A Fixture on the Links

The "new" clubhouse at the Straits Course, one of four championship-level courses at Destination Kohler in Wisconsin.

COMPANY TOWN: the term conjures an image of a remote resource town with taverns on every corner, where knowing how to throw a solid punch is a necessary survival skill. What don’t come to mind are stately ivy-covered brick houses, award-winning scenic golf courses and swanky spas. All of which Kohler, Wisconsin-perhaps the world’s most idyllic company town-has in spades.

When I tell friends I’m making a trip to Destination Kohler, as they call it, I’m met with a blank stare or, at best, a nervous laugh behind which hide questions about my possible faucet fetish. Even after landing at Chicago’s O’Hare, the closest major airport, the car-rental agent is at a loss: "Kohler… is it in Indiana?"

"No, Wisconsin."
"Well, then head north."

And just like that, the pilgrimage begins. About two-and-a-half hours later, past Milwaukee but before Green Bay, appears a small sign: Kohler Village, left, 1 mile.

Like most North American homeowners, I had heard of Kohler, the ruling bathroom brand of the past century. But a decade ago, I started hearing whispers about Kohler’s almost mythical collection of golf courses. They had ominous names like Whistling Straits and Blackwolf Run and the word was they were quite difficult, or "a good stiff test," as the Scots say. After the initial buzz came some high-profile tournaments held at the courses (this year’s PGA Championship, the U.S. Women’s Open, the U.S. Senior Open, the 2020 Ryder Cup Matches), but for all the hushed talk I’d never met anyone who’d made the journey to play there.
A perpetual beginner at golf, my wife, Amanda, had little interest in my ramblings about this bent-grass Shangri-La, but she had likewise heard whispers about a world-class spa located in the same small Wisconsin enclave. So between us, we had dual motivation to make our way to the village of Kohler, population 2,042.

Except for a few large smokestacks (the working Kohler factory is still located in the middle of the village), the town looks more Ivy League campus than industrial powerhouse. Slate-roofed houses sport neatly manicured lawns, while duffle-coated women stroll with well-groomed Irish setters in tow. The leaves of towering oaks, elms and ashes are turning their classic eastern fall colours during our visit, as if on cue. The one major nod to modern convenience is a meandering strip mall, the Shops at Woodlake, that houses the town grocery store, an Italian restaurant, even a fine lingerie boutique-all tenants of Kohler and staffed by company boosters. A clerk at the Kohler-branded chocolate shop The Craverie chats about how great it is to live in Kohler and what a great company it is. We wonder if there’s something in the water that makes the staff so enthusiastic.

Our accommodations are at the American Club, so named because it was initially designed to house and acclimate the multitude of immigrants who worked in the company’s factories. If the current hotel rooms in the ivy-covered Tudor castle-classic in style but with seriously tricked-out bathrooms, of course-is any indication of how Kohler treats its workers, then small wonder they turn into powder-room proselytizers. Repurposed as lavish lodging for well-heeled guests in 1981, the Club retains the rambling warren of rooms that hark back to its modest boarding-house roots. It is, in the best sense, a truly American place: luxurious but not fancy, attentive without being obsequious. Blue blazers and khakis rule the sartorial roost here.

The next morning our first impressions of the town are washed away by a fall storm with howling wind and near-horizontal rain. As I make my way to Whistling Straits with windshield wipers on high, nearly road-blind, I convince myself that the weather is perfectly apropos for a links-style course like this.

I’m still repeating this mantra as I tee up, alone, on the Irish Course, the less lauded of the two courses that make up Whistling Straits. By Hole 4, the flimsiness of this motivation has fallen away. The wind is now so strong that wearing a hat proves impossible, as does the hitting of any club with more loft than a 5-iron. I feel less like Phil Mickelson and more like Job as I lean into the oncoming gales and doggedly march up the fairways. But even through this typhoon, it’s obvious what a special golf course this is: hard, long carries from tee to fairway with vast flanks of hungry pot bunkers only too happy to gobble up my errant shots. On the ninth hole, I hit a decent drive to a blind landing and, as I come upon my ball, I’m greeted by a roving herd of sheep, the only other animals dim enough to be sharing the course with me today. By the time I make it to 18, I’ve gone through three golf gloves and given up trying to keep score on a series of waterlogged cards. At the clubhouse, for all my trouble I’m greeted by respectful nods plus a glass of Bushmills and a pint of Guinness to enjoy by a roaring fire, which seems a pretty fair trade.

It turns out Amanda has been having water sprayed in her face as well, but courtesy of a Vichy shower in the luxe confines of the Kohler Waters Spa adjacent to the American Club. When we meet up at day’s end, she regales me with tales of two massage therapists plying her at the same time followed by a quaint afternoon tea service. Thanks to the spa’s subterranean locale, she was only marginally aware of the epic weather raging outside. One therapist tells her that it isn’t uncommon for women to make the trip from Chicago, which prompted the company to create a Kohler Waters Spa outpost in the windy city in 2008. The only other location is in St. Andrews, Scotland, in the Kohler-owned Old Course Hotel-the mecca of all things golf and an underscore to the company’s love of the game.

The following morning, the sun mercifully shines as I drive back to Whistling Straits to challenge the acclaimed Straits Course. Today, through a clear windshield, I notice the small dairy farms that dot the rural landscape. I’m in a serene, pastoral state of mind as I tee up at the first hole. And then, suddenly, I’m not. For the next four hours I vacillate between awestruck (11 of the Straits’ holes hang on the cliffs over Lake Michigan) and dumbfounded (thanks to the ever-present wind landing my ball on the rolling greens proves a tad difficult). Whereas I savoured playing the Irish Course unhurried and alone, here I’m thankful for playing partners to share my slacked-jawed amazement at the beauty of this course. My assigned partner has flown in from Dallas just to play a round and, as we chat while ambling up the 18th, we realize at the same time-rare in the subjective world of golf-that we are enjoying a round on the greatest golf course either of us has ever played.

We spend a few more days getting used to the unique rhythms of Kohler. I play Blackwolf Run, a phenomenal forest course that would be the greatest course in the state, were it not for its overachieving Kohler cousins. Here, it doesn’t even rank best in the village. Amanda spends an afternoon wandering through the massive Kohler Design Center, a temple to bathroom planning that will undoubtedly make this the most expensive trip we’ve ever taken, once the eventual bill for some future bathroom renovation she’s planning rolls in.
By day four, it’s time to either leave or apply for citizenship. As we drive out of town we both recall our first impression of the chocolate-store clerk. What we thought was gross exuberance turned out to be the simple reporting of the unembellished joys of life in Kohler, Wisconsin, population 2,042. wl