. And with another hour and a half to spare before the group we wanted to follow teed off, we felt inclined to look around, try on some clothes that we knew we couldn’t afford, and get a bite to eat at the restaurant upstairs. Jackson even found a spare putter and a couple of balls next to the famed putting green and helped himself to a couple of 20 foot bombs (that putter and golf balls turned out to belong to Viktor Hovland, the future champion of that very tournament, in which Jackson gives himself the utmost credit for giving him good putter juju).
As we were walking through the door of The Lone Cypress Grill, positioned above the gift shops with a perfect bird’s eye view of the putting green, grandiose main lodge, and first tee, I heard some men behind me also making their way in. I stepped to the side and held the door open for them. It turned out to be the entire CBS broadcast crew, including Pebble Beach native Jim Nantz, Sir (don’t ever forget the “sir”, or so I’ve been told) Nick Faldo, and Ian Baker Finch. I was a little stunned, avoiding eye contact due to the mere possibility that they thought that I was staring. I had no clue the Amateur was this big a deal. We ended up being seated directly behind their table, in which the former CEO of the Pebble Beach Company, Bill Perocchi, later joined. I needed to do something. I felt like I had to suck every last ounce out of those meaningless $25 I spent. So I quickly ran downstairs, looking for something to buy in order for them to sign. I got a yardage guide, which as one could imagine was way too expensive, may or may not have snagged a miniature sharpie on the way out (no way I was going to pay for that too), and headed back up. Jim Nantz was at the bar ordering an off the menu cocktail in which I still can’t explain the reasoning behind. It was an Old Fashioned with 10 year Rip Van Winkle bourbon. I was 19 and didn’t really know my way around a bar very well, but I knew that that was simply too much. It was too much in almost an aggressive way, like he needed to prove something to everyone. I mustered the courage, walked up to him anyways and said, “Hey Mr. Nantz, do you mind signing this for my dad?”
“Sure, buddy”, he responded as he quickly grabbed the sharpie and yardage guide out of my hand without even the slightest head turn. Ask any of my friends and hopefully they’ll tell you that I’m appropriately humble. But if you also ask them the one thing that makes me wince, it’s when a complete and utter stranger calls me “buddy”. It doesn’t matter if you’re the most notable broadcaster in the world of golf or the employee over the counter at Chipotle. “Hey, I like your quarter zip there too, buddy.” Come on Jim, there it was again. “Not as great a course as this one, but still up there.” I was wearing my baby blue, Pacific Dunes quarter zip in which I was fairly proud of. That conversation never left me, and I have firmly stood my ground and never asked for another autograph since.
Afterwards, I thought long and hard about which one I would rather play, and theorized if they were both the same price (they’re not), which one was objectively better: Pebble Beach or Pacific Dunes. It’s not so much a rivalry as it is a difference in individual taste and culture. I had seen the two for myself, and wanted to formulate a comparison. But I couldn’t fully lean to one side or the other quite yet. I had never played Pebble before. I had been there plenty of times, had studied it for years, knew all of its intricate history, but still had never experienced getting up to the tee box at the par-3 7th and having to decide what club I would hit to its famed green among the rocks. I had never decided whether to play it safe and go right, or risk it all and go left of the tree in the middle of the 18th fairway. I needed to see it and experience it as a player, for my own sanity and closure.
And there we were, on the practice range with t-minus 30 minutes until we teed off. My original assumption of this warm up session was that it would be as intense as a countdown at the Kennedy Space Center. It wasn’t like that at all, mostly due to my brother Jack and friend Caleb challenging each other to a long drive contest, seeing if they could potentially pump a ball over the fence that the USGA had put there so that those playing in the U.S. Open didn’t hit any cars driving on the road behind. “I don’t need to warm up. I’m going to shoot eight or so strokes more than usual anyways”, Caleb said with a lighthearted shoulder shrug and another mighty rip at his driver. As I was recovering from one of many belly laughs that day, I looked behind me to see if my dad was having as much fun, and realized quickly that he wasn’t even able to find the club face, let alone find a smile. It’s a terrible sight to see really, when a playing partner finds himself in an indefinite struggle like this, mostly because you are going to have to watch 18 holes of it. There are some common range prone setbacks, like flaring drives or too fast of a swing. But those are all things that can be fixed with just a little experience and patience. Dad was struggling with something that, when seen firsthand, brings a visceral reaction to the mind of any golfer unlucky enough to pass by: the shanks. Ice cold ones too. Some potential vaccines for this can be found on Youtube or other last minute outlets, but only time, a terrible short-term memory, or a miracle are the only legitimate solutions to such a problem. And there was no worse timing to have the shanks than right before heading to the first tee of any course let alone one of the best, and toughest, in the world. He looked lost. He was lost.
Walking into the Pebble Beach pro shop is a confusing experience. There is usually a conglomerate of people scouring about the sale racks in the dark, dusty corner, or picking up the wedges and putters still shiny with their plastic coverings from the leather, Pebble Beach labeled tour bag they wish they had in their own. Previously that day I had found an original copy of Scotland’s Gift, Golf by famed architect C.B. MacDonald signed by himself, interestingly enough, in pencil; which should be kept in a safe due to the random, golf memorabilia saboteur only needing an eraser to deplete its price from $800 down to whatever the leather on the cover is worth. Only a small percentage of people are there to actually check in for their tee time, and I had never seen anyone at the front counter actually doing so until I did it myself. Most of those visiting aren’t playing the course, or any course for that matter, but shopping, getting a drink in the Tap Room, or bumping into Jim Nantz apparently.
I don’t usually get nervous when it comes to golf besides the occasional match winning putt or maybe playing with my future father in law for the first time. But I was visibly shaking on the first tee at Pebble Beach, and I had never experienced that before. Going between either hitting a 2 iron or a 4 iron shouldn’t have been my concern. I just wanted to hit the ball solidly and not put a hosel rocket into the condos to my right side. I still couldn’t feel my hands as I hit my approach shot into the right, greenside bunkers on 1 and still couldn’t feel them as I hit my drive on 2. But I looked down at my Pacific Dunes needlepoint belt I had purposely worn out of stubbornness in need of some perspective. And after stringing together two straight birdies on 2 and 3 and a double gin and tonic on 4, the shakes subsided and my rational thinking resumed. The greens were punched, but besides that, everything else seemed to be intact and beautiful as ever. The ocean was still blue, the bunker sand was still bleach white, and the golf was still penal as ever. The interest wasn’t in which way one gets around the course in a fun, strategic way, but really in just trying not to pull your hair out over 6,400 yards.
I will give credit where credit is due. If the course’s main goal is to test the best players in the world, then Pebble Beach is a great place to do that. But if you want resort guests, which are the overwhelming majority of players year round, to have fun and enjoy their time there, then it’s not the best option for people to go and spend their hard earned money. Especially when it comes to the other courses at the resort. Spyglass Hill and the Links at Spanish Bay don't have to be that hard. That purpose serves no one. Designers are so good nowadays that they can make a course that is easy and accessible to the high handicapper while still making the low handicapper work for a score they desire, all while making it fun, strategically interesting, and accessible. I can count the number of holes on the entire resort that encapsulate those three words with one hand. This is where golf is going, as it should be. It’s turning away from courses trying to test everyone and brag about how hard it plays into something that is a legitimately enjoyable experience. Now, I would be lying if I said that we didn’t have an enjoyable experience out there. Getting to go around that course is an opportunity that most of those who pick up the game will never have. But we all played reasonably well, including my dad who magically got rid of his shank curse from earlier that day. But what if we didn’t play well? We would’ve just had the ocean, albeit a great thing to look at for five hours, to pull us out of our painful round of lost balls and impossible shots.
What do they have that we don't know about? Why is the golf so expensive there? They know that whatever they charge, people will pay it. And there’s something wrong with that. Not legally, of course. They can do whatever they want. We live in America; and yes, I will pay $14 for a Coors Banquet whenever I go to a San Francisco Giant’s game. But there are multiple reasons why it’s wrong. Firstly, the golf one gets is not good enough for the price you pay. Tara Iti, located about a half an hour drive from Auckland, New Zealand, is about the same price as Pebble Beach, considering that you take a caddie at Tara Iti and not at Pebble. Yes, Tara Iti is a private course. But they do have a program where anyone can come once in their life, for as long as they want, and play as many times as they can muster. It’s a brainchild of Tom Doak, Tara Iti’s designer, that was developed at The Renaissance Club in Scotland, another highly exclusive club. After that one time, the only way you’re getting back through those gates is as a guest or as a new member. But Tara Iti is the 2nd best golf course in the world. It is technically a better course than Pebble. And in my opinion, they aren’t even in the same ballpark. Most people are only playing Pebble once in their lifetime anyway, so I think that Tara Iti is a good comparison in this situation. The difference lies just in whether or not one is willing to think outside the box, be a little adventurous, and book a flight to a country they have probably never been to before.
Secondly, the massive rate attracts only the people who Pebble wants to play their course: those that are able to afford it. It’s kind of “faux public” in that way. Who has an extra $600 to spend a grueling five and a half hours spraying balls, not necessarily into the ocean, but into ankle high rough where recovery is arduous? Mid to high handicappers don’t have a lot of fun at Pebble. They get challenged and frustrated. But whoopsies, Pebble already has your money. And finally, Just because someone can charge a lot doesn’t mean that they should. Let’s stop talking about if they can but if it’s the right thing to do. They know that it’s a lot of people’s dying wish to play there, so they feel pretty confident about the gouge.
I haven’t played The Links at Spanish Bay yet, but there doesn’t need to be any stretch of the imagination to figure out that they ruined an amazing site for golf. This might be dramatic, but that course is a disgrace to the peninsula. It’s an eye sore. You would have to be blind to say that that course fits in well with its surroundings. And I’m only saying that it’s not the black sheep of the resort because of Del Monte, which is at best a run down public municipal they charge $110 a round which, technically speaking, you can't even see the ocean from.
The Pebble Beach Company makes $60 million in profit every year. A well run and efficient redesign or renovation can cost just $8 to $10 million.They need to start focusing on the future of their golf courses because their style is not going to be sustainable very much longer in today’s atmosphere of architectural savvy players. People are starting to care a lot more about architecture and strategy than ever before, and it seems like resorts and private clubs alike are starting to realize that a new course isn’t just any other new, shiny thing to look at. It is truly an investment to further the longevity of their business.
All the other courses in the Monterey area have done extensive renovations, including Poppy Hills and The Dunes Course at MPCC, which were both beautiful successes. Cypress and The Shore Course at MPCC are so good they never needed “tear up everything and start again” renovations. The company is sitting on a gold mine and abusing it, especially when it comes to the land they own at Spanish Bay, with some of the best duneland in the nation as well as sandy and interesting inland potentials. The resort will never get to the status of a Bandon Dunes or a Sand Valley in lots of people’s minds because its culture is already very much cemented. Those places are fun, interesting, and inclusive; while Pebble Beach devotes its identity to a false sense of pompous regalness. People play Bandon Preserve and the Sandbox barefoot all day long, and they should because playing golf barefoot is fun. But if anyone played barefoot at the newly renovated par three course The Hay, designed by TGR Design, one could predict that they would feel completely out of place.
I’m not an infrastructure freak, but I think everyone knows what flows well and what doesn’t. Pebble Beach as a resort is disjointed. It doesn't have the same feel as Bandon or Sand Valley or even Pinehurst because one has to drive to individual courses. There is really no use in the shuttle system, it’s much easier to drive yourself. If I call a shuttle at Bandon, I am expecting it to be outside my building within the next 5-7 minutes every time, and I can say that confidently because it has always been like that, and Mike Keiser and Howard McKee planned the resort that way. If I am staying at the Carolina Hotel at Pinehurst, all I need to do is take a two minute shuttle ride to the main pro shop where #2, #4, and The Cradle reside with #3 directly across the street. I wouldn’t feel anywhere close to as confident in the system at Pebble. What if the closest shuttle is at Spyglass, I am staying at the Inn at Spanish Bay, and I need to get to the Pebble Beach practice facility in 20 minutes? Sorry, not going to happen.
We took off our hats and shook hands after finishing up on the 18th green, and all four of us seemed to simultaneously stare out at the ocean one last time before walking back up through the Lodge. That hole is encapsulating, and is maybe the best hole out there, although I could be swayed by a strong argument for the par-5 6th or par-4 8th. I have a soft spot for routings that start inland, hit the ocean once in the middle of the front nine, followed by more inland holes, concluding with a couple of holes on the ocean. Ballybunion is one such like that. Bandon Dunes is like that. But unfortunately, the only thing that those two courses have in common with Pebble Beach is the ocean. The word Links in Pebble Beach Golf Links has some serious connotation to it. It automatically puts itself in the line of fire with architecture aficionados and other sticklers. A links should feel like a links, or in other words, fast and firm conditions, wildly fun and nuanced greens, it has to be built on sand, and it has to be built on the ocean. I can only identify one of the four of those points for which Pebble has executed successfully. The Pebble Beach Company is living in a bygone era, and has to stop boasting about the past and start seriously considering the future. And just like Soleil Ho concludes about the French Laundry, my answer behind whether or not the splurge at Pebble Beach is worth it rarely results in a “yes”.
