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Walk down Pastori Avenue in Fairfax today and you'll see a quiet stretch of greenery that looks like it’s just waiting for something to happen. It feels heavy. For decades, the Marin Town and Country Club was the beating heart of this community, a sprawling playground that defined summer for thousands of Northern Californians. Now? It’s a 23-acre question mark. It’s a ghost of a resort that everyone seems to have an opinion on, but nobody can quite agree on how to fix.
If you grew up in Marin County during the fifties or sixties, this place wasn't just a club. It was the destination. We’re talking about a massive complex with seven swimming pools—yes, seven—along with redwood groves, dance halls, and a vibe that felt like a permanent vacation. Max Hoffman bought the land back in the 1940s, transforming what was once the Pastori estate into a middle-class paradise. It was accessible. It was loud. It was crowded. And honestly, it was beautiful in that specific, mid-century sort of way.
But things didn't stay golden forever.
The Rise and Long, Slow Fade of the Marin Town and Country Club
Max Hoffman was a visionary, or maybe just a guy who knew people wanted to swim and dance. He took the old Emperor Pastori’s hotel site and scaled it up. By the time the Marin Town and Country Club was in its prime, it featured everything from baseball diamonds to trout ponds. Families from San Francisco would drive across the bridge just to spend a Saturday there. It was the "poor man's country club," which sounds like a dig, but it really wasn't. It meant that for a few bucks, you got the luxury of a private estate without the stuffy dress codes or the elitism.
The decline didn't happen overnight. It was a slow rot. By the 1970s, the crowds started thinning out. Maintenance on seven pools is, frankly, a nightmare. The wooden structures started to sag. Hoffman eventually passed away, and the property went to his daughter, many-time local figurehead and sometimes-controversial owner, who struggled with the rising costs of taxes and upkeep.
The club officially shuttered its recreation facilities in the 1990s. Since then, the property has sat in a sort of legal and developmental limbo that would make a Kafka character blush.
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Why can't anyone just build something?
You'd think a 23-acre plot in one of the most expensive counties in America would be a developer's dream. It isn't. Not here. The Marin Town and Country Club land is a logistical headache wrapped in a political nightmare. First off, it’s a floodplain. Adobe Creek runs right through it. If you try to pave over that or build high-density housing, you’re looking at massive environmental pushback and literal mud in your living room during a heavy rainy season.
Then there’s the Fairfax "vibe." Fairfax is a town that prides itself on being "only in Fairfax." People there are fiercely protective of their open space. Every time a developer mentions the word "apartments" or "subdivision," the community meetings turn into marathons of dissent. There’s a deep-seated fear that the town’s infrastructure—narrow roads, limited parking, and a tiny downtown—simply can't handle 300 new residents on that specific plot of land.
The Endless Tug-of-War Over the Land
The history of the Marin Town and Country Club after its closure is basically a list of failed proposals. In the early 2000s, there was talk of a luxury senior living community. That died. Then came ideas for a public park, which sounds great until you realize the town of Fairfax doesn't have the tens of millions of dollars needed to buy the land at fair market value, let alone remediate the soil and fix the old buildings.
The Hoffman family has spent years trying to figure out an exit strategy that works. They’ve faced lawsuits from the city regarding code violations and "public nuisance" complaints because of the dilapidated state of the old cabins and pools. It’s a sad sight. The pools are filled with dirt or stagnant water. The "Mushroom Pool," once a landmark for kids, is a ruin.
The Environmental Reality Check
Environmentalists point to the site as a crucial riparian corridor. It’s not just about the people; it’s about the steelhead trout and the local ecosystem. Groups like the Friends of the Marin Town and Country Club have fought for years to see the land preserved as permanent open space. They want a "Central Park" for Fairfax. It’s a noble goal, but someone has to pay the bill.
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- The land is privately owned.
- Fairfax is a small town with a small budget.
- Zoning laws here are incredibly restrictive.
- State housing mandates (RHNA) are pressuring towns like Fairfax to build, whether they want to or not.
This creates a stalemate. The owners want to sell for a profit. The town wants a park. The state wants housing. And meanwhile, the grass just gets taller.
The Most Recent Chapter: What’s Happening Now?
Recently, the conversation has shifted toward a "compromise" that satisfies nobody but might be the only way forward. There has been talk of "limited development"—building a smaller number of homes on the less flood-prone sections of the property while dedicating the rest as a public easement or parkland.
But even this is tricky. If you only build 20 or 30 houses, the price per house has to be astronomical to cover the cost of the land and the required infrastructure improvements. You end up with a gated-community feel in a town that hates gated communities.
Honestly, the Marin Town and Country Club situation is a microcosm of the California housing crisis. It’s the collision of private property rights, environmental protection, and the desperate need for community space. You’ve got people who remember the glory days and want to preserve that memory, and you’ve got younger families who just want a place to live that doesn't cost $2 million.
Lessons from the Pastori Estate
We have to look back to the Pastori era to understand why this land is so stubborn. It was never meant to be a high-density urban block. It was an estate. A getaway. A place for "resort living." Trying to force it into a modern 2026 urban planning template is like trying to fit a square peg into a very expensive, very leafy round hole.
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The buildings themselves are a major hurdle. Many of them contain lead paint, asbestos, and other "vintage" materials that make demolition or renovation a specialized, high-cost endeavor. You can't just knock them down with a bulldozer and call it a day.
What the Neighbors Think
If you talk to the people living on the perimeter of the club, you’ll hear a lot of frustration. They live next to a beautiful, decaying forest. On one hand, they have no neighbors, which is peaceful. On the other hand, the property is a fire hazard. In Marin, "fire hazard" isn't a buzzword—it’s a terrifying reality. Overgrown vegetation on 23 acres in the middle of a residential canyon is a recipe for disaster.
The town has occasionally stepped in to force the owners to mow the grass and clear brush. It’s a temporary fix. It’s putting a Band-Aid on a broken limb.
Actionable Steps for Those Following the Story
If you’re a local or someone interested in the fate of this historic site, there are things you should actually do rather than just complaining on Nextdoor. The fate of the Marin Town and Country Club is still being written, and public input actually matters in a town as small as Fairfax.
- Monitor the Fairfax Planning Commission agendas. This is where the real work happens. Most people wait until a project is already being built to get mad. By then, it’s usually too late. Check the town website monthly.
- Support local land trusts. If you truly want the land to be a park, look into groups like the Marin Open Space Trust (MOST). They are the ones who actually have the expertise to negotiate land acquisitions for public use.
- Read the Housing Element updates. California law requires Fairfax to plan for a certain number of new homes. The Town and Country Club site is frequently mentioned in these documents as a potential "opportunity site." If you don't like the current plan, you need to suggest an alternative site for that housing.
- Visit the perimeter (respectfully). You can't go onto the property—it’s private and dangerous—but walking the surrounding streets gives you a sense of the scale. It helps you understand why the traffic concerns are legitimate.
The Marin Town and Country Club won't stay this way forever. Eventually, the cost of holding the land or the pressure from the state will force a change. Whether it becomes a high-end enclave, a public park, or a mix of both depends entirely on how much the community is willing to compromise. For now, it remains a silent monument to a version of Marin County that doesn't really exist anymore—a place where seven pools and a dance hall were all you needed for a perfect Saturday.