Convergence of Soules in the Ojai Valley: A Story of Golf, Broken Barriers, and Lasting Friendships
“How long have you known these guys?” It’s a question our group often receives. The catalyst for the inquiry usually involves a verbal jab or jest, my playing partners Troy or Marcus telling me to hit driver on a par 3, or Tim and I firing back about their streak of high scores. They’re the type of comments you’d never dare make to a stranger on a golf course, but to your close friends there’s nothing off-limits. To understand our dynamic, you need to understand our origin, the personalities involved, and how a seemingly random golf meet-up blossomed into fast friendships. And to tell you that story, I first need to tell you about Soule Park Golf Course.
One of Southern California’s greatest enigmas is nestled against Highway 33 to the west and Highway 150 to the east. The inhabitants of the surrounding Ojai Valley are defined by an eclectic population. Located 30 miles to the south of Santa Barbara and 80 miles north of Los Angeles, the town of 8,000 includes the likes of celebrities, blue-collar types, CEOs, hippies, and at one time, a chapter of the Hells Angels motorcycle gang. It is also home to Soule Park Golf Course. Designed by William F. Bell in 1962, the 18-hole, par 72 course was reconfigured by Gil Hanse and Jim Wagner in 2005 after severe storm damage. For the more adventure-minded players, the mystique of Soule Park lies beyond the topography and beauty of its location.
Once in a while, you get shown the light, In the strangest of places, if you look at it right
Scarlet Begonias - Grateful Dead
On the drive up, several thoughts came to mind. What did my playing partners look like? How good were they? Would they even show up to the course? My only communication with Troy occurred over text message. We met (virtually) as members of the LowCal Roost, a collective of golfers extending from San Luis Obispo to San Diego. The group arranged events all over Southern California via a 120-person WhatsApp thread. Amidst the messaging chaos, an invitation popped up from Troy: “I’ve got an 8:50 a.m. tee time Sunday at Soule Park if you want to join.” As a newcomer to the group, I was anxious about golfing with someone unfamiliar. I reminded myself that by virtue of joining an online group of golfers, I essentially got what I signed up for.
It was settled. A somewhat random meetup of golfers would best be accomplished at the driving range. Troy would be conspicuous in a yellow shirt. As I walked through the parking lot, I peered through the fence with trepidation. Troy had a stout build, with eyeglasses that fogged by a combination of the summer morning’s humidity and the cadence of his exhales. A closer glance at the yellow-clad golfer’s headcovers revealed his musical taste. An assortment of dancing bears and a lightning skull around his driver signaled his fandom for The Grateful Dead. He demonstrated a proclivity for aesthetics, namely his cool grey Jones golf bag and the tartan patches on his Footjoy shoes.
In the next hitting bay stood a 6’1” bloke, mid-30s I thought, who rhythmically hit three-quarters wedges without pause or reflection. After the wedge display, he replaced the club for his driver, paused, and extended his hand stating, “Hi, I’m Tim.” I introduced myself then watched as he proceeded to hit bullet draws in rapid succession. I looked at Troy as if to say, “Is this guy for real?” Troy responded as he chuckled, “Wait ‘til he gets warmed up.”
You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it, You start to freeze, as horror looks you right between the eyes, You're paralyzed
Thriller - Michael Jackson
For me, the first tee at Soule was a source of trauma going back to my youth. At age 10, I played in a junior tournament hosted by the course. Upon approaching the first hole, my eyes settled where the fairway should have been. In its place was a heavy blanket of morning fog and a dense grey. The gloom was just one element of the eerie setting. To my left, steam ascended from the murky water hazard. To my right, oak trees leaned over the cart path like gangly arms intent on abducting children. In my haste to get underway, I nearly whiffed. The moment of relief following contact was interrupted by a cold, heartbreaking thud in the neighboring trees. It was a rude introduction to the course and an intimidation that remained with me into adulthood.
Childhood memories set aside, and my confidence bolstered by a hosel-free practice session, I stood by as Tim took honors on the first tee. His pre-shot routine consisted of two languid swings before inching towards the ball like a hitter stepping into the batter’s box. While poised over the ball, a long pause ensued. He appeared paralyzed until his lower lip sucked behind his upper teeth and his chin shifted right to signal the start of his backswing. The melodic tempo from the driving range was replaced with a ferocious attack on the ball. He snapped the club back and forth like the crack of a whip. With another note of astonishment, I mouthed to Troy, “What the hell was that?”
I was a passive observer as Troy and Tim placed a Nassau game, a nine-hole bet for each side, and a third bet for the overall match play winner. Troy, an 8-handicap, appeared to be “sandbagging” Tim as he successfully negotiated three strokes a side and proceeded to birdie the third, fourth, and fifth holes. Tim, a 2-handicap, found himself four-down through six holes. Troy’s driver swing was a slapshot, sometimes wayward but always potent. After a particularly long drive on the 11th tee, Troy hinted at the source of his power, “When I get the fat synced up, it goes.” His comment was a glimpse into his self-deprecating sense of humor. It also opened the door for playful teasing.
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break, These days you might feel a shaft of light, Make its way across your face
These Are the Days - 10,000 Maniacs
As the round continued, our newly formed group developed an easy comfort and rapport. Tim was the first to cheer a good shot, exuding sincerity by rooting for us to play our best golf. Sometimes, his humility opened him up to fodder—and at times he struggled to accept compliments without a long-winded response. On the par-4 15th, he hit a penetrating 9-iron over the barranca, framed by the clubhouse in the background. After his ball landed within four feet of the hole, Troy and I shouted, “Nice shot.” Tim carefully crafted his response, “Yeah thanks, I’ve really been trying to stand a little taller with my short irons so that I feel like I’m forced to shallow the club and make ball first contact. I tend to get a little steep and miss…” Troy interrupted, “Just say thank you Tim.” Tim replied, “Thank you.” After 15 holes, I realized I wouldn’t make it through the round without my own baptism. To that point, it became clear that I had to take one or two extra clubs to reach every green. On the par-3 16th, Troy hit a peeling fade from 160 yards to a middle-right pin. Tim asked about his club selection and Troy responded that he hit an 8-iron. Troy looked at me and quipped, “It’s probably a 5-iron for you.” I gestured at him with my middle finger in a moment that was followed by a trio of sneers. Tim trailed for the entire match and battled back, but Troy’s birdie on 16 left no doubt about the outcome. Though the round began under the mantle of match play and handicaps, it was my first glimpse of who these players were as men and competitors. Troy, the smiling match play assassin, and Tim, the talented but overly meticulous foil. We retreated to the bar after the last hole. The conversation covered the usual tales of mistakes made and opportunities lost. Our banter abruptly turned to the musings and memories of Soule Park.
Troy recalled his first visit in 2014. He was introduced by a friend and likened Soule to a deserted playground. “The place was always empty. You could get on whenever you wanted.” Troy commented on the redesign, “The way they made links-styled collars around the greens, it was the first time I saw that on a parkland course. And the layout, it just makes sense!” He was right, Soule Park doesn’t pretend to be a links course. The design embraces its parkland roots and features traditional hallmarks like tree-lined fairways and dug bunkers. There’s also balance to the arrangement of holes. The front-nine features back-to-back par-5s, hinting that players need to bank a few birdies before the gauntlet of holes 6, 7, and 8. This theme reverberates throughout the course. Wherever it seems you’re likely to make bogey, you’ll have an equal chance to get a shot back on the next hole.
Troy did have one grievance to air: the 6th hole. The par-3 plays 183 yards from the forward tees and 242 yards from the tips. The locals dub it the shortest par-5 on the course. The San Antonio Creek runs the entire length of the left side. On the right, a group of large oak trees gather menacingly near the green. The putting surface measures 25 yards front to back with the left tier sloping downwards and to the right. The tee shot requires a precise long iron, hybrid, or fairway wood. After a run of over par scores, Troy began to question his approach. “I should just hit 7-iron and layup. At least then I’ll have a shot at making par.”
When the road looks rough ahead, and you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed, You just remember what your old pal said, Boy, you've got a friend in me
You’ve Got a Friend In Me - Randy Newman
Tim, for his part, had his own memories to share. As the bartender delivered him a much-needed cocktail, he swirled his beverage and gazed through the sliding windows that face the first tee. “You know, I played here for an SCGA (Southern California Golf Association) One-Day Series in 2021. I was playing my best golf and I really wanted to win. Then I got to 4, and I made a nine.” He walked us through his crushed drive on the 500-yard par-5 and how he had 150 yards to the hole. The green features a ridge in the middle, dividing the left and right sides like the peak of a mountain range. His approach shot found the bunker long, left of the green and as he described, “a short game fiasco ensued.” The sheer terror could have ruined the remainder of his round, but the quadruple bogey ultimately benefited him. “That took the pressure off, and I just had fun the rest of the way.” He loved the course so much he came back on New Year's Day. “That was one of my favorite rounds ever. It was 38 degrees when I teed off and in the mid-60s when I finished. The mountains above the foothills were full of snow.” He took another sip and continued, “They just reopened the restaurant, and I was sitting here looking through that window. I thought to myself, ‘This is why people move to and stay in California.’”
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road, Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
Good Riddance - Green Day
As for me, the day’s round was the last step in a slow realization. “It took me 30 years to see why people love this place.” After my first experience as a child, I had no desire to return. My opinion began to change when a longtime friend became the Head Professional at Soule, and I took a job there during my senior year of college. “When I started working here in 2012. It wasn’t a trendy destination. There wasn’t this stream of people coming up from LA. It was a bunch of ‘townies.’” The mix of customers reflected the diversity of Ojai. The property served the obviously rich, the seemingly indigent, and everyone in between. Summer afternoons felt endless. I sat on a stool in the pro shop and watched group after group ignore triple-digit heat to play golf. I’d shake my head and think, “Why won’t you people stay home?” One-by-one, they happily forked over their greens fees, filled coolers with ice, and disappeared off the first tee. Taking the time to reflect, I recognized that distance gave me a new appreciation for the course. “When I graduated, I had a bulging disc in my back, and I quit golf. I went to work a ‘real job’ and didn’t come back for almost a decade.” The pandemic and better health brought me back to golf and that ultimately led to a reunion with Soule Park. “The first time back, I felt that wonder everyone talks about. I don’t know if it's the setting or a type of communal excitement… but I finally got it.” My stint as an employee was merely a bridge between college and a job, but the return was a conversion from seer to true believer.
I’m your hell, I’m your dream, I’m nothing in between, You know you wouldn’t want it any other way
Bitch - Meredith Brooks
A month later, we eagerly planned a second trip to Soule. This time, Troy had a fourth to fill out the group. At first glance, I was skeptical about Marcus. His Georgia roots were obvious. His light-brown bangs flipped under the brim of his hat like a frat boy on spring break. A Blink-182 tattoo descending his right calf and a mix of conflicting floral patterns shouted, “West Coast transplant.” Marcus joined LowCal after his move from Atlanta in 2015. His southern twang seemed muted after seven years in California. A second move brought him to Ventura County. Marcus and Tim got off to a rough start after exchanging barbs in the LowCal chat once the conversation turned political. Troy served as an ambassador between them during a round of golf in San Clemente and they cleared the air. It didn’t take long to realize you can’t take anything Marcus says too seriously. He dunked on Tim for his Tommy Bahama shorts, accusing him of being “a dad transitioning into a grandpa.” Troy reminded Marcus that he was no fashion icon himself. Tim eventually recognized that Marcus showed his affection through trash talk. Golfing with Marcus was like sparring with a courteous training partner. He’ll throw a few jabs, but if he suspects that one landed, he’ll stop to make sure you’re ok.
Marcus heard about Soule Park before he moved to the area. “The guys from LowCal couldn’t hype it up enough.” He was so intrigued that he made a solo pilgrimage years before meeting us. “I grabbed the dog and drove up to play as a single.” He was rewarded was idyllic conditions, “The course gave me the best of itself that day. Fast greens and beautiful weather.” He was paired with three scratch golfers. As a 10-handicap, he shot a one-over par 73. By the end of the round, his playing partners questioned his index. Marcus questioned how Soule Park could be such a hidden gem. “For that price? Absolutely ridiculous. It might be one of the best values in all Southern California. It’s a special place.” Perhaps, it’s the backdrop of the Topatopa Mountains or the remnants of Native American history. Regardless, the golf course leaves a unique impression on all who visit and in turn, an unexplainable connection between them.
Been best friends and will be ‘til we die
Aliens Exist - Blink 182
Since our foursome formed a year ago, we’ve golfed together nearly every weekend. There’s a harmony to the group. Whenever I become too competitive, Troy reminds me that golf is a hobby. If he begins a tantrum, Marcus hastily reminds him, “We already have one guy who goes dark when he shoots 78. We don’t need two.” When Marcus gets too bold, Tim asks when he last broke 80. Our time on the course has accelerated our friendship like dog years. Through the common bond of golf, we’ve seen each other’s full range of emotions, our strengths, and flaws. Circling back to that original question, when people ask how long we’ve been friends, they’re acknowledging an obvious bond. They expect the answer to be measured in weeks, months, or years. There’s a look of surprise on their face when I reply, “Not that long, but we’ve played a lot of golf together.”
