Sugarloaf Mountain: Monument to a Dead Business Model

When Coore and Crenshaw unveiled Sugarloaf Mountain in central Florida just two years ago, the course was immediately catapulted into the upper echelon of design in the United States.  Having moved almost no dirt, the pair were able to design an architecturally stimulating, challenging, and aesthetically pleasing golf course.  It was a Picasso among Monet waterlilies in that its bunkering was natural, rough was indigenous, and tee boxes less than plush.  As such a digression from standard central Florida design protocol, the minimalist course caught a lot of attention.

The postage stamp par 3 11th hole.

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Unfortunately, the attention attracted for the design could not sell home lots.  Less than a handful of the planned 600 have been sold to date - a fact not lost of golfers who come to the course and see hundreds of planted stakes to indicate property boundaries.

The lack of income from selling the non-golf real estate has effectively crippled owner Hampton Golf from operating the course like they should.  Though the course claims that the poor conditions on the course, aside from the putting services, is a product of dormant grasses and a colder winter, it is evident that the club is suffering from money problems as two independent sources indicated to me. 

The shame of it is that Sugarloaf Mountain clearly was an incredible track at some point.  The course defies typical central Florida topography with its vast elevation changes, including multiple holes with two hundred foot drops off of the tee.  The lay of the land gives the player views of Lake Apopka and tremendous rural scenery.

The natural state of the bunkering and the rough is a beautiful site.  Though it caught me off guard immediately, the penalty for a poor shot is to face a difficult shot.  It is a fair penalty, though one that can crush the spirit of a high handicap amateur on a bad day.

There are several blind shots on the course, including the par 4 fourth hole.  It is reminiscent of the entire course - requiring strong placement of the ball, consistent roll into variable positions at times out of your control, and a small green with precarious pins all over the surface.

A player can be imaginative at Sugarloaf Mountain.  The high arcing chip shot can come out of the bag entirely in favor of the Texas wedge.  On several occasions, I putted the ball from up to 20 yards off of the green.  The sand-base hardpan made that not only possible, but preferred.

Playing shots from the fairway was a big adjustment compared to the plush fairways of the Disney tracks, or even the modestly green fairways here in the mid-Atlantic.  Had the chance to do it all over again, I would have used my driver twice all day and let roll handle the rest.  Though the course features a handful of short, seemingly benign holes, that is when the brilliance of the design comes into play.  With elevation changes and visual cues of trouble just beyond safety, the course is an iron technician's paradise.

That said, the poor course conditions contributed to making the round joyless for my group.  Had the course been able to be maintained like it should - modest water for the fairways instead of leaking pipes around transplanted trees - Sugarloaf Mountain could easily have been my favorite course on my trip.

Instead it leaves me wondering about the business model of golf courses in the United States.  At the high point of the housing bubble, golf course owners could plunk down lots of land anywhere on the property and expect to sell them within days.  With easy credit, exotic mortgages, and better prosperity, it seemed like everyone was in the market for a second or third home.  When CDS, toxic assets, and TARP became part of the lexicon, that model died. 

Sugarloaf Mountain was one of the early victims in this crisis.  Though the course still remains, it is a shell of its potential.  Private courses can no longer expect to open in the middle of nowhere - where land is cheaper - spent several million dollars and expect cash-strapped individuals to plunk down money for a rarely used resort property.  In Sugarloaf's case, its aesthetic divergence from the rest of the scenic Orlando area also hurt its allure to real estate investors.

Making the connection between real estate and golf course design is nearly impossible in Sugarloaf's case.  Coore and Crenshaw design to the themes of rustic, minimalist, and pure.  Golf course home buyers use adjectives like green and plush.  The incongruity with which Sugarloaf exists as a course and 590 empty home sites indicates that problem.  And it will continue to be a problem for the game in the years to come. 

Since new course construction has practically halted in this country, there are scores of courses developed as also-rans to real estate ventures that will likely suffer provided the continued oversupply in our real estate market nationwide.  Though that supply is beginning to be met with demand again, it is a more practical fashion.  Golf course homes will be primary residences, not just another post on Vacation Rental By Owner (VRBO).  Until that imbalance is again created, a golf course cannot be the focal post of most new real estate development.

Coore and Crenshaw's design is the victim in this poor business model.  It's one of many, but this course in particular holds so much potential that is going to waste because the financial ducks were not in order.  The natural feel of this course can sustain more play, but it will require a new approach to bring players to a course that is a sandy oasis in an otherwise lush geography.