"currently battling with my dear friend, the Silverstripe CMS" - 18 hours ago
"is thoroughly relaxed at another Irish farmhouse B&B, this time one run by a character and a half, Sharon Moore.... http://fb.me/Fd1zVe5z" - 1 day ago
"Is this the Nellie bunker you were talking about mate? Safely avoided I'm pleased to report http://fb.me/EHAvCmyU" - 2 days ago
It was a very warm welcome to Northern Ireland by our hosts, Hugh & Grace Taggart, with whom we’d be spending the next two nights with on the outskirts of Belfast.
Hugh had contacted us a couple of months back inviting us to stay and arranging our golf at the Royal Belfast Golf Club and it has been very comforting knowing we’ve had the first game of golf in Northern Ireland arranged well in advance. The connection? Hugh is good mates with Norman Patton, Jamie’s fathers cousin, who we met up with for dinner in Ponte Vedra when we were staying with Mark and Nancy and playing at Sawgrass, visiting The First Tee HQ and the World Golf Village. That was a whirlwind time.
My initial thoughts of Belfast are that it feels like home. It is lush and the roads, cars and general feel is similar to back in New Zealand. First impressions are of course far from a determinative opinion on a place but you could definitely sense we had landed in a different country. Hugh and Grace did not disappoint in living up to the adage that folk here in Ireland are the friendliest in the world. They were fantastic hosts.
Hugh reminded me at times of my grandfather back in NZ who, along with my late grandmother, both had roots in Northern Ireland. Some mannerisms were the same and Hugh was particular to make sure everything was perfect whilst I kept saying, as laid back kiwis do, ‘it’s sweet as thanks’. Traveling this much you have simple wants and needs – a good bed, good company and a golf course somewhere in close proximity! Perhaps the bed was a bit too good as I managed to sleep in until around 1030 leaving a perfectly laid out breakfast (and first meal in Ireland) to wait downstairs.
The Golf
Early afternoon we made the short drive down the road and the stately entrance way to the Royal Belflast Golf Club. We’d met a few chaps from here way back at Royal Aberdeen when Zyg and Graeme (aka S.P.) led us astray for the day (and night) and we ended up in the Aberdeen township in the early hours of the morning with a number of the traveling Royal Belfast golf team. A couple of guys walked past saying a cheery g’day but I must admit it was difficult to remember all 20 guys names from that night!
Hugh had arranged the local Bangor paper to come down and so we had a couple of photographs and then it was off to the first tee along with our playing partner John. Hugh and I teamed up and after some serious handicapping calculations we were away.
The golf course has recently hosted the British Girls Open Amateur Championships, which Grace – as Ladies captain – had a huge involvement with. Sounded like she did a fine job and the course was still in pristine condition.
The first couple of holes are very strong par fours. And the first green has a tilt from back to front that gave us a real shock to the system. We’ve been playing on the generally flat links greens in Scotland and on these courses the green staff can’t make the greens rapid because the wind will blow that ball off the greens. But the greens at the parkland style Royal Belfast course had no such restrictions and they were absolutely rapid. A good couple of feet quicker than anything we’d played on in Scotland – even Loch Lomond. So the first few holes we were trying to adjust our short game. On the second I hit a chip that looked OK, only to see it roll through the green and into the deep greenside bunker on the other side! Jamie gave himself 6 foot return putts almost every hole on the front nine. Neither of us learnt in a hurry that we needed to hit the ball below the hole. A seemingly short course, designed by Harry Colt, Royal Belfast had plenty of defense in the form of its green complexes and surrounding bunkers – particularly with the course running at this speed (and a significant wind blowing). Don’t get me wrong, you could score here and the greens were receptive to the odd well struck iron shot, but you have to keep the ball below the hole. The story goes that Mr Colt kindly dotted 365 bunkers around the course but now this number has now shrunk to somewhere just below 100.
Hugh and I were taking on John and JP and I’d got Hugh on a good day. He played his lights out for much of the round until the match ended on the 16th hole courtesy of some dovetailing all the way around! I particularly enjoyed a quip from JP after Hugh had missed the green (by a fair way) on the par three 7th hole. “I’d like to see you get up and down from there” was followed by a remarkable pitch across the sharply sloping green to a couple of feet from where Hugh calmly tapped in for par and the win on the hole (no shots). His second remarkable par three on the front nine.
The stretch from 9 thru to 11 is particularly fun and known amongst the locals as amen corner. 9 plays along the waterfront, 10 is a devilish short par four where stories of Rory McIlroy – the local lad from the neighboring course started to flow (he hit 3 wood onto the green of course!), and then the famous uphill par three 11th over all kinds of scrub to a blind, two tiered green. Here John and I were faced with a real dilemma. A putt from the top tier to the pin cut right at the bottom of a sharp slope. John was a fine putter, and when he hit his putt first JP was quick to acknowledge his partners good roll. I held my tongue as I watched it gather pace and end up a couple of feet off the green. Using the experience of John’s putt I was faced with two options – lay up out to the left, or try and sink it knowing that at best I’d be left with a 10 footer uphill, if not further away off the green. Not one to lay-up full shots, let alone putts I knocked it down there barely moving as it went over the crest but still faced with a 10 footer coming back. Perhaps a green that was a little bit O.T.T – like the old Olympic 18th, but good fun nonetheless.
[On the 11th tee]
[JP on the 12th. A hole on a step between the higher holes and the holes alongside the water]
The course finishes with a couple of ‘half pars’ the shortish par fives 16 and 18 and the very difficult 210 yard par three 17th. It’d be a great course to watch a tournament finish on, or to play in a match.
The Aftermatch
The folk here, arranged by Hugh, really put on a special aftermatch do in the grand Victorian clubhouse. Showered up and into the dining area we were treated to our first Guinness in Ireland. And I can report that all the stories they say are true – it was even that bit better. Smooth. Black stuff in hand we sat down and met John’s wife Janet, the current Captain, Arnie Wright (who we could definitely remember from our time at Aberdeen – champion) and his wife Connie, and two former Captains, Phyllis and Michael Park. Hugh nicked home to pick up Grace and the two of them were in particularly fine form after hearing just before the meal of their sons engagement - congratulations!!
Banter (or should I say Craic) followed for most of the night as we soaked in the atmosphere of Royal Belfast – one of only four Royal clubs in Ireland. The Irish people have a lovely way about them and I found myself thinking that this is going to be some 4 weeks in our year of golf. After a Top Meal we said a few words to thank our hosts and made the trip back to Bangor for another good nights sleep.
Huge thanks to Hugh and Grace for having us, and Arnie and the club of Royal Belfast for the day. As I said, it was a real pleasure to spend the day with y’all and I hope to one day share a reciprocal visit with you (Royal Belfast had just hosted Royal Melbourne folk – including one chap we’d met earlier in the year, and Arnie told me he has 5 matches with other Royal clubs coming up over the next month!!).
M
Postscript – well done to the ladies interclub team who have beaten all in their path this season and good luck Grace and co with the all Ireland final in the coming weeks!
At last: The Old Course blog. (It's been a manic few days, sorry).
___________________________________________________
We'd been looking forward to this day all year. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. In recent weeks it was looking like we wouldn’t get a chance to play The Old Course; in fact we’d almost resigned ourselves to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. As most of you will know it’s not the easiest ticket in golf to get. The uncertainty of the ballot doesn’t sit comfortably with our imperative of having to play golf every day. And so it was a very welcome surprise indeed (very welcome doesn’t quite cover it) when one Graeme Pook fired through an email that went something like this:
“Chaps are you fixed up to play either of the below? I can help if you’re interested...
10th August: St. Andrews (Jubilee) - 7.36am
11th August: St. Andrews (Old) - 7.30am...”
Well blow me down. Graeme’s a champion among men who runs Executive Golf & Leisure, and he’s been good natured enough to help tee up a few of our fixtures in Scotland (The Carnegie Club, Gleneagles King & Queen, Machrihanish & Machrihanish Dunes). Then came Possibly The Most Exciting Email Ever Sent. I replied that sorry, but I was planning on having a lie on the 11th. 7.30 is a terribly anti-social time to be walking some old links where the greenkeepers have always been too lazy to cut 18 individual greens. Then good sense prevailed and I took him up on his kind offer.
I remember back to The Early Days of puregolf2010, when Mike would always answer the “what course are you looking forward to the most” question with St. Andrews. (My answer was and continues to be Royal County Down). Well fair enough: it’s The Home of Golf; the site of many a historic moment and one or two rounds of golf across the centuries. I won’t delve into the history of the place because 1. It would take too long; and 2. There’s too great a risk that I’d fudge a detail or two, thus being condemned to wearing the dunce hat by the 6 billion golf afficionados Out There. Suffice to stay it’s steeped in history and something of a golf Mecca. Golfers talk about their pilgrimages here for years, even decades. Pooky helps make those pilgrimages possibile, which must give him a buzz.
[Mike and me by the Starter's Hut]
[Mike, Ed and me in front of the R&A clubhouse]
On Old Course Eve, I must confess, I hardly gave a thought to the fact that we would be on that famed first tee in the morning. Because I was playing Carnoustie. Which was Brilliant. But when the alarm went off at some unGodly hour, I knew. I knew that I was about to tee it up in front of the widest fairway in Open golf; play over the Swilken Burn; do my best to dodge Hell and Shell bunkers; hit a few 100 feet putts; tee off blind over what looks like an endless stretch of gorse and tussock; blast one over The Old Course Hotel; dig myself out of The Road Hole Bunker; try to drive the 18th green; pitch over The Valley of Sin; then finish out in front of some of the most recognisable buildings in the game.
[Swilken Burn in foreground; 1 and 18 behind]
Yes The Old Course lived up to the hype. It was an equally unique and magnificent experience, something we’ll both remember until we stop breathing. Our playing partners were a lovely Swiss couple – Duri and Elizabeth – over on one of Pooky’s tours. They too had played a few of the courses that we’ve been fortunate enough to visit in recent weeks; and they had plenty of chat to boot. Among the better humoured Swiss that I’ve met. So we had a famous time. Big Ed walked around with us too, taking a snap or three along the way (but not unfortunately carrying my bag). Lazy blighter.
The South African (?) gentleman who might be described either as The Starter or as a maitre de was a gentleman, putting us at ease as much as he could. Scores of photos were taking of us on the first tee, in front of the R&A clubhouse – in a myriad number of poses. They know what it means to stand on the 1st at St Andrews with a 2 iron in your hand, about to get under way. With 2 iron in hand I then took a few deep breaths and tried not to sh*nk one into the still standing grandstands. Much to my delight – or relief, rather – the wee white thing disappeared somewhere off to the left onto the 18th. Not a vintage golf shot but In Play and that was all that counted at that moment. Mike took a much more dicey line down the right but ended up safely within bounds. 17 and a half holes to go; this game is easy.
The way the fringes are mown at The Old Course, it can be hard to make out the border between fairway and green. So you find yourself opting without much thought for the putter from quite significant distances. Most people that have played the course would’ve hit a 30 or 40 yard putt I’m sure. I struck my first on the first, after a punch 7 iron caught the wind and only just flew the Swilken Burn. At this point you still can’t quite believe you’re playing The Old Course. You’re looking around; the holes look like the holes you’ve seen on TV or even at The Open; everything is familiar – yet you still have that This Must Be Happening To Someone Else feeling. At times you wish it was someone else standing over your putts.
[2nd green]
[A nasty pot bunker]
We didn’t take a caddie, but Elizabeth did. Chris was an Edinburgh lad of few words – in fact the first time I think I heard him speak was on the 3rd when he told Duri to stop looking for his ball in the rough because we had to keep up with the group in front! Duri wasn’t best pleased; Chris was quite insistent, to the point of being stern. I wondered whether Chris would be getting a gratuity at the end. He had a point though.
On the 2nd hole you walk past that big mustard building with the words “The Old Course Hotel” scribbled across it. A very impressive sight let me tell you. You’re also gazing across to the 17th, wondering what it’s going to have in store for you in a couple of hours time. In the back of your mind are a few less than optimistic scenarios. But you focus on the task at hand and try to avoid the myriad pot bunkers – some of which face “the wrong way” (because the course used to be played the other way around). Ed utters a word or two of encouragement but still shows no aspirations to carry a bag. I tell him what I think of his laziness but our friendship remains intact for the moment.
The blind tee shots you hit along the front are intimidating to say the least. You soon realise though that the fairways behind the gorse – being double fairways – are as generous as Bill Gates. Gents’ advice to stay left proved useful, and thankfully the driver was behaving relatively well. From the fairway all you need to do is knock it onto the gargantuan greens and sink the odd putt. Easy enough. Ha!
Come the 6th hole I had my first Old Course moment. By that I mean I couldn’t have been playing anywhere else. After one of my better tee shots I had lob wedge in hand and birdie in my head. The uphill lie under my eyes must’ve made me overcompensate because I thinned the ball 50 yards long left of the pin. It was still on the edge of the green! It’s a weird bringing your putter head back more or less parallel with your waist but that’s what was needed. Got it within 10 feet but left the par putt in the jaws. Sod it.
Shell Bunker is a terrifying creature of sadism that I’d glared at in disbelief during The Open. It sits on the short 7th hole at about 295 yards from the (blind) tee. After 3 putting the 6th there was no doubt that the big stick was coming out – Shell Bunker or No Shell Bunker. Wind slightly at my back I killed one more or less on the line I had intended (which rarely happens after a 3 putt) and expected to be in the sand or near it. Marching over the hill my ball was nowhere to be seen so my fears heightened. A 50 yard bunker shot out of That – to a green as undulating as the 7th, especially at the back where the pin was tucked – could be tormenting. But. 5 yards long and left of Shell was a wee swail. In that swail was my pill – HOORAY! Not that I managed to get up and down for birdie through the Alps but never mind that.
By the end of the front 9 the clouds were starting to roll in from the south west. Not nice clouds either. Our spirits unlike our clothes couldn’t be dampened though, no Sir. We were hacking it ‘round the most famous course in the world. There were even some good shots being played too.
[Approach to 10]
[11 tee - Shell Bunker visible on right of picture, guarding 7 green (and very errant shots on 11 for that matter)]
[Zoomed in shot of 11, a gnarly par 3]
Part of the thrill of playing St. Andrews is the anticipation of what exactly is going to happen to your ball once you hit it. On shots where you can see it land there’s invariably enough undulation to keep it running in one way or another for as long as it flew. Hidden trouble – like the bunkers in the middle of the 12th fairway – also adds to the tension. Then there’s the totally blind shots where you have no idea what’s going on until you march over gorse or dune. Never a dull moment.
[Goldy on 13 tee]
[Hell Bunker on 14]
Elizabeth God Bless Her was doing wonderfully well for someone who doesn’t hit it as far as others. Thanks to some very deft short game she ground out a few pars and bogeys when phone number scores could’ve been possible.
[16 green; Old Course Hotel in background]
Eventually we arrived at The Road Hole. There’s no other tee shot like it. I was standing one over par thinking “if I birdie 17 and 18 I card Under Par Round #1 for the year...at The Home of Golf.” Then I got real. And pulled it into the thickest rough on the course! My provisional sailed handsomely over the apex of the Hotel, probably landing somewhere in the garden of The Jigger. Mike hit a memorable Phil Mickelson like power fade down the middle – a very impressive blow indeed. Whether sadly or otherwise, I found my first and tried to hack out with an 8 iron. Some grass I pulled up went further than the ball, then I hacked out again into the road bunker. I was almost willing it into the bunker as I saw it fly left. Such things you must do at least once.
[17 tee - the most thrilling in golf?]
[Elizabeth on 17 tee - dressed for the occasion like a Navy Seal...]
To add to the comedy, my ball was up against the lip, requiring an almost vertical flip to get out onto the putting surface. It wasn’t even any easier to come out the wrong way. My heels were dug into the revetted face (the pin being front right); then I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Gracious it flew up and out, to about 20 feet. A left to right putt isn’t usually my strength, but this one ducked mercifully into the middle of the cup, giving me an agricultural 5. Poor Mike 3 putted from off the front for the same score. What a great hole though.
[Looking back down 17 from behind the green]
It’s quite a sensation standing on 18 where you’ve seen Watson and Woods and Nicklaus and the like standing. A huge fairway lies ahead; it almost seems too big to miss. Almost. My miss in recent times has been the block, which could’ve been destructive. I aimed at the right edge of the R&A clubhouse and swung for dear life. Close but no cigar – I came up about 50 short. Mike hit a good one too and was a few yards away from me. Could we finish with a memorable birdie to round off a special special day?
[Ed and me on the Swilken Bridge]
The march over the Swilken bridge was, well, like walking over a bridge. I’d walked over it before on past visits to St Andrews, but I suspect Goldy had a few more hairs on the neck given it was his first time here. Being good Japanese tourists we took a good few obligatory snaps then hurried along as the rain was falling harder by the minute. Rusacks Hotel and the famous club rooms were on our right, as was the Old Tom Morris shop. The grandstands were still to our left. And the R&A clubhouse was ahead, next to that big sandstone building whose name escapes me. A real stadium feel.
50 yards over the Valley of Sin to a back left pin. Thin lob wedge anyone? Things could go wrong. But they didn’t and I managed a memorable birdie for a 73. Mike missed out but had a respectable 77 nonetheless. More importantly we had a phenomenal time and can now say we’ve played at The Home of Golf. For this we owe a huge thank you to Pooky and The Golfing Gods. And to our new Swiss friends for a lovely lunch in the New Clubhouse afterwards, once we’d got dried off.
[18 green]
To All Yous Golfers: if you love the game, do your level best to get here at some point. It’s a hallowed place and a tremendously fun golf course to play. Take photos by all means, but the memories will be etched vividly in your psyche for years to come. I can remember every second. Fond memories indeed.
JP
Royal Dornoch though revered and legendary and brilliant and gorgeous and all of the above, is actually quite a down to earth place. Many of the Great Clubs of the World are. If I’m not speaking out of turn, the club’s modest website gives little indication that visitors and members alike have the privilege of experiencing one of golf’s true pleasures. That’s part of Dornoch’s charm. It doesn’t blow its own trumpet or tell you that it’s one of the best clubs in the world – it just is. There’s a lot to be said for modesty.
The club is steeped in history (aptly paraphrased on the website), its roots being traced back to The Year Of Our Lord 1616 – making it the 3rd oldest club in Scotland, after St. Andrews and Leith. In 1877 it was formed as The Royal Dornoch Golf Club (its previous incarnation being the The Sutherland Golfing Society, which played on the links at Dornoch and down the road at Golspie); in 1906 the club received the Royal Decree. Despite being titled it can rightly claim – as it does – “to exceed the expectations of [their] frequent visitors and loyal members...in a relaxed, informal environment, with an emphasis on traditional highland hospitality.” The first member of staff we met was George, the Starter – an aged gentleman who’s been in Dornoch “all [his] life”. Because ours was the first tee time on a fine Saturday morning (7.30am), George was out raising the flags and getting ready for the day ahead. We got chatting and were it not for the golf we mightn’t have stopped until lunch. A lovely old guy, proud of Royal Dornoch and to be associated with it.
Speaking of nice Highland chaps, I must mention John. The Royal Marine Hotel – which kindly put us up last night at the eleventh hour in a lovely suite – allowed us to sneak an early breakfast before hitting the road. (I trust Michael has told you in yesterday’s blog about the kindness of Joan, the General Manager; the wonderfully traditional sitting room and lobby with walls covered in golf memorabilia and photos of Royal Visits; the awesome leisure facilities; and the generally welcoming ambience of the RMH – a wonderful example of Highland Hospitality). John took care of us while we shovelled in as many calories as we could in 15 minutes or so. He couldn’t help us enough – and tried to fill our pockets with as much as we could take away, to last us the day! Just the sort of boost you need when you’re low on energy. John could teach most people in the hospitality industry a thing or two...
The words of wisdom from the pro, and from George, were to keep it on the fairway and aim for the middle of the greens. Pretty standard stuff, you might say, but their words really resonated once we’d had a chance to see a few of the greens... (a bit like how Kenny Thompson told me at Prestwick, “you’ll either find [your ball] or you won’t” when it crashed into the heather). Call them up turned saucers; describe them as crowned – whatever. In plain English: they tend to fall away from nearly every angle. The landing areas then are much smaller than you think – and Texas Wedging is particularly tricky because your uphill putt often goes downhill before it reaches the hole, making speed Key. This is where Donald Ross plied his trade as Professional and Head Greenkeeper before making his name over The Pond. It’s easy to see where he drew his inspiration (though there is a school of thought that claims Ross’ Pinehurst No.2 greens were originally bowl shaped – quite the opposite to their current state – and so his signature design mark is really a fallacy).
Anyway enough on that. The beauty of this place is what I most want to impress upon you Dear Reader. First I want to say that there’s no better time to play than at 7.30am as the first group out. The air had a gentle bite to it, but the sun peering through the clouds over the North Sea would soon make its glow felt. Wind as it generally is was tame during this first stanza of day (take note Tim Borren!). I felt like the town and the golf course, like me, was just waking up. Even the gorse managed to look graceful in this soft light (though it soon revealed its true character). We teed off with scarcely a soul in sight, at once excited and contented. It’s in this euphoric state that I enjoy my golf most.
Holes 1 and 2 warm you up before the golf course famously opens up before you on the walk to the 3rd tee. On 2 I had my first encounter with a Dornoch pot bunker, my ball nestling in a spot from which even Seve couldn’t have made par. Mike on the other hand hit a glorious towering short iron to a couple of feet and knocked in his first of 3 impressive birdies on the par 3s.
[View from behind the 3rd tee]
5 is a great little par 4, one of the best we’ve played in Scotland. You hike up to the tee and find yourself presiding over a view that’s hard to describe as anything other than stunning. When you steady yourself you have options. From the yellows (which we were forced to play since they were keeping the whites pristine for a tournament commencing the next day), it’s only 350 or so – and with the drop in elevation you could get on with a good 3 wood or mellow driver. But. The green is plateau’d (one of those terms that I’ve never been sure about – is it a proper word?) and guarded at the front by a smattering of pots covering every angle. Mike hit a 2 iron that danced around the lip of one of ‘em; I laid back with a 5 iron to leave a full lob wedge. No birdies for either of us – but, I guess, no doubles either... In the wind this could be torturous. The fairway slopes towards 3 pots on right hand side in the lay up zone too, which you want to avoid at all costs – a beautifully designed hole. Well done Tam. As the website notes, “Position of flag dictates best line from tee.”
I love the description of the very Scottish sounding 6th hole (“Whinny Brae” - pictured below): Par 3, 163 yards. Plateau green built into hillside. Thick whins on hillside on left, also 3 bunkers on left edge of green. Large bunker at right of slope at entrance to green. Steep fall of 12ft. at rear and right of green.” Only in Scotland can they make a 9 iron sound so difficult... In fact if you have the inclination, read the website’s hole-by-hole description for a good laugh. It’s a no nonsense, bare bones description of nothing but hazards! I wouldn’t be surprised if it was written by a Scots caddy, who I’ve heard don’t sugar coat things unlike their American counterparts.
On 8 you hit your first blind tee shot of the day – ideally over the top of the raccoon tail stick in the middle of the fairway. As your ball soars off into the horizon you have to trust that no one’s shifted the stick overnight...because you don’t have a clue what’s going on down below. Fortunately we both found ourselves sitting pretty on the sunken fairway, but still had to leave it all to fate for the approach, which is (semi-)blind too. I took my instructions from Mike – who as he tends to do marched up ahead to the green for a gander. “Land it 25 feet short online or just left of the pin, and it’ll run down nicely.” With a lob wedge I did as I was told, but my ball ended up on the false front that was in fact farther away than Mike described – eroding all trust in any future instructions from my travel companion. A 3 putt ensued, marking the first of Many in a frustrating day on and around the greens! But that’s golf, and that’s Dornoch, and I was too busy enjoying myself to give a rat’s proverbial.
[View from top of the hill on 8, out over the bay]
[Looking back from behind the par 5 9th green]
Something remarkable happened on the short par 3 10th: Michael failed to make a birdie, instead carding a careless par. Dornoch’s collection of (four) par 3s is quite something – they’re all quite short, but well contoured nonetheless, so birdies aren’t easy to come by. Mike had 3 of ‘em – a testament to his fine short iron abilities. I had another 3 putt from the wrong side of a nasty tier!
By this time the locals were out in force on the dunes and on the beach, their dogs taking them for a walk. I’d shed my cardigan it was so balmy. There were still a few Berghaus Gore Tex numbers about though – God knows why; they must’ve known something I didn’t (like our good fortune was about to come to an end). That’s one of my favourite things about playing Scottish links, actually, now that I think about it. Whereas in the US at the best clubs it’s only golfers and caddies in sight (the outside world being excluded by Fort Knox like perimeters in many cases), here you can people watch while your playing partners are hacking away. Old couples in their parkas with ancient looking West Highland Terriers in tow; young families tearing around with lusty abandon and spaniels or chocolate labs in pursuit; a guy out for a walk to clear the head after The Night Before. In this way the golf courses are much more part of the fabric of the community – places that mean different things to different people, but in any case – at least in summer – are alive with activity. And so it was with Royal Dornoch on the fine Saturday morning we played.
[The 12th isn't as hard as it looks]
[Looking across from the 12th tee to the sharp undulations surrounding the 5th green, and bonnie house above]
Down the back 9 there are birdie holes if you’ve got your short game shoes on. But like Brora yesterday it was a fine art stopping the ball down wind – a fine art that I as yet have still to get a remote grasp of let alone master. If I was to describe Dornoch’s green complexes in one word it’d be “humbling.” The second word I would use is “fun” - because it’s genuinely a buzz trying to get your wee white thing close even if time after time you’re being humbled. To be sure it’d be a boring game if you had it perfected.
As we walked up and down the last few holes it was still not 10am, leaving us the rest of the day ahead to use as we pleased. It dawned on me that I might not be back here for a while, so made a point of pausing to take in the views and grab a snap or two for posterity. This one below is of the 17th from the top of the hill, looking down to the fairway and back up again to the green. In spring when the gorse is in bloom this – like the rest of the course – would no doubt look yet more magnificent.
Not far from the 18th green was George, ushering Americans to the tee and making sure they got away on time. We stopped to thank him and to share a few thoughts. He must surely be one of the reasons why people love this place so much, in that he epitomises the humility and warmth this place exudes. If you stop in at Dornoch make sure you introduce yourself to George (if you’re playing you won’t miss him, of course).
I did a quick rec’y of the clubhouse and it’s impressive collection of artifacts. Among them is the very impressive Carnegie Shield, which is played for every year. It was donated to the club in 1901 by Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Carnegie, whom I mentioned in the Skibo blog. In other cabinets were medals from decades and centuries gone by, no doubt played for in good spirits by modest, good natured highlanders.
JP
More episodes and tall tales of our adventures on day 212 at Royal Aberdeen Golf Club at Balgownie Links will come shortly. Just had an aborted live TV interview. The full coverage will follow soon.
Also in the pipeline:
Walking on the moon at Cruden Bay (day 213)
The seaside bliss of Moray (day 214)
Famous hospitality at Nairn (day 215)
Spectacular views at Castle Stuart (day 216)
Royal Troon is among the most famous of the Great Scottish Links’, and therefore among the most famous courses in the world. It was founded in 1878 and held 8 Open Championships between 1923 and 2004 – won by Giants of the Game such as Locke, Palmer, Weiskopf, Watson, Calcavecchia, Leonard and, er, Todd Hamilton. Troon became Royal Troon in its centenary year – 1978 – when it received the Royal Decree. Now the members drive Aston Martins instead of BMWs and use silk handkerchiefs instead of linen.
The Old Course is sandwiched between Prestwick to the south and the Gailes courses (Western and Glasgow) and Dundonald to the north. On not a bad piece of golfing terra firma. In fact you’d be hard pushed to find a better agglomeration of links tracks anywhere on these Isles, or anywhere in the world for that matter. Royal Troon’s in good company.
How they let 3 Kiwi punters (and a Kiwi caddy) on for a game I’ll never know. But when the email came through suffice to say I was somewhat elated. Pete delayed his flight by a couple of days so he could experience a day or two of life as part of the puregolf2010 machine, with a game at Troon as a sweetener (as if he needed one...?!); and Doug came along for the ride too. Four excited Kiwis, yes Sir. Pete very kindly sponsored us to stay at The Anchorage Hotel in Troon last night, which was like going back in time. On Troon Eve we took in the sights of the local town, taking in a quiz at the local Inn and a spot of Bingo (we weren’t in time to take part, but observed with interest)! A very confusing discussion with the Head Chef at the local curry joint was also a highlight. As was sitting up until the wee hours – rather unwisely – playing cards in our room.
Anyway. In the morning we waded through a sea of cholesterol / chowed down a cooked “breakfast” at the Anchorage (the lads hadn’t experienced black pudding before!), then made our way around the corner to the course. Rookie mistake: I’d forgotten that in the email were instructions not to wear shorts. So when we turned up in the clubhouse to meet the Caddiemaster we were politely advised of our error. Peter himself was a very gracious man indeed, and didn’t bat any eyelid. The rather officious chap running around in a blue jacket though was not quite as patient. Trousers on, quick smart. Right.
With an hour to kill before we were off, quite a few practice putts were hit. Not enough, as it turned out. I got talking to the starter, a very affable gentleman who used to be a footballer in his day. He shared with me his regrets about not giving it a go down south and overseas. Sadly his mother had kept from him an opportunity to go down at the age of 15 to Brighton to try out for a team down there, probably with his best interests at heart. He however didn’t see it that way and looks back on What Might Have Been. That’s not a sensation I enjoy.
The first 3 or 4 holes on The Old Course at RT are bonnie but not intimidating. As long as the wind’s not howling you can fire a few easy swing 2 irons down there and a mid to short iron onto the deck, without much trouble. Things start to hot up a bit on the par 5 6th, which I recognised from the 2004 Open. Then on the 7th you begin to realise you’re playing Royal Troon: a 380 yard dogleg right par 4 with more bunkers than I’ve had hot dinners and a well guarded green tucked between the dunes. On that hole Goldy rolled in his 3rd birdie of the day, and given Doug was perched up on the dune behind the hole I thought he might’ve captured it on film – but no such luck. At this point I made by 7th straight par and was beginning to wonder what all the fuss was about. Ha – famous last words!
The postage stamp 8th hole is infamous. Many a postage stamp hole has been designed around the world with the 8th at RT in mind, some of which we’ve experienced this year. The only one I can remember that comes close is 16 at Paraparaumu Beach, which is equally as straightforward / tormenting, depending on how you play it. I pulled my sand wedge into the coffin bunker, which is not a nice place to be; Goldy pulled it onto the other side of the dune; and Pete stuck it was an easy swing (the secret) to 6 feet! I’m pleased to say Mr. Borren rolled it in for a memorable birdie too. And with an 8 footer sliding past the left edge I carded my first bogey of the round. Dammit.
On the 10th we had a bit of a mozza. The tees are set amongst the gorse in what really is the middle of nowhere. Were it not for the narrow path cut up into the dunes ahead you’d have no idea whatsoever which way to go. Doug strided up ahead to give us a line and to keep an eye on where our tee shots ended up. He picked his spot and waved us on. I took aim and thrashed a high draw with my driver, precisely down the line he indicated was the correct one. Problem is, when the ball left the clubface, Doug turned 180 degrees and yelled FORE. The 2 ball ahead were about to play their approaches and my ball flew straight over their heads! Doug neglected to shout back that this was the case, and so we found ourselves in a slightly embarrassing (but thankfully not lethal) situation. I marched up to the next tee and apologised; the two Englishmen were good humoured about the whole thing, but I was red faced nonetheless. What a kafuffle.
Yesterday at Dundonald we’d been laughing about the inevitable 3 off the tee that follows a 3 putt. It’s uncanny how a 3 putt or a missed 3 footer always precedes a block or hook into the gorse. Unfortunately it was my turn, when I 3 putted from just off the edge of the stroke 1 11th hole, then put the nail into the coffin on What Might Have Been A Good Round by blocking the wee white thing into the gorse on 12. Curtains. Next time I think, as an experiment, I’m going to hit a 9 iron off the tee – regardless of how long the hole is. Reckon I’ll score better...
The sun came out along the stretch and – though the pace of play slowed a little – we were in our element, marvelling at Troon in its full splendour. The brilliant red sandstone of The Marine Hotel glowed handsomely. And the contours of the course were revealed more acutely, as shadows grew longer by the second. The understated yet majestic clubhouse was a beacon of comfort – i.e. a sign that food wasn’t too far away – and an impressive sight in its own right. I wonder whether those 8 Open champions that walked down the 18th were as hungry as we were? Probably.
Off then we went to Morrison’s supermarket to pull together a feast to end all feasts. Goldy was particularly pleased with the 8 donuts for 59 pence deal he found. I was more taken with my 4 nectarines for a pound find. Yum.
The 2001 St. Andrews College golf team then packed into the car once more and set sail for Edinburgh, where we were to meet an old friend of Pete’s for dinner on George Street. I had forgotten how beautiful the centre of town is on a summer’s evening – the likes of India Street, Charlotte Square and George Street itself were buzzing with action and caked In sun. ‘Twas a long day, Day 203, but a good one. A very good one.
JP
Shinnecock
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