Elevation changes of up to 85 feet define the challenge at
the
6,923-yard El Campeón, which dips, twists and turns through a landscape that
is the antithesis of palmy, flat, white-sand Florida. In addition to
abundant downhill and
sidehill lies, players must also contend with
stands of pines, oaks and cedars
as impenetrable as stone walls, and
putting surfaces that slant from front to
back, posing all kinds of
sticky problems. But the vistas from elevated tees,
combined with the
intoxicating perfume of orange blossoms, cast a euphoric spell
over the
bogey-embattled.
Thirty-five miles to the south, in Lake Wales,
is Lekarica Golf
& Country Inn, formerly known as Highland Park, a
residential
enclave developed in the 1890s by a zealous entrepreneur named Irwin
Yarnell. The developer eventually went bust, but his beloved Highland
Park became Florida’s first golf community when the
architectural team
of Stiles & Van Kleek designed 18 holes on the property
in the mid
1920s. During World War II, a labor shortage resulted in six holes
being removed and replaced with orange trees. The Highland Park Club
remained a
curious 12-hole layout until 1994, when an investment group
purchased it and
restored the missing holes to original specs.
Despite an ownership and name change, Lekarica is
unmistakably Old
Florida. Step onto your screened balcony any morning and let a
plume of
orange-blossom fragrance overwhelm you as you gaze over gentle hills
cloaked in that signature Florida fruit. Snuggled in a valley are the
golf course and a cottage-like clubhouse. At first glance, the
6,116-yard track
looks like a pushover, but a tour around it reveals
surprising elevation
changes, doglegs and narrow fairways.
Moving on, we reach Florida’s west coast and Clearwater, where the historic
Belleview
Biltmore is still an imposing grande dame after 105 years.
The floors of this
rambling Victorian structure creak, and vestiges
like keyholes, transom windows
and wide corridors (designed to
accommodate hoop skirts) impart a pleasant,
time-warp effect.
When railroad magnate Henry Plant erected the Biltmore—now
the
oldest wooden hotel in America—he had no plans for golf. But
his
untimely death in 1899 left the property to his equally ambitious son
Morton, who in 1915 hired Ross to craft two courses. Ten years later,
Ross added
a third course, which today is the only one still connected
to the Biltmore.
The 6,614-yard layout recently underwent a masterfully subtle
facelift by Sarasota-based architect Chip Powell. The greens still
invite
bump-and-run shots, and the cross bunkering and rectangular tees
that Ross
favored have been faithfully enhanced.
This sentimental journey ends at the Bobby Jones Golf Complex
in
Sarasota,
where 18 of the 45 holes are pure Ross. In 1927 America’s
leading amateur golfer lent his name to what remains this city’s only
municipal
links. To play all 18 holes of Ross’ work here, you must tee
it up on two
venues—the back nines of the British and American
courses.
Sarasota has a long history with the Ringling
Brothers Circus and
today is home to the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art,
an
impressive complex that includes a circus museum and Cà d’Zan, John
Ringling’s sprawling, 32-room mansion.
In the early days, the parcel of land across the street from
the
Jones Complex served as winter headquarters for the circus. Wild animals
inhabited enclosures and open fields, and more than a few backswings
were
interrupted by a lion’s roar or a gorilla rattling its cage. Back
then,
Florida was a
frontier for the novel and exotic, and
golf was just a babe in the woods.