HAVING A DREAM is one thing. Looking your dream in the eye while keeping your head down is another.

That's the lesson I took away from getting my first chance to tee it up at Pebble Beach.

To remove any suspense: I'm not going to tell a story of rising to my best game ever -- I'm a 12-handicap golfer in my 40s -- on a very difficult golf course. I didn't. I sunk a long putt on the 18th for a 99, and felt lucky to break 100.

But that doesn't change the fact that playing Pebble Beach Golf Links is a dream come true.

As any avid golfer will tell you, Pebble Beach is a hallowed shrine that lurks in the back of your mind until the day that you finally hear your name called on the first tee.

"If I had only one more round to play, I would choose to play it at Pebble Beach," Jack Nicklaus once said. "I've loved this course from the first time I saw it. It's possibly the best in the world."

Opened in 1919, the result of developer Samuel F.B. Morse's vision to preserve the area's coastline, the course was designed at a cost of about $100,000 by Jack Neville and Douglas Grant, two former California amateur champions who had never before designed a golf course. Nine of its 18 holes directly border the Pacific Ocean, with memorable views of the water from almost every hole.

The course, which will host the 2000 U.S. Open Championship and is home to the annual AT&T Pro-Am, also was the site of the 1977 PGA Championship and three other U.S. Opens. But it is still open to public play -- a rarity among courses of this stature.

My experience with Pebble Beach began two years ago. My wife and I had driven the central California coast while on vacation, winding up in Carmel for the weekend. During the must-see 17-Mile Drive along one of the most memorable stretches of coastline in the world, there it was -- the signpost for Pebble Beach Golf Links.

It was near the end of the day, so we stopped at The Lodge and sat at a table on the deck, overlooking the famed 18th hole. What cruel irony: Here I was in one of the most famous golf meccas in the world, and all I had in my hand was a drink and an appetizer, not my favorite wedge.

And so, a year later, when I scheduled a last-minute business meeting near Monterey, I decided to bring my sticks along -- just in case.

As soon as my wife and I checked into our room in downtown Carmel, I called Pebble, not sure just what to expect. As it turns out, you can't book a tee time more than 24 hours in advance unless you are a guest of The Lodge. So, maybe I'd be able to get a last-minute tee time -- or maybe not.

After inquiring about prices to become a guest, I did the math and realized that for one night's lodging and one 18-hole green fee I was looking at paying about the same price that I had paid in the early '70s for my first car, a '63 Chevy Impala convertible. I hung up the phone and mumbled something to my wife about it being pretty hard to justify.

But she knew this wasn't an issue of dollars and sense. This was golf. Life's too short; we booked the partial ocean view room.

The doorman opened my wife's door almost before our rental car stopped in front of The Lodge at Pebble Beach. The bellhop unloaded our luggage and whisked the car away. Our suitcases went to our second-floor room and my clubs went to the Pro Shop. (I guess all this is part of the $15 per night gratuity they automatically add to your bill.)

We were escorted to Club XIX, the French restaurant on the premises, and introduced to the maitre d', who acted as if he'd been expecting us. The folks at The Lodge go out of their way to make you feel special when you check in -- and it works.

At lunch, I found myself once again watching golfers make their way down the difficult 18th hole. But this time I was in sweet preparation for my own assault on the course.

We went back to our tastefully upscale room -- is any hotel room actually worth $20 an hour? -- sat on the patio and gazed at our slightly obstructed view of the ocean. We were determined to actually use the room, but after a few hours, all that sitting around made us hungry again. We went downstairs for an excellent dinner at Stillwater's, The Lodge's seafood restaurant.

After a restless night, the room-service eggs Benedict arrived on time, and the experience all started to seem real. The calm, sunny morning was just what I had hoped for; now it would be just me against the course.

At the Pro Shop, I bought a yardage guide ($8), resisting the sleeve of PB emblazoned Titleists ($10) and all the other logo-happy paraphernalia. When I asked a staff member about the level of difficulty (par 72, rated 74.4, slope 142), he just smiled and mentioned the wind.

On the driving range, I hit all the clubs in the bag, carefully avoiding the large-antlered deer casually reclining at the 150 yard marker. The shuttle van took me from the range back to the Pro Shop in time to putt a few before the starter announced "On the first tee, Casey."

I was paired with three men from Ohio, who were also experiencing the course for the first time. They took their game seriously, except for all the picture-taking. We agreed to play the back tees.

My dad says that a blow-by-blow account of one's golf game is about as interesting as describing a recent sports injury; so I will just say that there were some definite highlights -- parring six holes including the first one comes quickly to mind. But it took most of the front nine to gauge my putting stroke, and my score reflected it.

The novel design of many of the holes -- you've probably never experienced anything like them -- is challenging, the wind is capricious, and the fog can appear and engulf you in minutes. Any mistake is costly, and side trips to the sand traps cost me many double bogeys.

But playing Pebble Beach while the October sun stretches the shadows of cypress trees and sea otters roll in Stillwater Cove is a dream come true.

I plan to return as soon as I get my car paid off.

 SCOTT CASEY
is a Portland marketing consultant

The Sunday Oregonian
November 14, 1999

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