Sun Destination

Golf Coast

By Christopher Korchin

Finding the real Myrtle Beach at the end of the fairway.

Spring comes early to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina; fall comes late and winter – well, you have to be a local to think of it that way. The evergreen wax myrtle this town is named after doesn’t mind the occasional below-freezing night. And the beach, a flawless stretch of white sand and sea grass, glows soothingly in the low season. The weather is often perfect for golf, so I came here with clubs in tow and a head full of swing thoughts that were cut short when real winter arrived up north.

I’d been here before and wanted to avoid the corporate cauldron that awaits the visiting golfer. A repository of golf dreams ever since Hurricane Hazel laid waste to the region in 1954 and the town reinvented itself as a golf destination, Myrtle Beach specializes in the cart-only, 36-holes-a-day, keep-it-moving package deal. When you’re not driving a golf cart, it’s a safe bet you’ll be navigating the traffic along Business 17 – a.k.a. the Kings Highway – a neon gauntlet of strip malls, strip clubs and all-you-can-eat buffets. Finding the real Myrtle seemed a worthwhile task.

I began at Whispering Pines GC, situated right by the airport but still the area’s only Certified Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary. For $26, I was able to test my swing while walking a charming, housing-free parkland course. The next day, I went to Azalea Sands, a family-owned track in North Myrtle that welcomes walkers in the p.m. The azaleas wouldn’t bloom for another couple of months, but I did find the sand, repeatedly.

Back at my hotel, the cheerful Coral Beach Resort, I bowled a few frames in the fourth-floor games area. Here was another sport with narrow alleys, balls, pins and its own dress code – a target sport but with country music. I resolved to take dead aim at the golf pins the next day.

At Black Bear, a sinuous Tom Jackson layout, I was again allowed to hoof it, and things began to fall into place. Par, par and par again on an effortless sequence of holes mid-round under a blue Carolina sky. Emboldened, I later tried another Jackson design: Magnolia Greens, south of Wilmington, North Carolina. A cart was obligatory, but the superb bent-grass greens, like putting on a highway, were compensation. It was Super Bowl Sunday, so the course was all but abandoned.

Time for a day off. I made my way south to Charleston, South Carolina, where I trudged several thousand yards, as if on a golf course, muttering to myself about the beauty of the historic old town. They deal in firsts here: first shot of the Civil War, first American public museum, first American golf course... What? Yes, it seems it’s true. Over she-crab soup at the touristy Hyman’s Seafood, I tried to figure out how I could move here.

On my last day, I dressed in black for a tee time at Blackmoor, a Gary Player layout in Murrells Inlet. Though the Black Knight is a noted fitness guru, his course is cart only. But wildlife abounds: I spotted both a bluebird and a golden eagle – good for any golfer’s heart.

And the real Myrtle? It’s still about the ocean itself – seen and heard at almost every turn and perfectly unfazed by all the development. I took a walk along the strand that last day and spent a moment studying one of those fellows who comb the beach, heads lowered, with their metal detectors. A pointless pursuit, I thought. But he seemed happily absorbed. Just like a golfer.

(Christopher Korchin is a Montreal-based freelance writer who breaks 90 at least once a year.)

TOP IMAGE: MYRTLE BEACH AREA CONVENTION & VISITORS BUREAU
GOLFER: MYRTLE BEACH AREA CONVENTION & VISITORS BUREAU
FIRST GOLF COURSE: MYRTLE BEACH AREA CONVENTION & VISITORS BUREAU
SECOND GOLF COURSE: CLASSIC GOLF GROUP