Inexpensive. Good value. Good time. Plenty of shade. Golf carts. Rugged, yet well kept. Family friendly. Real golf 9 holes. Disc golf course.

Great local 9-hole course with a relaxed pace of play. I wasn't sure what to expect with the mixed reviews, but I was pleasantly surprised. There's a lot of shade, but that means trees. That's really the extent of the hazards here besides a few greenside bunkers. I found myself a few times having to shape an approach shot around big trees even from the fairway. The fairway conditions are kinda hit-or-miss, but they're wicked fast, and you get some serious roll. Had fun zipping 2 iron stingers off the tee and watching them run forever. The greens, on the other hand, were not hard at all. They were nice and soft with consistent speeds. I was surprised how good they were, honestly. The only suggestion I'd give them is maybe new mats and balls on their driving range, there's a lot of room for improvement there. After playing here for the 1st time, I like this place a lot. I don't think it gets a whole lot better considering the green fees.

The course is fun to play. Yes it could use a little work, but at the end of the day it is a good golf course. I'd rather come here than go to Tucker oaks or club Tucker or whatever they call it. Nice and shady great deals and good long greens. The course isn't too challenging but I think that's what makes it fun. And when it's hot outside, the course provides plenty of shade and it makes it feel a lot cooler than it truly is. This is the go-to course if you want to get a quick nine in.

Absolutely love this place. first place I ever played ball golf with my fathers clubs that he passed down to me. now as a Disc Golfer, this place has at all. everyone there is so kind and the disc course is so much fun. please support this course

There are places you stumble into—not by plan or logic, but by the kind of gut-sick instinct that leads moths into bug zappers. Churn Creek Golf Course is one of those places. Nine holes of heatstroke and heartbreak nestled in a dusty corner of Northern California where the trees leer at you and the squirrels carry switchblades. I arrived armed with a sand-blasted bag of clubs, a thermos full of questionable bourbon, and a single conviction: I would conquer this nine-hole bastard and live to tell the tale. The sun was already high—cruel and indifferent—as if it too disapproved of the groundskeeping. This wasn't a golf course. It was a forgotten training ground for deranged landscapers and vengeful turf gods. Hole 1 lured me in with false civility—straight, unobstructed, almost pleasant if you ignored the bare patches and the beer cans half-buried like landmines. But by Hole 3, things turned. The fairways narrowed like veins on a junkie’s arm, and the greens rolled like linoleum warped in a meth fire. I took a 7 on a Par 4 and briefly considered burning my scorecard in protest. Somewhere around Hole 5—a par 3 that plays like a miniature Normandy—I saw a man in jean shorts hitting putts with a wedge and muttering about the county zoning board. I saluted him. He understood. Churn Creek doesn’t demand good golf; it demands survival. If you’re not bleeding by the turn, you haven’t respected the course. Hole 7 tried to kill me. I topped a drive into a family of jackrabbits, sliced my second into an oak that hadn’t been trimmed since Nixon resigned, and finished with a double-bogey that felt like a moral indictment. At this point, I’d lost three balls, most of my grip strength, and any belief in the rules of civilization. But the final hole—Hole 9—offered something strange. Not redemption, but clarity. A gentle, very subtle dogleg to the right, with the sun dipping behind the treeline and my last ounce of whiskey kicking in just right. I smoked a drive dead center, stuck the approach to 15 feet, and drained the putt like a man possessed. The game was still awful, but the moment was pure. I staggered off that last green grinning like a lunatic. I hadn’t won. Churn Creek doesn’t let you win. But I’d survived, and in a place like this, that’s a goddamn miracle. So here’s the truth: If you want manicured greens, go find a country club and choke on your own khakis. But if you crave raw, chaotic golf in a sun-baked arena of existential dread for $8 on a Tuesday—Churn Creek awaits. Just bring liquor. And maybe a sidearm.