Central Coast Swing (Part IV): A Quick Nine and Opine at Sea Pines
If you follow the coast six miles south of Morro Bay, you’ll stumble across the beach towns of Los Osos and Baywood Park. The rural communities are home to a modest population of 15,000 and a rustic aesthetic that mirrors the ragged edges and sharp cliffs of nearby Montaña de Oro State Park. For those seeking a more pampered experience, three hotels lie within city limits, but only one boasts a golf course on property. By name, Sea Pines Golf Resort may sound pretentious. However, the atmosphere and amenities are modest in reality. A perfect example is the “Tranquility Spa” mentioned on the resort’s website. It sounds prestigious until the signage leads to a two-person outdoor jacuzzi with reservations by the hour. Misnomers aside, the resort hit our radar as a reasonable way to squeeze in nine holes and tick away the hours between lunch and dinner. From the parking lot, soft hues saturated our field of vision. The buildings were draped in beige paint, accented by soft yellow lighting, and outlined by the shifting blue and grey tones of the coastal backdrop. The dress code felt beach casual and we matched the aesthetic by swapping golf polos for t-shirts and spikes for sneakers.
Sea Pines’ nine-hole course is comprised of five par-3’s and four par-4’s, the longest stretching to 360 yards and the shortest measuring just under 100. The grounds boast two practice greens and a driving range that we completely missed. It was only when I looked back at a satellite view that I noticed a 175-yard field of wild grass one block over and one street down from the golf course. Troy and I gave our “gamer” sets the afternoon off in favor of the vintage clubs we packed specifically for this occasion. After a $26 greens fee we were directed to the 1st hole, which I previously mistook for a chipping green. The opening hole tempered our expectations for the course while also foreshadowing the unorthodox layout we’d see throughout the round. We retraced our steps past the pro shop, through the parking lot, and across Solano Street to squeeze between the blocks of hotel rooms. A logjam of twilight golfers met us on the 2nd tee like rush hour traffic on your favorite California freeway. A father and his two sons patiently waited in their cart while a foursome of guys in their early 40s occupied the green. Judging by the 24-pack of Bud Light peeking out of the back of their cart, they were regulars. The intermission gave me a chance to scan across the playing grounds. Each hole had at least one group, with most choosing to ride in carts. This included a young couple that drove across two fairways with reckless abandon to locate a wayward drive. A hole in front of them was a reunion of golden girls matriculating towards the green. Everywhere I looked there was another demographic of golfer giving their time to Sea Pines.
Our afternoon wanderings brought Alex’s first experience with persimmon woods. Like most of us, it took a few swings before he found the sweet spot and put a ball in play. Score was irrelevant and mulligans were authorized because at this point our tour through Sea Pines felt about as serious as mini golf. The slow pace of play and the property’s small footprint was partly to blame but chintzy animal statues with hole names like “Beavers Dam”, “Skunk Path”, and Squirrels Run” did little to help. The 3rd hole provided one of the few course design highlights. The view from a narrow fairway towards an elevated green was one of my favorites. The contrast of a red flag against the khaki sand dunes and grey skies deserved an extra look. From the tabletop of the green, we gazed back across the estuary towards Morro Bay which was now framed by the same peaks from the morning’s drive.
Confusion struck on the 6th hole. While Alex, Troy, and I are far from “math-letes”, we felt fairly confident the printed scorecard distance of 260 yards did not correspond with the 160 yard output feeding back through our rangefinders from the pin at the end of the fairway. We suspected that the tees slowly moved up over time and no one cared to make an adjustment since space was already at a premium. Using the father-son group ahead of us as our North Star, we deduced that the flag in the crosshairs of our rangefinders was an aiming pole. The hole continued around a water hazard and in between two overhanging trees. I lost two balls and chose to tune into the music emanating from the 8th tee instead of dropping a third. Troy and I wondered if the course was limited to eight holes or if we were expected to repeat a hole. The more immediate concern was the bounce castle parked beside the 7th green.
Alex looked through the scope of his rangefinder and updated us, “It’s 187 to the kid in the polka dot sweater, 203 to the flag.” Troy and I laid up, deciding that a par was less important than keeping the words “child endangerment with gross negligence” off of our criminal records. Alex choked down on a five-iron and attempted to guide the ball away from the youth. The tentative swing caused an over-the-top path, steering his ball left to right towards the adolescents. Alex shouted, “Down! Down!” as we traced it through the air. With my hands over my head and scrunched tension in my face, the ball landed 10 yards left of the nearest child. Alex looked across the tee box in exasperation while Troy and I exhaled in relief. Troy broke the silence by asking, “So… are you going to play that?” Alex replied, “I think I’ll just drop near the green.”
With seven holes complete, one shut down for the concert, and a line of groups waiting to play the 9th, we packed up early. We trekked back to the parking lot feeling accomplished that we walked off lunch, avoided drinking until a socially acceptable time, and checked another course off our list. There wasn’t much to glean from our play or the course architecture. The property itself was reminiscent of a bygone era, a time when golfers wore pleated khaki pants and woven Izod sweaters, a time when the sport was dominated by names like Couples, Price, and Faldo. Half of Sea Pines’ customers remember those names fondly, the other half wouldn’t know them unless they hit their TikTok feed. Perhaps that’s what Sea Pines does best, it delivers the game across a broad spectrum of patrons. After all, golf at its finest is intersection of generations young and old alike. The mosaic of patrons on our Saturday afternoon was exactly as it should be, a blend of traditionalists and the generations that will carry the game forward.
Two stops remained on our trip to the Central Coast. The first was to a nearby grocery store so we could deliver on the promise of dinner to our hosts in exchange for their generous hospitality. Under the cotton candy pastels of an Arroyo Grande sunset, we sat around the firepit in Alex and Claire’s backyard munching on burgers and watching their kids burn through their last bursts of energy before bed. Their dog Bandon lustfully stared at my hand as I devoured Claire’s homemade cookies, his eyes daring me to drop a crumb. We talked family, our upbringings, and future goals as the sun slid behind the fence and the coastal chill returned. I was hesitant to abandon the backyard scene for bed, recognizing that such a pure moment can be elusive. With a tinge of regret, I made my way back into the house. From my air mattress I stared up at the ceiling, eavesdropping on the last conversations of the night. I closed my eyes and tried to envision our final course, compiling two years of photos and expectations in my head. I did my best to control my excitement, not knowing if the payoff would match the building anticipation. In eight hours, I’d finally know if the wait was worth it.
