Arrowhead Golf Club:
Mismanagement Ruins a Great Course

By Gregory D. Stapleton
Rockies Golf Daily Course Reviewer

"The majestic surroundings of the Arrowhead Golf Club surrounded me, nothing but blue sky everywhere", evoked the memorable words of Robert Trent Jones, the designer of the course:

Jones added, "When I first saw the site of the golf course at Roxborough Park, I was overwhelmed by the magnificent gifts that nature has bestowed on the property. The cathedral-like conglomerates of rock, jutting up from the rolling terrain at the foothills of the Rockies, is a majestic setting in which to establish a unique golf course."

The logo of American Golf Corporation, Inc., shares space on the Arrowhead scorecard with Trent Jones' thoughts. And as the recognition that Arrowhead is managed by American Golf penetrated my consciousness, the majesty of the setting swiftly began to fade. After all, this realization could only mean one thing: the ruination of a fine golf course.

Lest you think this judgement is too harsh, too hasty, or without foundation, let us pursue the subject a little further. Arrowhead was built in the late 1970's and was operated by a number of different ownerships until 1987 when American Golf took over.

Therefore, when I last played Arrowhead in the late 1980's, American Golf had just begun the undertaking of managing the golf course. And even then, after only a couple of years of mismanagement by this profit-maximizing behemoth, the damage had already begun. Gnarled, bumpy greens come to mind as one example of the sorry conditions of the golf course, as I look back on the Arrowhead of the past.

But being a lover of golf and all things golf-beautiful, I decided to grant Arrowhead the benefit of the doubt and agreed to play in the first Rocky Mountain Golf Association Individual Stroke play tournament of the 1998 season, despite the fact that it was being held at Arrowhead. Surely it would be a bargain at $62.00, including a cart, I thought to myself. Arrowhead is, after all, a beautiful setting for a golf course, nestled into the stunning red-rocks of Roxborough State park.

I arrived at the parking lot, and was efficiently met by Arrowhead employees, replete with walkie-talkies and a flatbed EZ-GO, ready to transport me and my clubs to the clubhouse. So far, so good. Yet, as we began to wind down from the parking lot towards the check-in area and clubhouse, I began to see the majesty which awaited me. The clubhouse was a steel-sided shack surrounded by mud and remnants of the "restoration" that, unbeknownst to me prior to agreeing to play in the event, was taking place at Arrowhead.

Again, I tried to be optimistic. The clubhouse had been destroyed by a fire a few years before, so, fair enough, I thought. In fact, a large, framed shell of a beautiful clubhouse to be was being built a few hundred yards away, adjacent to the 10th tee box and fairway.

So, I forgave this first impression.

However, what I saw from the tenth tee-box cannot be adequately imparted here. The disgraceful conditions of this golf course that demands $95 for greens fees (in peek summer rates) cannot be conveyed to you, dear reader. The "golf-course" looked more like a battleground with dead foliage strewn everywhere, huge, muddy ruts from construction vehicles lining the left and right sides of the 10th fairway, and bunkers devoid of sand looking more like a foundation being dug for a new home than a sand trap on a golf course (indeed not one bunker on the back side had sand in it).

"My God," I gasped. "This cannot be for real."

But real it was.

In light of these preliminary conditions, I could not imagine that a tournament could actually be taking place here. But, as a serious golfaholic, I was determined to push-on, encountering whatever I would, in order to play the beloved game.

Imagine my chagrin then, when I arrived at the driving range (fraught with the hated "green mats") and was immediately told I couldn't hit any club longer than a 3- or 4-iron (no woods) because the smallish length of the range.

It should be noted here, however, that there were these beautiful, pyramidal stacks of golf balls next to each mat. I quickly deduced that it took an enormous amount of energy and diligence to create these wonderful stacks of golf balls for our hitting enjoyment.

It also occurred to me that if a tenth of the effort that was necessary to achieve these wondrous golf-ball stacks were put into effectively managing this neglected golf course, these links would be as pristine as Augusta National. But again, let's let bygones be bygones. Nevertheless, after standing in line behind other golfers less assertive than I, I finally managed to work my way into a alternating rotation of hitting 5 golf balls at a time, with 3 other golfers in the rotation, each of taking our turn at the green mats. Not ideal range conditions, but you make do with what you have. Because, above all, I just want to play.

After this round-robin range experience I leisurely made my way to the crowded putting green to see what awaited me there. In retrospect, my disgust and revulsion at the conditions of this green cannot, again, be adequately communicated. Not only were the greens coming off a recent aeration (a necessary evil) but they were so diseased and winter-beaten that clumps of green were interspersed between scraggly brown patches and what actually appeared to be dirt or sand. This green was unputtable.

I could not fathom the beating this once beautiful course had undergone. Yet there it was, in splotchy green and brown patches, right before me. The sadness of this moment is with me still. Still, being the ever-present optimist I figured that the greens on the actual golf course--the greens we were actually to be playing--could not possibly be this bad; they were worse. Refusing to be a quitter, however, I pushed on. After a pitiful round that I won't bore you with the details of, I knew that at least the salvation of the signature par-3 eighth hole awaited me.

With its extremely elevated tee-box, and panoramic green, set between a cover of red-rocks, with a pond behind the green, number eight is a wonderful hole to play. As our cart made its way from the seventh green towards the number eight tee-box, my hopes of any salvation for this round, however, were through, and so was I.

The elevated tee-box, the aspect of the hole which makes it everything it is, was closed due to the "conditions." Instead, we got to play a 110-yard hole from a lower tee-box, which had not one, not two, blades of grass on it. As I morosely drove the cart towards the car to put the clubs away (the smiling staff were no longer present) I felt sad for what once was a great, majestic golf course, that due to mismanagement and apparent lack of concern, had become a joke. And not a very funny one at that.

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