We could learn plenty from Canada's golf myth-making

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KELOWNA, B.C. (Oct. 9, 2006) - It's amazing what a mammoth mythical green sea creature can do for the local economy. Or how an unexpected visit to a goat cheese farm - has anyone ever made a planned visit to a goat cheese farm? - can completely color your view of a golf vacation.

That's the kind of thing you think about when you're staring down a Roman oculus (a long cylinder in the ground with an eyelike lens) into a wine cellar that looks like an underground lair Indiana Jones might be breaking into. The oculus is just one of the extravagant touches the eccentric mega-millionaire behind Mike's Hard Lemonade came up with for his $37 million winery complex designed to make you forget he's behind Mike's Hard Lemonade.

"We don't mention that name here," the college-age tour guide says, flashing her best thanks for coming, but ix-nay on the emonade-lay smile.

Sea monsters, goat cheese, ocular views into a winery trying to go hard-lemonade incognito (not to be confused with the neighboring one with the pyramid to boost grape karma) ... this is a golf trip?

In Canada, yes.

U.S. golf could learn plenty from its neighbor to the north about how to market an obscure destination. And let's face it, the Okanagan Valley is out there.

This British Columbia enclave is four hours by car from Vancouver, six from Seattle. There are great lake and mountain views, and the more than 100 wineries have earned the region the sobriquets "Vino Valley" and "Napa North." But its largest city, Kelowna, comes in with a population around 100,000.

That's less than Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And when's the last time you've ever heard about anyone tempted to head to Cedar Rapids for their golf getaway?

The Okanagan Valley draws plenty of hackers, though. Canadians seem to understand that a little backstory boosts the bottom line, that a dash of mystique can mean more than a shiny Golf Digest plaque. The Okanagans work in part because of Ogopogo.

North America's answer to Loch Ness' Nessie, Ogopogo is a big green beast that legendarily inhabits Okanagan Lake. This huge lake goes down thousands of feet in parts (it's so deep there aren't even accurate measurements), which helps give rise to the notion that a monster lurks within.

There are alleged sightings of course. UnSolved Mysteries visited back in the day. Workers putting in the supports for the bridge that crosses the lake reportedly quit in droves when Ogopogo flashed past them in the dark water of the night.

"That story isn't true," Margot France of the Okanagan Golf Alliance says. She is disputing the bridge worker tale, not the presence of a sea monster.

Which is part of the point. The details don't matter. Just the fact there are conflicting legends drives interest.

"I can't even tell you how many tourist golfers have asked me about that damn Ogopogo," local golfer John Williams says.

They sell Ogopogo magnets, coasters, stuffed animals and children's books in the stores downtown. There's a statue of him in the park overlooking the lake. This Ogopogo is a virtual cottage industry all his own.

Imagine if some downtrodden U.S. destinations came up with their own fearsome creatures. Detroit could have the Rust Reaper - a creaky, peeling medal beast that breaks down before its Japanese counterpart. Salt Lake City could have a Giant Mad-Smiling Missionary who appears out of nowhere when anyone is having actual fun.

The possibilities are endless. With filled tee sheets sure to follow.

Cooperation void

There is actual golf in the Okanagans too. The U.S. reliance on celebrity golf architects is gone though. (Canadians seem to have decided that Les Furber will be credited with coming up with every course in the country). Instead there is a course that plays through fruit orchids and vineyards (Harvest Golf Club) and a course that plays along a canyon (Gallagher's Canyon).

It's golf where the surroundings leave an unforgettable impression. There's just something about clearing an apple tree on that dogleg and then plucking a Fiji on the way by.

Of course, the Okanagan courses recommend each other's wonders to visitors. Can you imagine that happening in the U.S.? Coming up with a golf trail is considered a stroke of marketing genius in the states. Courses in golf meccas like Scottsdale and Las Vegas work together about as merrily as Terrell Owens and Donovan McNabb.

"You do see a lot more cooperation around here than you do in, say, Arizona," says Keith Stoll, general manager at Empire Ranch Golf Course in Carson City, Nev. "In Arizona you'll get [course-management company] American Golf courses working together, but that's about it."

There's togetherness in Carson City because it's Carson City. But Canadian courses even trumpet each other in hot vacation spots like Whistler. They tout the off-course attractions and quirks as well.

This is how you end up at Carmelis Goat Cheese Artisan out in the Okanagan countryside.

The goats mill about in the sun. The operation is run by a young, bronzed goat-cheese goddess who came here from Israel to escape the violence in the Middle East. It's pretty clear she could easily take any of the golfers she is leading on a tour in arm wrestling.

You can bet none of these golfers is going to forget their foray into the cheese-aging cellar, or the Robin Leach-worthy style of that lemonade guy's Mission Hill Family Estate winery.

"You think?" Okanagan developer Bill Eager laughs when asked if Mission Hill was built to be noticed.

Quick, can Dayton, Ohio, get an oculus?

Any opinions expressed above are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the management.