Continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no indication of success.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #5: Persevere
Grateful Dead formed in 1965. The band’s first hit, “Touch of Grey,” a song interestingly enough about perseverance, reached the airwaves in 1987, 22 years after the band formed. Artistically, Grateful Dead peaked much earlier, but to achieve commercial success it took decades. It’s a lesson many impatient artists, writers and entrepreneurs can learn from. No need to rush, just do what you do and keep doing it no matter what.
I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It’s even worse than it appears
but it’s all right.
When Jerry passed away in 1995, Grateful Dead was 30 years old. For a rock band 30 years old is ancient. Most acts simply can not stay together that long, as friendships eventually fade or fray and interests drift. How did Jerry and the boys stick together for such a long time?
For one, Jerry refused to quit even when common sense and every other sense he had told him to lay off for a while. He didn’t want to be the bad guy and let all his friends down. Grateful Dead employed close to 100 people at the band’s zenith, and frankly, had Jerry bowed out and refused to tour, he would have put a lot of people out of work. Nevertheless, I wish he had quit the band, at least for a year or two. Then he could have gone into rehab and taken care of his ailing body.
I miss Jerry, as we all do, but gratefully his music is enduring. Phil Lesh and Bob Weir both strap on their guitars and take the stage with an array of younger musicians like Joe Russo and Mark Medeski who love to play Grateful Dead songs, and who are well equipped as musicians to do the music justice. For a time there, when Phil’s rotating act solidified into “The Quintet” featuring Warren Haynes, Jimmy Herring, John Molo and Rob Barraco, I was hooked again. The Quintet managed to go places with the music that I’d never been to before — they grew something new from the Dead’s mulch and that’s what amazed me. The Quintet wasn’t repeating a song cycle as mimics, they were using the old material as a new jumping off point, just like Jerry used to do.
“Build to last” is another way of framing this perseverance lesson. By working intently on their music, and believing in the trueness of their path, Grateful Dead were able to make songs that meant something when they were first played, and that continue to mean something to fans today. In the case of folk ballads like “Uncle John’s Band” and “Ripple” I contend that the band’s songs will be played for centuries to come.
There’s also a “small is beautiful” message here. Jerry kept his head down and he worked hard. He didn’t seek fame nor did he want it when it found him. It’s a stretch to say Grateful Dead was a “small band” prior to 1987. They played many stadiums in the mid-1970s, but the expenses involved in transporting their Wall of Sound around the country ate up all their profits. From a business perspective, the band experienced some tough times. But they never gave up, they loved playing in the band and they kept experimenting and finding new ways to fine tune their music and their business practices.
With the final tally taken, Grateful Dead is one of rock’s all time highest earning touring bands and Grateful Dead merchandise continues to churn out healthy profits for remaining members of the band. But this source of renewable revenue didn’t occur by chance, although luck and good fortune always plays a role. Somehow, through all the ups and downs including the untimely deaths of Pig Pen and Brent Mydland, Grateful Dead persevered. So, whatever dream you are busy pursuing “keep on Truckin’ on.” There’s no such thing as an overnight sensation, not in the real world.
It is fashionable today to “fail harder” and to “fail faster.” These concepts from the worlds of communications and technology are meant to take the sting out of failure — the purpose being to encourage the kind of risk taking that accelerates growth and positive change.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #4: Take Risks
Playing it safe wasn’t Jerry’s way. He was an explorer, and by definition explorers take calculated risks. Sadly, when explorers lose their way, they can also lose their ability to calculate. Such was Jerry’s burden when it came to hard drugs, heroin in particular.
But it is not heroin, it’s LSD that is so closely tied to Grateful Dead and its musical risk-taking. The band and its songs were a jumping off place for the musicians and for the fans. LSD too is a jumping off place, and when you mix the two — Grateful Dead and LSD — you’re in for an epic journey. The band’s hyper-extended song, “Dark Star,” is certainly an epic journey. Performed live in concert “Dark Star” often clocked in at 30 minutes or more. What kind of band plays a song for more than 30 minutes? A band that wants to explore the kind of big ideas that need nearly infinite space to develop.
A band that plays a song this intricate and this long has immense trust in its own ability to pull it off, and in the audience’s willingness to stay interested and involved. LSD fueled the ideas that led to the creation of songs like “Dark Star” and “Birdsong” and LSD made listening to these acid-dipped songs all the more interesting. There’s no removing the LSD from the story or the historical record, nor should there be. Taking LSD was a risk that paid off in many positive ways for the band, for its generation and for new generations of people attracted to the music and to an authentic journey into the mind and self.
On another front, some of the risks we took to see Jerry perform may have seemed extreme to friends, coworkers and relatives at the time. In the summer of 1990, I mail ordered for the complete Europe Tour which was scheduled for October. I had never gone “all in” before. That is, I had never attended every show of an entire tour before, and here was my chance to do it and do it right. I asked for a month-long leave of absence from my job as Operations Coordinator at Conservatree Paper Co., a recycled paper merchant in downtown San Francisco. My boss said sure, but his boss said no way.
Big boss man’s name was Alan, and I recall vividly how Alan asked me what this trip to Europe was all about. I said I’m 25 and I’ve never been to Europe and now’s my chance. He asked why now? I said I’m going to see Grateful Dead in four European countries, is why now. He exclaimed, “People don’t do this!” I said I’m a person and I’m doing it. I added the only question was whether he wanted me back in four weeks. He did not.
Was it the right thing to do, quitting my job to see Jerry? That’s a rhetorical question. Of course it was the right thing to do. I knew there was a time-limit on the scene. That was made very clear to all in 1986 when Jerry slipped into a heroin-induced coma and nearly died. Trouble ahead, Jerry in red. But I digress. I knew, like we all knew, that there would be only one more chance to see Grateful Dead in small venues in Europe and that chance was going to take place during the month of October 1990. I also knew that a new job and new work would be waiting back home, so I didn’t mind taking the risk, not at all.
Europe tour 1990 was special in a lot of ways. For one, we all traveled by train so the experience was a collective one. In the U.S. after a show, you tended to go by car (or bus) to a nearby hotel or to a friend’s house. Lots and lots of little parties after and before the shows. In Europe, 3000 American Deadheads moved pretty much as one, by train, from city to city. This kind of travel made it easy to meet new people and make new friends. It was an epic adventure full of calculated risks, and I am better for having had it.
You have to learn the rules before you can begin to artfully deconstruct them. Of course, all serious artists and thinkers do learn the rules first, it’s the artful deconstruction that eludes so many.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #3: Defy Convention
Jerry Garcia grew up in the 1950s–a time of mass conformity in America, San Francisco included. So, where did he acquire the gigantic nut sack it took to dream his own dreams, think his own thoughts and live his own life? I can’t say for sure, but this kind of inner confidence is typically the result of strong parenting.
Jerry also grew up in the Mission District, and while he was a very affable and generous soul, he was also a relatively tough guy from a tough part of town. And tough guys from tough parts of town don’t exactly flock to art school, but Jerry did. He defied convention and the odds, time and again.
I remember driving from Salt Lake City to Tahoe and seeing Jerry Garcia Band perform at Squaw Valley in 1991. Jerry announced from the stage on the first day that he and David Grisman, who were slated to headline the next day would instead play earlier in the day. Jerry felt that The Neville Brothers ought to headline the Sunday festivities, so he defied convention and Bill Graham Presents by rearranging the schedule on the fly, much to everyone in the audience’s liking.
The Neville Brothers are a high energy dance band from New Orleans and they belonged in the headliner’s slot. Jerry’s humility and respect for his fellow musicians put the Neville’s in the spotlight that day on the mountain. His willingness to let his conscience guide him and his readiness to speak up to right a wrong, showcased his personal integrity in an unforgettable way for me that day, and again it speaks to his inner confidence. A lesser man would have never volunteered his headlining spot on the ticket — that’s simply not how show business works.
And frankly how show business works was never much of concern for Jerry and Grateful Dead. They formed their own record label, designed their own sound systems, sold their own concert tickets via mail order, made their own feature film, and so on. Grateful Dead also played concerts at the Pyramids in Egypt during a full eclipse of the moon. They did it themselves, and it was all a great big adventure. Not everything went as planned all the time, but that’s a price you pay for taking risks, for going your own way, for defying convention.
Oddly enough, defying convention has proven one of the more difficult lessons from Jerry’s life, and one many of his fans fail to understand or practice. Deadheads are followers, not just of a band but of one another. It’s a tribal culture, as are all sub-cultures, but there’s a BIG issue with tribalism as practiced by white neophytes with no grounding in the realities of living in a tribe. The problem is group think and group do. When everyone wears the same clothes, likes the same drugs, listens to the same music, lives in the same cities, drives the same cars and adopts the same look, I am sorry to say it’s a convention of non-conformists, which kind of defeats the point.
Jerry’s brother, Tiff, accidentally removed his little brother’s middle finger with an axe when Jerry was young. Thus, Jerry literally did not have the finger-picking ability of other able-handed guitarists. So, he made do with what he had to work with. He improvised.
In Jerry’s Palo Alto days he lived in his car for awhile, and later in a shed behind a big communal party house. Jerry was a dedicated musician and he put everything he had into being a musician. He sacrificed and “made do” for the music. He improvised.
Of course, improvisation also has another meaning. To invent, compose, or perform in the moment. In other words, to play like you’re in a jazz band. It’s well known that Grateful Dead modeled their approach to music on jazz and classical, and that they loved Miles Davis, John Coltrane and the rest. In fact, Miles opened for The Dead at Fillmore West and Phil Lesh, for one, was horrified to have to follow Miles’ performance, such was the band’s respect for Miles’ heaviness.
I am one fortunate freaker son, in that I was there to see Branford Marsalis join Grateful Dead on stage on Dec. 31, 1990. I was in a great position in the Duck Pond (the floor of Oakland Coliseum) and I could see the interplay between Jerry and Branford pretty well. It’s not something I’m likely to forget. Here, get some of this musical magic in your ears.
Jazz legend David Murray also liked to jam with Jerry. So did Carlos Santana, David Hidalgo and César Rosas, David Grisman and Tony Rice, John Kahn and Merl Saunders, David Nelson, David Crosby, John Cippolina, and so on. He was a beloved guy, eager collaborator and gifted musician able to hold deep conversations with everyone in the room thanks to his uncanny ability on guitar.
To improvise is to create and Jerry was always making things and making things happen. I think the practical hard-working side of Jerry’s personality gets lost in all the adulation and fandom. The man was a grunt! He practiced for hours every day and explored every new direction in music he could find by being a great listener (with open ears to go with his open heart and mind).
You improvise by cobbling disparate parts into a cohesive whole. To do it well you must have an environment of trust. You have to put yourself out there in a vulnerable position, not knowing what’s next only that you are capable and will hopefully be able to roll with the changes. Improv is scary. It’s risky and the chance of failure is high. But when you fail to fail, the rewards are so great that it makes facing the fear of the unknown worthwhile.
Grateful Dead’s live album from 1990 is titled Without A Net, and those three words capture the essence of the band’s approach to being a band. They took the stage without a net from the very beginning when they were Ken Kesey’s house band at the Acid Trips, all the way to 1995 and the dark chaos of the band’s last tour that summer. They went out there night after night ostensibly to see what would happen, and with the informed faith that they could coax something great from themselves and the music floating there in the air.
Jerry Garcia was born on this day in 1942. In the years since his death on August 9, 1995, Garcia fans have taken to celebrating “Nine Days of Jerry,’ which covers the span from August 1st (his birthday) to August 9th.
This year, with encouragement from Darby, I am going to share key insights, a.k.a. lessons learned from Jerry — one a day for nine days.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #1: Stretch
Stretching is both a physical act and a metaphorical framework.
Top performers stretch to achieve a desired state of limberness, which in turn allows them to reach much further and higher than they otherwise could. Before going on stage, Jerry used to run through scales to prepare himself physically for the challenges of playing a three-to-five hour show. But it was during his shows where his yogic mastery was truly revealed — few artists have stretched their form to its breaking point and survived the journey.
Long before Jerry became the iconic Captain Trips (and unwilling spokesperson for the Haight-Ashbury scene), he worked hard to learn the rigors of folk music. He played acoustic guitar and banjo and got his voice in strong singing shape. Add LSD and an explosion of consciousness (and societal turbulence) to the mix, plug it in and turn it up and you have the beginnings of Grateful Dead.
Let’s use “Viola Lee Blues” to illustrate the point. The song was written in 1928 by Noah Lewis, an American jug band and country blues musician. “Some got six months, some got one solid year.” Viola Lee Blues is a traditional ditty about a man lamenting his prison sentence. In the hands of Grateful Dead, the song gets opened up considerably, thanks to the weaving of jazz idioms into what is a very simple blues construction.
http://youtu.be/3HMgZu9GzG0
You might say Jerry and friends “stretched the shit” out of this tune. You’d be correct and it’s what made Jerry’s work and the band’s so compelling. When your mind is stretched far and wide it can hold a lot more information, and Jerry’s held a deep reservoir of American roots music, jazz, classical, and more, which he could tap in an instant for just the right effect.
In my own life, I make sure to stretch out daily as a writer. Like Jerry, I am attracted to and capable of working in a variety of forms (journalism, advertising and literature). And like Jerry I have my main gig as a ad writer and several nourishing side-projects. The rewards of cross-pollination are found here. For example, if I write a particularly poetic line for an print advertisement, it makes the ad better and it loads commercial communications with an artfulness it desperately needs.
There’s also a degree of patience woven into the act of stretching, which I like. Stretching is what we do to prepare and that’s the key. We’re too often in a mad rush to succeed or do this or that, but the reality is we must first stretch, breathe and gather ourselves before taking the stage.
I recently pitched Travel & Leisure on a “three days in Oregon food and beverage experience,” and I can see how that article–and the trip it will require to write it–plays out. But more on that another day. Today, I want to detail a different route into the heart of south central Washington.
Mt. Adams, visible on a clear day from Portland, is the lonely volcano in the range. Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier are iconic and Mt. St. Helens blew its freaking top, so it’s something of an attraction. Where does this leave Mt. Adams? Unheralded. Unpopulated. And unknown. But don’t feel bad for the mountain, it likely enjoys its freedom from modernity.
Speaking of freedom from modernity, once you pass Trout Lake you’re on rough, boulder-strewn roads to nowhere. Or somewhere, depending on your clarity of mind and purpose. After making it all the way to the northwest flank of the volcano, we were handsomely rewarded for our efforts, as Takhlakh Lake at 4400 feet above sea level is spellbinding and the mountain beyond totally intoxicating in its rugged beauty.
Darby and I set up camp, then hiked around the lake with Lucy and up into a 3000-year old lava flow. Looking back we saw Mt. Rainier in the distance–the place where we got married on July 4, 2009. What a spot this, saddled between the two towering volcanoes on our fourth anniversary.
Our evening was spent fighting off mosquitos, but happily, as we were prepared with wipe-on bug juice. We also collected plenty of “forest hair” a.k.a. dried moss to smoke the little suckers out. Miraculously, no mosquitos managed to make it inside the tent and we spent a peaceful, firecracker and bug free night under cloudy skies.
In the morning we drank iced coffee and packed up camp early, in order to set sail from Takhlakh Lake to Yakima. We proceeded slowly down and out of the Mt. Adams Recreation Area on Forest Road 23, finally reaching State Highway 12, which runs east and west and skirts the southern edge of Mt. Rainier National Park, en route to the sunny desert and fruits of Yakima Valley.
Along the way, we stopped at Dog Lake and prepared a parfait of fresh fruit, granola and yogurt, which we ate lakeside in the cold alpine wind. After breakfast, we descended down into the Tieton River valley and pulled over for a splash-fresh-water-on-your-face-and-head moment. I love to see a river run and this one runs prettily over its rock bed.
North Park Lodge, our hotel in Seyla just north of Yakima, let us check in early which was a score since we wanted to shower and prepare for an afternoon of winery visits in Zillah. Rested and refreshed, picnic-basket in hand and Lucy on leash, we zipped down I-82 to the Rattlesnake Hills section of the Yakima Valley, and opened up with an uneventful tasting at Knight Hill.
Next stop, Hyatt Vineyards. Three women on horseback rode up as we entered the property to assure us that we were indeed in the West. The tasting room was on the cheesy side, but we purchased a delicious blend for just $14.99 and Darby and I enjoyed our picnic on the winery’s patio (with Mt. Adams views) immensely.
Down the road at Two Mountain Winery, the host was particularly gracious and the wine worth taking home. Following our tasting, she sent us down the road to Cultura, a micro-producer with three of its four acres planted in Cab Franc vines.
Rattlesnake Hills reminds me of Dundee Hills with its high density of wineries, but the terrain and weather are much different. Therefore, the grapes that thrive here are different. The delicate pinot grapes so beloved in Oregon are not hardy enough to survive the summer in Zillah. Varietals that do enjoy the intense desert sun and high temps naturally produce wine with a ton of flavor and character.
At this time, Yakima lacks the wine tourism infrastructure of Dundee or Walla Walla. It’s an agricultural community, with grapes being one part of a much larger whole. But this lack of tourist charm, or “local character,” also makes the place uniquely appealing for wine tourism. This is red, white and blue America. Family farms under the volcano, and there’s not much in the way of fancy. But if it’s flavorful wine that you want to drink at a price you can afford, then you’re in luck as it’s available in copious supply.
A growing number of San Franciscans are fed up, not just with startups, but with techies in general. With their apps and buses, their gourmet coffee and skinny jeans, their venture capital wishes and IPO dreams. They’re tired of watching rents soar, friends forced to relocate and beloved neighborhoods drained of diversity.
I understand the frustration, but wonder: Are we embracing a soft xenophobia applied to a sector rather than a race, to some cohesive elite tech class that doesn’t exist outside of our own minds?
Temple understands the frustration because every resident of San Francisco (minus the super rich) knows how tough it can be to make this month’s outrageous rent or mortgage payment, and next month’s and so on. San Francisco is a real jewel, and the city’s cost of living is a reflection of this fact.
The truth is that a lot of this debate isn’t actually about rent, gentrification or economics, or anything rooted in a real class struggle. Some of it is just hipster-on-hipster hatred. Middle-class humanities majors grumbling about middle-class computer science majors.
“It’s amusing at some level,” Waldman said. “People are complaining that their nice cafe views are being ruined by Google Buses.”
Personally, I like to say, “Make digital disruption your friend.” It’s an acknowledgement of what is, and a call to action.
Change comes quick today. I started writing and sending email as a daily routine in 1997. I was 32. Sixteen years on, things have changed more than I could have ever imagined. Today, we are hooked on our devices, reliant on them, as if they are actual appendages.
I lived in the Bay Area before email. In 1990, I moved from a shared rental in Noe Valley to my own one-bedroom apartment in the Berkeley Hills. I had a view of the Bay and Mt. Tam from one side, and a balcony and view of the hills out the other. Concerts at The Greek Theater and The Warfield cost $25. If I remember correctly, I was making $26K and it was enough. I can only imagine what it would take to live in the same apartment today. Whatever the price, it’s not technology’s fault for the radical increase, just like it’s not tech’s fault that concerts cost $60 to $100 today, or that a college education costs $200 Large.
Arguably, it is technology’s fault that a modest ranch home in Silicon Valley goes for more than a mil. So, to the the graffiti artist’s point, “Fuck your startup.” On many other points though, I have to give it to the inventors and dreamers.
Temple argues that, “San Francisco changes because the world changes. It was formed in a gold rush and reshaped by every one that followed.” Yes! And when any one sector (entertainment in L.A. or media in NYC) makes a massive impact on their city and region, it’s a rising tide floats many, but not all, boats situation.
I do believe we might challenge tech startups on non-economic grounds and get them to ask tougher questions of themselves. Like, is this new widget or App actually needed? It might be interesting for a moment, but will it endure? Digital matter is awfully fleeting. For instance, you can see the web as an archive, and use it that way, but whatever’s on top when you open the chest, that’s what’s current and what gets noticed, shared and remembered. There may be a great volume of material under that top layer, but it’s invisible to some degree, buried by the weight of what’s current.
Many tech advances are real advances, but many more are not. Understanding the difference is more than the difference between success and failure, it’s a compass that developers and entrepreneurs can use to guide their decision making. It all boils down to serving humanity, in tech, in communications and in business. When we build tools to help people do bigger and better things, with greater ease and lowered costs, we’re on to something. So yes, “Fuck your startup” if it’s not adding value. That’s a message I can get behind.
ALBANY, OR—Bryant Park Disc Golf Course is a difficult course to play well. The layout is long and confusing with no directional signs whatsoever, and the wooded holes are densely packed with trees and brush. Keeping your disc in play on this course is essential, or the pleasant round you imagined may rapidly descend into a battle for disc golf survival.
Such was my state on Friday. My first toss of the day sailed hard to the left, directly into the woods by the river and it took us a good 15 minutes of crawling through thickets to locate my Gazelle.
For me, it was that kind of day on the course. I ended up losing my Gazelle later in the round, and I hate the feelings of being deprived and unsettled that come from it. But, it’s either leave the disc or scratch the hell out of yourself and drive yourself crazy digging through the thick growth on the forest floor for undeterminded stretches of time.
Disc Golf Course Review gives Bryant Park a 3.53 rating. “Half the course is long open holes under large deciduous trees in a city park setting; the other half is narrow holes (some short, some long) carved out of a nasty blackberry/ivy jungle.” Emphasis, on nasty.
One reviewer on the site, “mthill” says:
I like to call Bryant Park the Darkhorse of the Willamette Valley courses. What it lacks in aesthetic features, it makes up for in challenging play. This is one of the hardest courses around (in a good way) and will make you play better at your local course guaranteed.
Another player, “steezejenkins” notes, “It can be retarded hard if your having an off day.” He said that right. I had one gorgeous putt and a beautiful drive that led to a birdie. The remainder of my 91 tosses (on this par 60 course) banged off of thin little trees in the middle of the fairways, (that could be cleared from the park), or sailed wide. Many of the pin placements are blind from the tee, and placed in intentionally difficult places to reach. If you’re a beginner or an intermediate player on an off-day, Bryant Park isn’t the course you want to play.
Disc golfers in Oregon are fortunate in that there are courses for every level of player and every situation. If you want to get schooled by a particularly tough outing, by all means seek out “the destroyer course” near you. On the other hand, if you want to keep your discs in play, focus on your motion and complete a quick nine before happy hour, you’ll need to locate a municipal groomer that, by comparison, is literally a walk in the park.
Personally, I most enjoy a course that’s somewhere in the middle, not too easy and not too hard. Until I learn to throw consistently straight and long, a course like Bryant Park is tough to play. I recognize that you want a course to push you to be better, and a course like this will do that. All I’m saying is know what you’re getting in to and bring plenty of water, replacement discs and a ton of humility and patience.
Gratefully, Albany is also home to Calapooia Brewing, one of Oregon’s finest craft-brewers. A visit to this ideal 19th hole certainly helps smooth things out after a round, no matter how pitiful, or brilliant, your score on the course.
I’m interested in media literacy and brand authenticity and corporate accountability; therefore, I enjoy seeing media critics take a running stab at Advertising and PR’s heart.
To read the trade literature of the PR and online advertising industries is to be hit by a tidal wave of guff about authenticity, engagement and two-way conversations. In the “era of participatory public relations”, the story goes, “the people have defeated the corporation”. The objective now is to “make your customers a partner in the selling process”. This is pseudo-egalitarian code for the voluntary circulation of Facebook ads. The notion that propaganda is always a state-run, top-down affair provides a cloak for our complicity. Social media’s veneer of openness and people-power exemplifies western propaganda’s habit of masquerading as its opposite.
I think Glaser is right to question the veracity of marketers’ claims, but wrong to call what marketers are producing on behalf of brands is propaganda.
“Propaganda is obvious, crude and naive, but it’s also subliminal, underhand and insidious,” she writes. I agree, which is why I know the work I do for clients, and have done in the past, is not propaganda. Not one of her six descriptors fit what I or my colleagues do for a living. Regardless, I do want to listen to this group of well educated Brits discuss the topic at length.
Honestly, Glaser’s thinking encourages me. She’s concerned about big companies with deep pockets getting away with lies. She’s also concerned about economic injustice. We share these concerns.
I know many people and media critics think Advertising and PR is a crock. I don’t. I think companies, big and small, need help connecting with their propects and customers. Thus, the real opportunity in marketing communications is not in telling brand fictions. The real opportunity is to find and then intelligently amplify brand truths.
Yamhill County in the Willamette Valley is the very heart of Oregon’s most famous wine region. Yamhill County, and the town of Newberg in particular, is also home to some great disc golf courses.
In downtown Newberg, you can play the nine-hole course located in Herbert Hoover Park, or find Ewing Young’s 12-hole nature course on the outskirts of town. Both courses are well worth the time spent in the car from Portland or Salem, and both courses are within spittin’ distance of dozens of outstanding wineries.
After playing Ewing Young last weekend, I started wondering if any Oregon wineries had a disc golf course on premise. Given how valuable Oregon’s wine-growing land is, it might not be the most economically feasible idea.
I think we will see more of this and more opportunities to combine adventure travel, food and wine, natural history and disc sports. In fact, I can definitely imagine a successful tour company operating Pacific Northwest eco-tourism packages, where disc golf plays prominently in the daytime activities.
