First hole Mingo Springs Golf Club Rangeley ME
Another summer, another visit from Mike Sweeney, and there is hardly a greater feeling than climbing into the Lex and having him chauffeur you all over Maine. Having exhausted a fair amount of southern and coastal Maine, this year brought Sweeney and Moore to the western mountains, and a very fine headquarters in Rangeley, directly on the shores of her eponymous lake.
But there was golf to be played on the way, and, after a lengthy detour through Chesterville to inspect a recently acquired woodlot and the hermit who keeps guard over it, the duo proceeded to Wilson Lake Golf Club in Wilton, yet another secret and magnificent niner from Wayne Stiles.
Rescued from the scrap heap of insolvency by Harris Golf, this is a fully realized, par-35, 3162-yard layout that Sweeney, drunk on being in the middle of nowhere with no responsibilities, would later deem "the best nine holes ever".
Yet another Stiles course where every detail is "just so"
Maybe, maybe not, but there is no doubt that Stiles was always able to locate a dead simple routing and then finish the holes with great flair - pushed up sites, flashed up bunkers, slopey greens, all tied in masterfully. A thunderstorm punctuated the round and several rounds of microbrew were enjoyed in the quietude of a clubhouse whose power had been knocked out.
An exciting discussion about the merits of decentralized cryptocurrency as an alternative to the United States dollar erupted on the ride to Rangeley. Moore awoke the next morning to see .0007 bitcoins in his mailbox as an experimental olive branch, but they seem to have gone unredeemed as of this writing.
There would be a fairly uninterrupted fusillade of homemade lobster rolls to fuel this trip, and as next day's lakeside luncheon was winding down, a bald and confused figure staggered towards the dock. Thinking that it was the third member of the party, half-man, half-rater, 100% lurker Hal Philips, Sweeney gave a warm greeting. Alas, it was a lost and inexperienced traveler who had driven an enormous boat trailer down our driveway into a seemingly inextricable position. Was it the Maine guide who expertly turned this mess around, literally? No, it was the former deckhand from the island of Manhattan.
The afternoon round was at Mingo Springs Golf Club on the north shore of Rangeley Lake. There is no doubt that this is a hidden gem, but as the back nine unfolded there was a vigorous debate as to how gemlike.
The eleventh tee marks the visual centerpiece of Mingo Springs
Fifth green and lupins
Would there were a bit more of this
On one hand, the staggering long views, the sensational terrain, the blind shots, the quirk and the variety of holes make this course an absolute delight to play. However, the keenest eyes in the group had legitimate gripes with too many greens that were simply a tiny mowed patch at the end of the fairway, as well as some bold ridgelines that seem to have gone underutilized. This debate fell by the wayside, as a ripping swordfish dinner, some amateur singing and strumming, and a bottle of Bushmills proved far more interesting.
The final day would feature Sugarloaf Golf Club, and once again there would be vital questions. Designed by Robert Trent Jones II in 1985, this tree-lined and unwalkable course is immodest in every way, for better and for worse.
Exciting greens
Exciting everything
The visuals are absolutely spectacular, but the holes can get steep in both directions. The expert will thrill at the shots called for, while the lesser player may be cracking sleeve after sleeve. The green are delightfully contoured, but some of the most interesting discussions here have been about potato-chip-shaped greens, double-breaking six-footers, and daily play. It was said best on the eleventh tee, to which one drives 120 feet uphill, tees off, and drives back down the same path. Is this a golf course, or is this a mountain-themed golf adventure park?
At lunch, inquiries were made about Moose Meadows, the pasture golf playground on Route 16 in Stratton. The group was assured that if the gate was open, the course was open, that most local children learned to play there, and that it was not to be missed. And dear reader, how easy it would be to say that Moose Meadows was a Thomas Cole painting come to life, that the lowing of the moose was drowned out by the delighted squeals of barefoot children.
But here is what actually happened. As Moore stepped out to photograph the donation station, in his most cautious Maine guide baritone he opined that "it might be a little buggy". Sweeney exited the vehicle, grabbed his clubs, and headed towards the nearest "tee". No sooner had the group advanced fifty yards than they realized that they had stumbled into a day of the locusts, rabid, starving colony of mosquitoes straight out of Steven King. Determined to say that he had "played" Moose Meadows, Sweeney dared stand still for ten seconds to tee off, at which point approximately two hundred ravenous insects alit on every square inch of exposed skin, ear canal, nasal cavity, tongue and eyeball. A horrific scene, but Sweeney dashed to the green, scrambled for a bogey, sprinted to the car, and exclaimed "I put twenty bucks in the donation bucket! That was the most @#$&#$% expensive round of golf I have ever played in my life!"