Interview with the Bryan Brothers

Ray’s Tennis doesn’t look like much from the outside. Never has. It’s just a green box with cloudy windows in Hillcrest, just steps away from a McDonald’s on University Avenue. But for nearly 60 years, this place has been the genesis for three generations of San Diego tennis dreams. Head inside, and you enter one of the tennis world’s great cornucopias.

For years, there was a tennis court behind the store, where owner Bob Ray gave countless lessons. It was like a racket-sport speakeasy; most customers didn’t realize the court existed unless Bob or his wife, Hiroko, guided them through the back door of the shop. Eventually they converted it into a half-court indoors—where a patron might take a racket for a few trial thwacks, trying to avoid rounders of tennis clothes that shared the space.

The shop is an abridged living history. Relics hang from the ceiling: a model of an old metal racket used by fiery lefthander Jimmy Connors in his heyday, and a version of the wooden Donnay that Björn Borg wielded on his way to five consecutive Wimbledon championships from 1976 to 1980.

And just inside the front door is Hiroko eternally stringing new rackets, carefully threading and adjusting the tension of the polyester strings, back and forth, until she has the entire racket head strung.

“I worked seven days a week—five days off in the year,” she says. “My hearing is still good. Physically, I’m as good as I was. Working seven days a week, standing all day. I’m mentally healthier than most people.”

The racket stringing is an operation she does up to 20 times a day—and one that, in some ways, resembles the thread work done by her father decades ago, when he ran a tailor’s shop in Japan.

Hiroko, now 81, was born in the city of Yokosuka at the tail end of the WWII. Her family evacuated to the countryside to escape the bombing raids, and she remembers growing up surrounded by rice fields and mountains. It was in Japan that Hiroko met Bob, a third-generation San Diegan, in the late 1960s, when he was stationed there with the Navy.

Among his possessions at the time was a tennis racket. Inherited from his father, who died when Bob was 11, this racket changed the trajectory of his life: He played constantly, filling up his school days, afternoons, and evenings on the tennis court. He was one of the highest-ranked teen players in the state, and he dreamed of joining the international tournament circuit after his stint in the Navy. But—speaking plainly—he acknowledges that he wasn’t quite good enough to compete with the best of the best. So, instead, he modified his dreams. He and Hiroko returned to San Diego in 1968, and he took a job as the club pro at Morley Field. By their mid-20s, in lieu of touring the world on the tennis circuit, the couple was running the club’s tennis store.

They spent 11 years at Morley Field, which at the time was one of the city’s tennis epicenters, hosting major tournaments for juniors. When the city handed over the store lease to a wealthier applicant, the Rays took over the property on University Avenue and moved in their tennis gear. They have been there ever since—through the McEnroe and Navratilova and Evert eras; the rise of Agassi and Sampras and Graf; the reign of the Williams sisters; the Federer-Nadal-Djokovic rivalry; and into the Alcaraz era. In the near-half century they have sold tennis gear in Hillcrest, the Rays became beloved anchors of the neighborhood’s business community, symbols of stability in an ever-changing environment.

At 84, Bob is still lean and, in his Lacoste tracksuit and Adidas cap, remains every bit the club pro. Like Hiroko, he comes to the store every day—though sometimes, if he is playing tennis in the morning, he might arrive a little later.

But time has started to take its toll. His hearing isn’t what it used to be, and the aging process is revealing itself to be true. And much to the disappointment of their loyal clientele, San Diego’s “First Couple of Tennis” is retiring, a milestone that marks the end of an extraordinarily long chapter in the city’s tennis history.

But Ray and Hiroko didn’t sell the building to a developer for condos or to a big-box retailer looking to open a boutique outpost. Determined that Ray’s should remain a tennis temple, they have negotiated a sale to a former employee who wants to continue the Rays’ legacy.

As of this writing, Hiroko and Bob remain in charge, Hiroko stringing rackets, Bob sharing his expertise about new gear. As much as they love what they’ve built, their hope is to move on soon.

For Hiroko, the prospect of retirement is bittersweet. “What am I going to do?” she asks. “Am I going to be ok? I never had a boring life. Always busy. Business first. I’m so involved in the business—because I didn’t want to fail.”

She looks around her store as she continues stringing. For her, the gladiatorial nature of tennis has always been a metaphor for how to succeed in life. “People have to have a drive,” she says. “You can’t just quit because you lose to so-and-so. Tennis players have that mindset.”

She pauses to talk about all the people who have come through the store’s door over the decades, and the relationships she has built with them. “It’s wonderful to have a great customer. That’s probably the reason I lasted this long.”

Every year, when winter swells bring San Diego’s best waves to their fullest potential, local surfers flood the lineups of popular spots like Black’s and Swami’s. But some of the heaviest and most dangerous surf lies further south, off the coast of Imperial Beach. The area’s crown jewel, Tijuana Sloughs, sometimes serves up 20-plus-foot waves that break up to a half-mile from shore.

Even as the surfing population has exploded, however, IB remains empty in comparison to the rest of San Diego, thanks to the pollution that plagues its waters. Surfers in IB don’t just check the surf cams and swell forecasts—they monitor the water data from the nearby International Boundary and Water Commission.

“It’s almost a science to go out for a surf and not get sick,” says resident Dwayne Fernandez. “My wife hates that I still surf here; she gets worried. I check the reports every day to see if it’s safe, which has been rare these days. If it’s not, I may have to drive over an hour just to get in the ocean—and I live minutes from the beach in IB.”

According to the Surfrider Foundation, IB has the unfortunate distinction of being the most polluted beach in America. Built in 1996 with the capacity to manage 25 million gallons of wastewater a day, the nearby South Bay International Wastewater Treatment Plant (SBIWTP) is frequently overwhelmed. Anything that exceeds the limits of the SBIWTP comes out as raw sewage, clearly visible in the water as a dark brown plume with an accompanying nasty smell.

The sewage flow can sometimes hit hundreds of millions of gallons in a single day. “You don’t want to be out there when that happens, and it can happen quickly,” says Adam Wraight, an Imperial Beach lifeguard sergeant, junior lifeguard coordinator, and longtime local surfer.

But that hasn’t stopped some residents, despite mandates prohibiting surfing and swimming during beach closures. If the waves are good, surfers are probably out there. Why take the chance, though, when there are so many other good waves—with cleaner water—in the county?

It’s partly a point of local pride. The surf history in IB runs deep. Stories of the Tijuana Sloughs on its good days are the stuff of legend, discussed in hushed tones in the core San Diego surf community.

“The Sloughs was never a spot meant for everyone,” says Jeff Knox, a former lifeguard and lifelong IB surfer. “The paddle-out alone was enough of a deterrent for most. The shorebreak took care of the rest. It’s mostly locals out there; we like it that way. It’s one of the best waves around and, for that very reason, we never used to talk about it. But those days are long gone. We need all the help we can get—the more attention, the better. Because this is a huge problem.”

It’s also been part of the deal for decades. “I started surfing IB in the ’60s, [and] we’ve always had to deal with pollution,” Knox adds. “Throughout my entire life, it’s never been as bad as the last 10 years. The last five have been absolutely terrible.”

Additionally, there’s the simple fact of convenience. While IB’s median rent cost of $3,000 is well under the staggering housing costs in other surf-adjacent ’hoods like Encinitas and Del Mar, locals still pay a pretty penny to live a few blocks from the beach. And they often pay a price for surfing there.

Scientists have identified 175 toxic pollutants in IB’s waters. Surfers have contracted everything from diarrhea and bacterial infections like MRSA to neurological disorders and hepatitis A.

“As a lifeguard, I see all the data. I check the flows daily and monitor the testing just to see if I can go for a surf during my break or after work. There are plenty of people who don’t check anything—they just see waves and go out—but even they get spooked when they hit the water and everything feels and smells wrong,” Wraight says. “Our responsibilities are definitely different from other [lifeguard] stations and, unfortunately, so much of what we do revolves around the pollution. It can get pretty negative, and it takes a toll on morale and recruitment.”

The problem has driven some local diehards from the water completely. Ramon Chairez, an activist and educator with the nonprofit Un Mar de Colores, has lived in IB for decades, but in 2020, he “made a conscious decision to stop surfing IB,” he says. “I saw too many people around me getting sick. It wasn’t worth it. The last five to 10 years have really been pivotal in the consciousness of the population, especially the kids—they know it’s polluted and unsafe.”

As a junior lifeguard coordinator, Wraight once trained the next generation in IB. But, now, he and the local kids he works with must travel to other beaches in the county. YMCA’s Camp Surf, a program that attracts children and teens from all over the nation with the allure of learning to surf in San Diego, can no longer take participants into the area’s waters.

They must head to other neighborhoods or stick to land-based activities. “The biggest tragedy is the youth,” Wraight says. “They’re growing up not being able to enjoy the ocean like we did—their whole life experience is affected by the pollution.”

Despite the toxic water, IB still feels like a classic beach town, a callback to a time before $8 lattes and luxury condos dominated the coast. It’s charming, quaint, and beautiful, with the open space of the Tijuana Estuary to the south, mountains in the distance, and the mighty Pacific to the west. It has one of the most unique coastal views of all of San Diego—and some of its best waves. If only you could safely surf them.

Centuries ago, explorers marked uncharted seas with the ominous warning, “Here be monsters.” Today, San Diego’s Jojo Roper hunts his own kind of sea monster: towering waves that test the limits of human endurance.

“I train everyday and work my ass off to chase these waves, and [when the swell comes], I don’t want to miss a thing,” Roper says.

The son of local surf legend Joe Roper, Roper grew up in his dad’s Kearny Mesa surf shop, catching his first wave at age 3. Fourteen years later, a trip to Puerto Escondido, Mexico ignited his obsession with big wave surfing. At 18, he was ready to take on Northern California’s big-wave mecca, Mavericks.

Now, from Nazaré, Portugal to Oahu’s North Shore, Roper’s journey is relentless. His team studies NOAA buoy readings, boards overnight boat rides, and hops international flights—all in pursuit of the planet’s biggest waves.

Last March, while surfing dreamy, crystal-blue barrels in Fiji, Roper was summoned by a swell alert to the frigid, churning waves of Mavericks. A quick 36 hours later, he was dropping into a 50-footer that would nab him Surfer Magazine’s 2024 Biggest Paddle-In Wave of the Year award.

But, make no mistake, these are treacherous waters. At six feet, waves are considered “overhead” and deter most average surfers. At 20 feet, paddle-outs become tests of endurance, and boards snap like matchsticks. At 30 feet, the force of a wipeout can rupture eardrums and drag surfers hundreds of feet along the ocean floor. At 50 feet, the crashing whitewater hits with the force of an avalanche, tossing humans like ragdolls in a washing machine.

“It’s like being in a major car accident that keeps going for 15 to 40 seconds—while trying to hold your breath,” Roper says. “Your limbs are flying in every direction since the violence is so radical.”

Today, the record for the largest wave ever paddled into stands at 63 feet, but, dangerous or not, Roper is determined to top it.

“My mission is to paddle into the biggest wave ever surfed,” he says.

“I started playing golf when I was 16,” David Moon says. “I’m married to the game, and I love this brand.”

His affection for Honma Golf is understandable. Clubs from the BERES line, with smooth metals dyed silver, gold, and red, look more like pieces of jewelry than they do sporting goods. It’s Moon’s job, as the company’s ecommerce and customer service manager, to sell those clubs, although that title doesn’t fully capture his role running Honma Golf’s three-person Carlsbad operation. 

Founded in Japan in 1959, the company developed a devout following, mostly in Asia, for its meticulously designed and unusually sophisticated golf clubs. They aren’t manufactured so much as they are crafted, but for decades that luxury went largely unnoticed in North America. In an effort to grow in Western markets, Honma Golf setup shop in Torrance in Los Angeles County, then Cyprus in Orange County. Finally, in 2019, the company landed in Carlsbad, known as the “golf equipment capital of the world.” 

That may sound like a roadside oddity or an obscure Guinness World Record, but in Carlsbad the moniker is serious business. A block from Honma Golf is Titleist’s Carlsbad office. TaylorMade and Callaway are headquartered on the other side of Palomar Airport. That makes three of golf’s “Big Four” brands within two miles of each other, and you can’t swing a club without hitting dozens of smaller companies like Cobra and Honma. “It’s good to be in the mix with the big companies,” Moon says. “We’re not moving any time soon.” 

According to a report from the city’s economic development division, there are no less than 116 firms in the sports innovation and design industry cluster, which includes the city’s world-renowned golf equipment manufacturers. “We’re claiming over 2,300 employees in that sector, which is more than six times the national average,” says Bret Schanzenbach, president and CEO of the Carlsbad Chamber of Commerce. “It also generates good income—averaging $130,000 per employee per year in annual earnings.”

Callaway and TaylorMade together earn over $5 billion annually, or about $5 for every golf ball the world manufactures in a year. And the story of selling golf balls is inextricably linked with the story of Carlsbad.

Long a farming town, Carlsbad didn’t incorporate until 1952. Its population as of the 1960 census was just over 9,000, and not many people outside of San Diego County had heard of the town until the La Costa Resort, opened in 1965, began hosting the PGA’s Tournament of Champions in 1969. A 34-year-old Gary Player, at the height of his legendary career, fended off the likes of Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, and Lee Trevino for the trophy that year.

“I believe it is the way courses should be set,” Player told The New York Times after his victory at La Costa, now known as the Omni La Costa Resort & Spa. “It’s as fine a course as I won on.” High praise from a man who had taken the crown at the British Open nine months prior. La Costa would go on to host the tournament for the next 30 years, and the city grew around it.

That’s due in large part to Ely Callaway and Gary Adams. A textiles executive from Georgia, Callaway brought his fledgling golf club company to Carlsbad in 1983. A year later, Adams came to town with TaylorMade, a company he started in Illinois that had some success hawking “metalwoods,” a departure from the traditional all-wood sets. 

In 1991, Callaway took the novel idea a step further and invented the Big Bertha driver, the first made entirely of stainless steel. The club head was massive yet light in the hand. It felt like the future, because it was. The story of golf—and Carlsbad—became centered around engineering, research and development, and technological advances. It mirrored the digital revolution rooted in Northern California. The Bay Area had Silicon Valley. Carlsbad had Titanium Valley. Honma Golf resides on Innovation Way. 

“If you’re a golf company, do you want to be based in Illinois, or are you going to go to a place like California where you can golf year round?” Schanzenbach says. Carlsbad has “infrastructure, plus the weather, plus the quality of life, and the ability to bring in top [golf] professionals to your facility to test out your equipment,” he adds. “You want to bring them to a place where, afterwards, you can go out to a really nice course with beautiful weather and treat them.” 

But the local industry has hit the rough in recent years. According to the city, employment in the sector declined 16.3 percent between 2018 and 2020, a trend that started back in 2013, despite overall golf participation being up 30 percent since 2016, according to the National Golf Foundation. While the weather in Carlsbad is still perfect, some of the factors that fueled its explosive growth, especially cheap land and plentiful labor, are today tilting against it.

“Coming out of Covid, one of the biggest things we were hearing from our membership was the challenge with finding and then retaining talent for their companies,” Schanzenbach says. “I know TaylorMade has done a good job with it. But [for] the middle-tier companies, it’s hard.”

Honma Golf felt this firsthand.

PGA tour pro Justin Rose signed with the company in early 2019, and a few weeks later, he won the Farmers Insurance Open in San Diego. Honma was finally making inroads in the US, then Covid hit. “All the momentum stopped,” Moon says. 

Sales slumped, then the company struggled with staff turnover and recruiting executive and marketing teams to achieve its goals in North America. The realities of high costs, intense competition, and hiring challenges set in, but Honma Golf is undeterred. By reorganizing its marketing team and refocusing on its core market segment of golfers interested in premium clubs, the company feels there are better days ahead. “2025 is going to be a good year,” Moon predicts.

It’s a retrenchment not unlike Callaway Golf’s. In September, the company announced it was spinning off Topgolf, the chain of entertainment-focused driving ranges it acquired just four years earlier. The company wants to focus on its traditional golf equipment and apparel business, the one based in Carlsbad—the one that helped make Carlsbad. 

After Covid’s industry-wide disruptions, the future of the local golf manufacturing industry is coming into focus. So far, it looks a lot like the first 40 years: You can’t play golf without Carlsbad.

San Diego, with its gorgeous coastal views and year-round sunny weather, is a golfer’s paradise, offering an impressive array of courses that cater to all skill levels, whether your scorecard usually consists of eagles or bogies. For locals and out-of-towners alike, exploring these courses will not only test your skills but also immerse you in the breathtaking scenery that San Diego is known for. 

Coronado Golf Course

Coronado Golf Course, opened in 1957, is one of San Diego’s more walkable courses. Cited as a top SD course by the Golf Channel, the well-maintained public course offers views of the Coronado bridge and boats out on the water. The onsite restaurant serves American bites (including vegan options) for brunch and lunch.

2000 Visalia Row, Coronado

Torrey Pines Golf Course

Consistently ranked as one of Golf Digest’s 100 greatest courses, the challenging Torrey Pines Golf Course in La Jolla hosted the 2021 US Open and puts on the annual PGA TOUR’s Farmers Insurance Open. Named after the rare Torrey Pine tree, which only grows along the San Diego coastline and Santa Rosa Island, the course has made its way onto many golfers’ bucket lists.

11480 N Torrey Pines Road, La Jolla

The Grand Golf Club

Located at the luxurious Fairmont Grand Del Mar, The Grand Golf Club and its 50,000-square-foot driving range are open to hotel guests. Three-hundred-and-sixty degree views of each hole are available online, helping give you a leg up if you’re trying to improve your handicap. And if your kiddo dreams of becoming a future Masters champion, this course is the perfect place to take them, as children 12 and under can play and rent clubs for free.

5300 Grand Del Mar Way, Del Mar

Aviara Golf Club

Aviara Golf Club is San Diego’s only course designed by the legendary Arnold Palmer. Situated within Carlsbad’s Park Hyatt Aviara, this layout includes strategically placed bunkers and water features that provide both pretty views and tough obstacles. And, if you’d like to level up your gear game, the course’s TaylorMade Aviara Performance Center allows you to test clubs with 3D motion analysis technology. The club offers both public and resort fees, as well as online course videos that provide insight into hole details and potential strategies.

7447 Batiquitos Drive, Carlsbad

Rancho Bernardo Inn Golf Course

Designed by golf course architect William Francis Bell, the Rancho Bernardo Inn Golf Course has hosted both PGA and LPGA events. Its 18th hole, surrounded by old-growth trees, is a fan favorite. Golf lessons are also available at the Carlsbad course, whether you’re just starting out or a seasoned golfer needing a couple tips or tweaks.

17550 Bernardo Oaks Dr, Rancho Bernardo

Singing Hills Golf Club

Singing Hills Golf Club supplies golfers with three courses in the Dehesa Valley of San Diego County. The Willow Glen course runs along the Sweetwater River and features narrow fairways, while the Oak Glen course is known for rolling greens and a beautiful, yet difficult, fifth hole. The nine-hole Pine Glen course is ideal for beginners or those looking to squeeze in a quick round. 

3007 Dehesa Road, El Cajon

Mt. Woodson Golf Club

The course at Mt. Woodson Golf Club in Ramona is tough—but you don’t need to worry about having an audience for any whiffs. Each hole is so secluded it’ll feel like you and your buddies are the only ones on the course. Open to the public and surrounded by serene, rocky hills, the club also houses a bar and grill with some of the best prices in town (hello, post-birdie BLT for under $9). 

16422 North Woodson Drive, Ramona

Goat Hill Park Golf Club

Originally built in 1952, Oceanside’s Goat Hill Park Golf Club was one of the first golf courses in San Diego County and began as a regulation-length nine-hole setup. In the early 1990s, it was redesigned into an 18-hole course, enhancing its appeal to golfers seeking a fun time on the links and a laid-back atmosphere.

2323 Goat Hill Drive, Oceanside

Admiral Baker Golf Course

Admiral Baker Golf Course, located within the historic Navy complex near Tierrasanta, is notable for its two distinct 18-hole courses—the North and South. The lush fairways and well-maintained greens are complemented by facilities like a driving range and eatery.

2400 Admiral Baker Road, No. 3604, Tierrasanta

Carlton Oaks Golf Club