Carmel Council Crushes Pickleball: Local Power Silences America's Fastest-Growing Sport

Paul Riverbank, 11/20/2025Carmel bans pickleball, sparking debate over noise, community values, and evolving public spaces.

Ann Cole, who’s lived a quick stroll from the courts for nearly three decades, remembers when tennis was the loudest thing you’d hear at Forest Hill, give or take the occasional dog. She shakes her head when she talks about the plastic racket’s “pop,” saying, “It really isn’t like anything else—I could pick it out if I was half-asleep.” And apparently, she did, more than once.

The debate drew all kinds. At a recent city council meeting, the faces were familiar: retirees, lawyers, dog-walkers—neighbors who often agree about little more than the quality of the sea air. Some called for compromise, urging a switch to quieter paddles and balls, as if the solution was one purchase away from peace. Barbara Lang, an ardent pickleball supporter, made her case: “At least try the quiet equipment. Don’t punish us just for loving the game.” Yet her appeal was met with as many eye rolls as nods.

Beneath all the talk about sound, though, was something else—enforcement. More than one resident asked bluntly: Who, exactly, was meant to police this? Were the police supposed to show up for a rogue pickleball? Would the city hire new staff just to monitor a game? As Kimberly Edwards put it, “Am I really supposed to call the police over pickleball? Imagine explaining that to the dispatch.” It wasn’t a rhetorical question; no one wanted to play the villain.

With a finite city staff and a mayor openly acknowledging the limits—“I can’t ask the [police] chief to send his people up there,” said Dale Byrne—the council’s decision became clearer, if not easier. The push and pull looked briefly like it might produce a third way, a patchwork compromise. But Councilwoman Alissandra Dramov, looking a little weary, made a point: “Are we just overcomplicating this in the name of compromise?” Eventually, simplicity—and the promise of quiet—won out.

So, after weeks of deliberation, the council took action: the city attorney is now drafting an ordinance to ban pickleball from Forest Hill Park, likely a California first. The coming months will allow opponents to make their final pleas, though city-watchers doubt any new evidence will turn the tide.

Even as the council moved to act, the police chief reassured everyone that officers won’t be lurking behind hedges. “If someone calls, we’ll start with a warning and education,” he said. “There’s no appetite for drama here.” For a town prizing both order and privacy, the message seemed tailored to calm frayed nerves.

The implications tug at broader questions, too. Pickleball’s boom is hardly limited to Carmel. Since 2021, the sport has grown more than threefold across the U.S., transforming parks from Maine to Malibu. Its openness—anyone can play, young or old—has made it beloved and perhaps, in certain zip codes, controversial.

What’s clear, as afternoons settle back into their old rhythm, is that the park hasn’t emptied. Tennis is booming once again, and there’s been no shortage of local theories as to why its softer thuds are more welcome. Maybe it’s nostalgia or simple snobbery—no one says so aloud. In Carmel, at least for now, the sudden pop of pickleball is gone, its chorus replaced by softer echoes and the knowledge that, for this community, the definition of peace is particular and fiercely defended.

Whether future sports—frisbee golf, perhaps, or another new fad—will face similar fates is anyone’s guess. For now, the only racket in Forest Hill is the one that’s quieter by design.

It’s a fresh morning in Carmel-by-the-Sea—the kind that hints at ocean mist and moneyed calm. On Forest Hill Park’s edge, silence rests where, until very recently, the pop of pickleball paddles collided noisily with the quiet the neighbors cherished. For months, those oddly sharp sounds punctuated afternoon walks and crept through the windows of homes that seldom let the outside in.Ann Cole, who’s lived a quick stroll from the courts for nearly three decades, remembers when tennis was the loudest thing you’d hear at Forest Hill, give or take the occasional dog. She shakes her head when she talks about the plastic racket’s “pop,” saying, “It really isn’t like anything else—I could pick it out if I was half-asleep.” And apparently, she did, more than once.The debate drew all kinds. At a recent city council meeting, the faces were familiar: retirees, lawyers, dog-walkers—neighbors who often agree about little more than the quality of the sea air. Some called for compromise, urging a switch to quieter paddles and balls, as if the solution was one purchase away from peace. Barbara Lang, an ardent pickleball supporter, made her case: “At least try the quiet equipment. Don’t punish us just for loving the game.” Yet her appeal was met with as many eye rolls as nods.Beneath all the talk about sound, though, was something else—enforcement. More than one resident asked bluntly: Who, exactly, was meant to police this? Were the police supposed to show up for a rogue pickleball? Would the city hire new staff just to monitor a game? As Kimberly Edwards put it, “Am I really supposed to call the police over pickleball? Imagine explaining that to the dispatch.” It wasn’t a rhetorical question; no one wanted to play the villain.With a finite city staff and a mayor openly acknowledging the limits—“I can’t ask the [police] chief to send his people up there,” said Dale Byrne—the council’s decision became clearer, if not easier. The push and pull looked briefly like it might produce a third way, a patchwork compromise. But Councilwoman Alissandra Dramov, looking a little weary, made a point: “Are we just overcomplicating this in the name of compromise?” Eventually, simplicity—and the promise of quiet—won out.So, after weeks of deliberation, the council took action: the city attorney is now drafting an ordinance to ban pickleball from Forest Hill Park, likely a California first. The coming months will allow opponents to make their final pleas, though city-watchers doubt any new evidence will turn the tide.Even as the council moved to act, the police chief reassured everyone that officers won’t be lurking behind hedges. “If someone calls, we’ll start with a warning and education,” he said. “There’s no appetite for drama here.” For a town prizing both order and privacy, the message seemed tailored to calm frayed nerves.The implications tug at broader questions, too. Pickleball’s boom is hardly limited to Carmel. Since 2021, the sport has grown more than threefold across the U.S., transforming parks from Maine to Malibu. Its openness—anyone can play, young or old—has made it beloved and perhaps, in certain zip codes, controversial.What’s clear, as afternoons settle back into their old rhythm, is that the park hasn’t emptied. Tennis is booming once again, and there’s been no shortage of local theories as to why its softer thuds are more welcome. Maybe it’s nostalgia or simple snobbery—no one says so aloud. In Carmel, at least for now, the sudden pop of pickleball is gone, its chorus replaced by softer echoes and the knowledge that, for this community, the definition of peace is particular and fiercely defended.Whether future sports—frisbee golf, perhaps, or another new fad—will face similar fates is anyone’s guess. For now, the only racket in Forest Hill is the one that’s quieter by design.