Today I decided to risk injuring a potentially broken hand and hit the links. Crooked Tree seemed like the poetic setting to play with a crooked limb.

Somewhere in the course of the round it occurred to me that I have a particular fondness for many things crooked. Maybe it’s just a love of the word, but I don’t know a better way in the English language to sum up interesting.
Crooked = Character.  

Think about it.
Crooked smiles
Crooked noses
Crooked swings
Crooked Tree

Hopefully, you have already experienced Crooked Tree’s abundance of character for yourself, but chances are you have not.  It can be easy to miss. At times I fear that Crooked Tree assumes the role of forgotten step child in the BOYNE family of golf offerings.

Everything else packages up neatly in verbal umbrellas. Bay Harbor Golf Club is a world-renowned destination and shares it’s name with the regal Inn at Bay Harbor. Boyne Highlands contains four of golf's gems and Boyne Mountain has its’ two scrappy beauties. Crooked Tree sort of stands on its’ own, even though it is right across the street from the Inn at Bay Harbor on bluffs high above Bay Harbor Golf Club and Lake Michigan. From a marketing perspective it would be convenient to rename the course the Bluffs of Bay Harbor.

But then it would lose all that cool crookedness.

Not that all that character just comes from a name.
Crooked Tree has a lot of other features that make it what it is. Numerous dog legs, forced carries, imaginatively sculpted greens (including a double green #9 and #18), mind blowing views of Lake Michigan, large dramatic gulleys that the course plays along, through, around and over. Throw in cool bay breezes and you have the ultimate high-summer pleaser.  It’s the closest thing you’ll find to an air conditioned course. Sometimes I swear it feels just like it used to when I was a kid and would run inside on a hot summer day and open the freezer door which was over my head....ahhh.

In this case the name has historical character as well.
For many years the village that is now Petoskey was a gathering place for the native tribes.  They traveled Lake Michigan by canoe and looked for a large crooked pine that hung out off a bluff above Little Traverse Bay. They called it “Waganawkezee” (It is Bent). For many years the entire region from Mackinac to the south shore of Little Traverse Bay was referred to as L’Arbre Croche (Crooked Tree) by the French fur traders and missionaries.

So for all these reasons Crooked Tree remains a crooked peg in a family of round holes.
How perfectly imperfect.

Often times, the things that stick out a little are the things you remember most. Do yourself a favor and check it out.
When you do, tell Paulo I said “hi”.

-JJ

If you haven’t been around to experience it, the weather report in Boyne Country has been sounded like it was scripted by Rain Man. 

"82, 82, 82."

No storm clouds and no toothpicks, just day after day of 82 degree highs and blessedly cool evenings. The clouds here are just artistic flourish. Happy little puffs punctuate the horizon and high altitude snake tracks give a little visual interest to brilliant canvas of blue.

These are days where you hear people saying “Now this is golfing weather!” only to wrap the night up with “Now this is sleeping weather!”. Turf grass and golfers are smiling all day and recovering blissfully at night.

What a miserable time of year to do things like home improvement projects…Trust me.  Also take this little piece of advice: Be careful when dealing with hammers, chisels and window casings.  One slip and the little bones in the hands can give just like a toothpick.  Nothing rains on your golf game like a fracture of the metacarpal below your left thumb.

On the bright side, a hand fracture also puts the kibosh on home improvement projects and BOYNE is so much more than just golf. I’ll leave the courses for you to enjoy for a spell while I do my rehab workouts on the trout streams and hiking trails. Enjoy this time.  I know I will.

-JJ 

I want to write a little note for this year's T of C players.

What do you say to somebody who just shot a 64 from the tips on Boyne Mountain’s Alpine golf course?
You might say:

"Congratulations! Thank you for showing me that this course will indeed yield LOW scores?"

"Good job! Thank you for making me feel so inept."

"Show off! Hey, I have an open spot on my team in a family reunion scramble next weekend.  How’d you like to play as my guest?"

I’ll go with all of the above.
In case any of the participants are reading this, I really do have a spot open on my team next weekend.  Drop me a note and we’ll run roughshod over all my in-laws. You will have an opportunity to drink from the Andrew Jackson Challis. This is big stuff. Really. And I make for pretty good company on a golf course and I really, really need to win this thing. Once, just once. They all know who the BOYNE golf pros are, but YOU would fly right under the radar.  All you have to do is say that we grew up together. 

Forget that you just played for the chance to bring home a $10,000 check, green jacket, lifetime membership to the Country Club of Boyne and your own impressively large trophy.
If we win, your name will be on an electroplated metal matrix and wood veneer trophy FOR ALL OF ETERNITY.  That's pretty darn close to immortality.

Tin Cup would do it.

Call me. Please?

-JJ

There’s a conspiracy afoot.
It starts with a little mystery.
What’s missing in this picture?

Skiers and Riders should know the answer. The pic was taken at the bottom of Meadows. (I wonder how they came up with the name?)
Snowsports geeks might be answering “SNOW!” But no.  That’s not the point that I’m driving at today…come on it’s still July.

What?
How could they?
That was my favorite chair!  (It really was my favorite chair.)

Sorry folks.  
It’s gone.
Kaput.
Bye bye.  
Here’s a pic of one of the uprooted and diced up towers to drive the message home.



I think the people in charge of Solace Spa are to blame. Any investigator worth his salt will tell you that the key to figuring something out is to follow the money. Apparently, it really is all about the Benjamins.

Here’s how I see the Spa’s diabolical plan working.
1. Remove old chairlifts.
2. Replace slow chairlifts with NEW FASTER DOPPLMAYR CHAIRS like the one going in at Meadows in the coming weeks.
3. Watch as skiers and riders spend more time riding downhill and less time resting while getting back up hill.
4. Quietly chuckle as they tire in half the time
5. Sell sports massages and foot treatments to the expressly-exhausted masses.
6. Count the money.

If it’s not the spa people, it’s the restaurateurs. Do you think an extra 15-20 runs over the course of a ski day would get you to eat a little more?  

Clearly, somebody wants to get you past the mainstay activities so you can enjoy all the other things there are to do here.

Come to think of it, this vast conspiracy may have infiltrated golf too.  How else do you explain the fastest round of golf world record just set at Boyne Mountain’s Monument golf course?

It definitely is not about providing even more value to skiers and riders further solidifiing your resort's position as the gold standard.  
Nah. That would be too simple an explanation.

I'll keep digging around and will let you know what I find out.

-JJ 

If you’re a Golf Channel junkie like me you know that big-hitting Kim just won the whole enchilada. Yeah, yeah...old news by now.
I have NEW NEWS! New Big Breaking News about the Big Break! ( O.k. redundant, but go with me. I'm a little excited here.)

I have always thought Boyne Highlands would be a perfect venue for the show.
Breathtaking scenery?  Check.
Top-shelf courses? Check.
Perfect climate? Check. In summer anyway.
Gracious amenities? Check...oh, and throw in more than 16 hours of usable daylight.

I’ll put the golf experience here up against ANYPLACE.

As it turns out, the producers of the Big Break agree and they will be filming The Big Break X here.

“GET OUT!”
No. It’s true.
“Shut up!”
Why does everybody keep telling me that?

Because of the suspenseful nature of the program, people are staying very tight-lipped about things. Reality t.v. producers look at bloggers like fisherman look at Cormorants. But I’m a blogger, not a blabbermouth. I'll do my best to give you a little peek inside without spoiling Christmas.

I am your humble servant and in case my wife is reading, this has nothing to do with wanting to meet Stephanie Sparks in person.

Here’s your first Big Break tidbit:
The format will be male/female couples competing as teams.  Could be a husband/wife, father/daughter, ex/ex, any combo of qualifying male/female teams. Things could get ugly. Sometimes it takes my wife and I days to smooth things over after a poorly-played Euchre hand.
These teams will be playing to win an exemption to a PGA and LPGA event respectively...can you say TENSION? 

Once again we get to see how the serious sticks can do on courses we know well.  You’ve probably got about 6 months to figure out how to program your Tivo.  Get on it. I'll keep you posted.

-JJ

Paranoia
pahr•a•noi•a        [pahr-uh-noi-uh]
-NOUN
Irrational fear that you have been shooting waaaay too many pars in a row and that bad things are about to happen.  Victims of this affliction should be careful to not cause other members of their group to become Par Annoyed. (see below)

Par Annoyed
Pahr•a•noid         [pahr-uh-noid]
-NOUN
The state of agitation brought on by friends complaints about their bad luck missing birdie putts and getting easy pars – while you are carding hard-fought bogies.

I suffered a case of paranoia at the eighteenth tee Sunday morning after my "buddy" tallied up the numbers and said,
"WOW! If you get through this hole o.k. and you're gonna have a sweet score."

Hook, dub, lost, drop, three-jack. Par 5 turned 8. Thanks Dave. I'm still trying to find the perfect word to describe how I feel about that.

-JJ

Take the “uh" out of putting.
Do not putt the ball.  Put the ball.

Start pooting.  Just like you put your clubs in your bag. Put your faith in your ability.
If you don’t become a put-er you will be just another putterer.

Here’s how:
Determine direction. Decide on distance. Do.
No second guessing. 
No “uh”.

That is all for today grasshopper.

-JJ

It's funny how nostalgic we can get about certain things.  Classic cars instantly draw reactions.  Remember the ride you tooled around in with a freshly-printed drivers license? The curves and lines of yesteryear are things you can touch that bring you right back to the good old days. The less you see them around town, the more powerful the experience when you do.

It’s the same with skis and golf clubs. These are the old friends that have been with us through some of the highlights of our lives.  I bet it’s the same with snowboards too, but I haven’t been doing it long enough for anything to seem classic.

Last week I was faced with a crisis. Staring at the dusty, rusting K2 Extremes in my garage it was undeniable that these dear friends had outlived their usefulness.  204 cm with 8.3 mm of sidecut is not exactly the shape of forgiveness. Not by a long shot.  I gazed at them fondly and realized that it has probably been more than 10 years since they have seen snow. I marveled at how I managed to turn the long stiff brutes.

I don’t have the luxury of space.  These puppies had to go.  I walked the neon spangled monsters to the curb and reflected on the Marker M-48 titanium bindings that I had so proudly mounted to the pristine boards.  I stifled a sob.

A neighbor was walking her dog by and stopped.
“You throwing those out?” She asked incredulously.

“Yeah, it seems silly to keep something around that I’ll never use. I just can’t see spending time on them when the new stuff lets me ski like I actually have ability.”

“I just love my old Rossignols.  I could never let them go.”

“It isn’t easy. Trust me. Thanks for the support.”

 I shuffled away, heavy hearted cursing her under my breath. I tried to move on with life.

An hour or two later I couldn’t take it any more.  I would teach the old dogs new tricks. Find some way to make them useful. Maybe in the form of a bench, or coat rack…something!
I ran out to the curb.

“I’m sorry guys!  I want you back!  I could never let you go.”

But the skis took the opportunity to show their unforgiving nature once again. After 10 years of sitting on the shelf they didn’t last 90 minutes on the curb.

I miss them, but I hope wherever they are, they have a fresh coat of wax and smooth, shiny edges.

I'll never forget you, even if I have moved on. Be well old friends. Be well.

-JJ

What are the icons of your skiing history?
What are the icons of all time?

I have a few-
Salomon X-Scream
Rossignol 4S
K-2 Extremes  Still rad, even if you didn’t have Plake’s mohowak.
Olin Mk V
Atomic ARC
Elan SCX- Man, they looked goofy at the time.
K-2 FOUR

Trak No-Wax xc's

Give me yours.