Ryan Brennecke / The BulletinThis sculpture created by Mark Crnich that is made with a process created by his father Rich Crnich.

Not many golf trophies this side of the PGA Tour can turn heads.

But this is no plastic golfer standing on a wooden base.

No, Rich Crnich’s creations are unmistakable with the way the copper coloring highlights the metallic pine trees that sprout from the base, fashioned to resemble a putting green.

“Usually if you win a trophy or a plaque you hang it in your den or you hang it in the office,” says Crnich.

The 70-year-old Bend sculptur who is now retiring from his trophy-making business and passing it on to his 45-year-old son, Mark, who has built trophies with his dad for close to 10 years.

“And when they win one of my trophies, (wives) want to put it as a centerpiece of the living room table,” added Crnich (pronounced SIR-nich). “Every one of them is a piece of art.”

Chances are that anyone who has spent any amount of time around Central Oregon golf has at least glimpsed a Crnich trophy.

He has made by hand every trophy for every overall champion and flight winner at all 17 runnings of the annual Pacific Amateur Golf Classic, an amateur tournament that attracts hundreds of golfers each year to Central Oregon courses. His work has also been awarded to members at local clubs such as Broken Top and Pronghorn as well as at other amateur tournaments throughout the West.

Crnich’s trophy work has afforded him enough commercial success to allow him to concentrate on less profitable art, like his faceless sculpture of a Vietnam War-era soldier on display now at the Central Oregon Vet Center on Bend’s east side.

“Every successful artist has a niche,” says Crnich, who grew up in Eureka, Calif., and moved to Bend in 1970. “And if you get that niche then you want to exploit it and try to do the best you can.”

Not the plan

In a way, Crnich is both an accidental artist and a trophy-maker.

When Crnich was 35, hernia surgery kept him out of work — he spent 25 years as a driver for UPS Inc. — for seven weeks. He had long been an expert welder who had built beach buggies, horse trailers, and land yachts, really “anything I could do to make some extra money.”

While Crnich was laid up, a friend brought him two books: biographies on old American West artists Charlie Russell and Frederic Remington.

“I am looking at (the books) and I say, ‘I wonder if I could do that in metal?’” he recalls of the artists’ paintings.

Crnich’s first piece was a metal replica of a cutting horse and a rider that he sold for $20, a sum he says he never collected from the buyer. (Years later a man tracked Crnich down and informed him that he had bought that piece for $1,500, Crnich says.)

Mark Crnich, the eldest of Rich’s three sons, says that even though his dad had a late start as an artist, he always used his self-taught welding skills to create new things.

“My dad has always had a mantra growing up with us and instilled in my brothers and I that if you can’t afford to pay somebody to do something you better learn how to do it,” says Mark Crnich, who has formal training as a welder. “I got a lot of that background working around him with the shop. … We would see something and say ‘Hey, that looks like fun.’ And then we’d go home and build one.”

Rich Crnich’s art was more a pastime until 1997, when Alana Hughson, then and still president/CEO of the Central Oregon Visitors Association, went on a hunt for a unique trophy that was quintessentially Central Oregon for the inaugural Pac Am.

She first spotted a piece of Crnich’s work — a sculpture of a mountain landscape with towering pines — in a local gallery.

Hughson, who describes Crnich as “one of my favorite people of all time,” thought that if Crnich could create something similar with a golf theme she might have her trophy.

“As soon as I met with Rich and he was talking about his work, I was absolutely convinced that he was the right fit for the Pac Am,” Hughson says. “And goodness, we’ve had almost a 20-year relationship.”

His trophy business bloomed mostly by word of mouth from Pac Am participants.

He retired from UPS at 55. But his has been no ordinary retirement.

The detail he puts into each trophy is remarkable.

All are made from common recycled metals. And he does not use a cast, which makes each piece unique.

His smallest trophies, which Crnich sells for about $100 each, can take as little as 1½ hours to create. Larger trophies, some are nearly 2-feet tall and sell for close to $900, can take from seven to 10 hours, he says. And he can make hundreds of trophies during the golf season.

“People call me an artist, but I don’t really think of myself as an artist,” Crnich says. “I am one hell of a welder.”

The transition

Son Mark, too, is a heck of a welder and artist, which is why he is taking over the family business.

Mark Crnich wants to put his own stamp on the sculptures and to eventually turn his own art and trophies into a full-time job. The family name should help.

“That does make it easier for the transition part of it than just starting out from scratch,” says Mark Crnich, who doubles as the parts and service manager at Bobcat of Central Oregon. “It’s a recognizable last name.”

Three years ago Rich Crnich’s wife of 46 years, Theresa, died after a long battle with kidney cancer.

The loss was devastating for Crnich. Things got even worse six months later, when a cancerous tumor was found on his bladder.

Crnich was treated successfully, but his eyes were opened.

“You realize your mortality when things like that happen,” he says. “I have enough (money). I don’t need any more. I want to enjoy the rest of my life.”

A busy 2013 (aided by more than 100 trophies that he created for the PGA Professional National Championship last year in Sunriver) convinced Crnich that it was time to slow down, at least by his standards.

These days, he will sculpt only on private commission — with one exception. He will create the Pac Am’s trophies “probably until the day I die,” as a thanks for all the tournament has done for him.

Crnich plans to spend the rest of his time riding his Harley-Davidson, land sailing, or traveling the world, soaking in the experience of it all. (Hughson describes him as a “daredevil.”)

He has no complaints, after all, other than the loss of his wife.

And he is ready for his next chapter.

“I’m excited about the rest of my life,” he says. “I feel like a little kid … and I’m 70.”

— Reporter: 541-617-7868,zhall@bendbulletin.com.