The last time I had been this excited over a phone call it was late at night and a woman was involved. My friend, Bob, had just invited me to play Pine Valley, the number one ranked course in the nation. Like two other better known ultra-private clubs, Augusta National and Cypress Point, it was virtually impossible to get on unless you were with a member. I didn’t have those sort of connections but Bob was a business partner of one and he was kind enough to include me in the group. Even though it was a busy time of the year for me I quickly made the necessary arrangements.

A few weeks later Bob and I flew to Philadelphia, where we met up with the rest of the group. Renting two vans, we drove 15 miles east to Clementon, New Jersey. It was an odd feeling turning off the main road into the property. You go from a busy street lined with the usual strip malls and fast food restaurants to a small wooden bridge over a marsh. You then enter a heavily wooded enclave that gives you a feeling of isolation from the modern world. A quarter mile into the wilderness you drive past a slow moving stream that fronts the 18th green and up a short hill to the clubhouse. Nestled amongst a number of large deciduous trees the white building with the green roof looked like it had been there forever. A short distance across the parking lot were two single story dormitories.

As we were soon to find out, the facilities at Pine Valley were geared more for comfort than show. The dormitory rooms were nice, but Motel 6 has more frills. No phones or TV. We shared community showers and toilets. Unlike the modern clubhouses, built to impress, PV’s was designed for people to relax and enjoy their visit. The pro shop wasn’t much bigger than my spare bedroom. (Just because it was small didn’t mean it wasn’t profitable. My group dropped over a $1,000 there in less than 20 minutes.) We spent most of our spare time in a large lounge next to the bar. It again was nothing fancy. It had a fireplace, TV, and overstuffed furniture. Also present were a couple tables for cards, where I managed to ingratiate myself to my host by losing at Gin every night. All our meals were taken in a lovely dining room overlooking the stream.

Other than the golf, what made the experience special was the impeccable service. The pro shop was the only place you could spend money. After a short time the help knew who your member was so you just ordered whatever you wanted and forgot about it. I felt like a member of the ruling class being tended to by servants. All of this, of course, had it’s price. I received a bill from the member a month later for over $900. (What’s that saying, “If you have to ask….”) I remember one night we discussed driving the 50 miles over to Atlantic City and decided to stay put. Life was too good.

The schedule pretty much stayed the same. Get up early, eat breakfast, play 18, have lunch, do another round, dinner, drinks, cards, tell stories, early to bed, and do it again the next day. It was the ultimate golf retreat for guys!

I remember the first time I played Pine Valley. Bob had been telling me horror stories for weeks but I was confident my game was better than those poor sap's. You see, PV is of what they call the “Punitive” design. (You miss, you die.) If you’ve ever played a course designed by Pete Dye you get the idea. Even though it’s a considerable distance inland the course is built on sand hills and swamp land. Unlike links courses though, it is heavily forested. At over 600 acres it serves as a sanctuary for birds and wildlife. Long regarded as one of the most difficult in the country, the course is laid out to all points of the compass. Thick forest and underbrush frame the fairways so you rarely see another hole. There is no rough. You are either in the short grass or the wilderness. From a single set of tees you usually are faced with a carry of 150-175 yards over the sand and scrub brush just to get to the fairway. Sometimes you have to do it again to get on the green. My poor friend, Bob, was suffering from a bad case of the snap hooks. As you know, that is not condusive for getting the ball airborne. He went through so many swearwords that by the back nine he was making them up. (I thought "Snarg" had potential.) They cut the fairways with a fringe mower so the lies are tight. The greens are like putting on linoleum. There are no rakes on the course. If you end up in the sand you could easily be in a footprint. Other than that it’s a lovely walk in the park

I only had a theoretical knowledge of all this as I eagerly teed it up that first day. The first hole is a medium length par 4. After a good drive I chose an 8 iron and let fly. It missed the green by 2 feet, caromed off the slope into the undergrowth and left me 10 feet below the green with no shot. Eight strokes later I finagled the ball into the hole. And so it went….. The fairways were so pristine that, for the first time in my life, I was reluctant to take a divot. That spelled disaster on more than one occasion when, in an effort to pick the ball clean off the tightly mown turf, I bladed it over the green into a dark and evil place. Avoiding the nuclear wasteland and getting on the putting surface didn't guarentee happiness either. The severe undulations on the second green made me seasick. Number five had so much slope you felt like roping up, and the eighth, in addition to three levels, was as skinny as my 6th grade girlfriend! At the end of the round they had to pry the club out of my hands! (What I shot is in a sealed envelope to be opened 10 years after I die.) I have never seen a course so intimidating. If you missed a shot you prayed for a bogey. I swear the only reason we were able to finish under 6 hours was our caddy’s ability to: 1. Find the ball, and 2. Nudge it over to a spot where you could at least hit it. (To their credit you never actually caught them.)

I wasn't alone in my struggles. I remember standing on the 18th tee at the end of the second round that day and looking over at the nearby 10th green to see a man in the bunker they call the Devil's A**hole. Funnel shaped, this trap is so deep they have steps going down into it. What makes it even more nasty is that the green has a false front that feeds the ball back into the bunker if you are a little short. Well, this guy was out there all by himself with only a club and a ball, playing Wack-a-Mole to no avail. He was still trying to get out of that thing as we moved down the fairway 10 minutes later.

There are a lot of great stories about this course. One of my favorites concerned a man who hooked his drive into the forest on #13. Not having a caddy, he went in to look for his ball. After a few minutes his companions went in to help him. The trouble was, they couldn’t find him, let alone the ball! The police found him in a local bar a few hours later. He had gotten turned around in the thick underbrush and had walked several miles in the wrong direction. True story.

Another good one concerned a frequent guest who had never broken 100 at Pine Valley. On this particular day, however, he was on his game. A front nine score of 42 had him positioned well for his personal best. When he struck a good shot on the short par 3 tenth and ended up 10 feet above the hole he was downright giddy. Boldly putting for a rare birdie he watched in dismay as the ball rolled past the hole, picked up speed, and ultimately come to rest in the Devil's A**hole. Seven swings later he, and the ball, remained in the pit. The poor man tossed down his club, climbed out and sat down with his legs hanging into the trap. Then he bawled like a baby. The last his partners saw of him that day he was walking back towards the clubhouse.

The most famous story is that of Woody Platt. A distinquished amateur and occasional visitor to PV, Woody got off to the ultimate fast start. He birdied the 1st hole and holed his approach for an eagle on the 2nd. After a hole-in-one on the par 3 third, he sank a long putt for a birdie on 4. The scorecard read 3-2-1-3 and he was 6 under par for the first four holes. Now, Pine Valley is unusual in that after four holes you are back at the clubhouse. Woody walked off the 4th green directly to the bar and stayed there the rest of the day. When asked why he didn't finish the round he replied, "Why go on? I could only do worse." I know what he meant. That next hole ate my lunch every time I played it.

Cheers, DKD