It may just be the bonniest place on earth to play golf. A huge call, perhaps. But Loch Lomond??s beauty is something to behold. Y??er man Burns even wrote a song about it: ??By yon bonnie banks, by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines, on Loch Looooooommooonnnddd; where me and my true love will never meet again: on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Looommmooooonddddddd...? Those words were reverberating through my internal jukebox as we drove up the Mull of Kintyre under dusky light last evening. Yes folks, I was excited. The eery calm of the dark hills looking down on us thickened the atmosphere. This part of Scotland is as mystical as it is stunning.
[Tragically we had neither our normal camera nor my phone camera, which were defunct and out of battery respectively - so no photos to show to you other than a couple we snapped just before we left. Alas.]
Where to stay? It was 10pm and really quite dark. We hadn??t done our research. A Youth Hostel sign appeared from nowhere as we neared the southern end of the Loch; soon we found ourselves winding up a wooded lane. A very stately looking building lit up by electric candlelight emerged from the darkness. ??Twood make an ideal murder mystery venue. The Australian woman behind the desk wanted 20 quid for a bed though, which I thought was a bit on the nose. Mike was happy to pay it but I was having none of it, so instead opted for the passenger seat of the car (which I parked just across the main road in one of the carparks at the rather pucker Cameron House!). We could??ve done with a bit of space anyway. I actually managed to sleep pretty well, despite a constant stream of car headlights rolling past intermittently (I was worried they were those of security guard vehicles; that I was going to get turfed out).
Rather than my first thought when I woke up being ??Holy hell, I??m about to play Loch Lomond?, it was more a case of, ??God my neck is sore...?! The Tank??s made for navigating country road corners at 70mph, not for sleeping in. 20 quid well saved though. Some of those quid I put to good use down the road at the Co-op in Ballacher; as soon as the doors opened I was in like a flash, pulling together a breakfast fit for a king. A king who sleeps in his car. I picked up Mike from his spooky castle cum hostel ?? and we were On Our Way (about 4 minutes down the road).
The entrance is a very understated affair, by design I would??ve thought. ??Jamie Patton here, for a 9 o??clock tee time,? I piped up when the intercom asked what business we had. I think the guy on the other end could probably hear my smile. To say that the drive in is impressive is to say Everest??s summit is quite high. Sir James Colqhoun and his descendants had some driveway, which leads to quite a house on quite a property. You snake through trees, past a few holes and eventually get a peek of the Loch. By the time you arrive in the carpark you??re only a couple of hundred yards from shore. Being the amateurs that we are we parked our own car (rather than pulling up outside the clubhouse and having it parked for us valet styles). The service ethic here is world class. And the clubhouse itself, well...see for yourself.
Wallace was our first port of contact, a lovely gentleman of a gentle disposition who looked after us all day. (I thought nothing of his name until I met a few of the other staff, all of whom had more Scottish names than the next ?? leading me to suspect that it??s club policy either: 1. To make employees change their names to sound as Scottish as possible; or, more likely, 2. To only hire humans that already have very Scottish names; or, even 3. That it was all just a coincidence). Wallace, I suppose, was the master of ceremonies. He directed guests and staff alike, keeping the Loch Lomond machine ticking over like clockwork. What a tremendous job he did too. We felt instantly welcome and, to be honest, humbled.
En route to the locker room I ran into John Caven, Director of Golf, who ?? upon request from our pal Harry Summer, a member from South Carolina ?? had kindly made our visit happen. Delightful gentleman he was too, possessed of one of those soft Glaswegian accents that I would??ve thought does more for the women than a harsh Fife brogue. He sent us down to the locker room (certainly in the top 3 this year, knocking at Sea Island??s door) to see Willie. Now Willie appears to have been making members and guests feel welcome since Sir James Colqhoun??s day (but as it happens I know he??s only been there for 14 years). During that time he??s perfected the art of being The Nicest Locker Room Attendant Ever To Grace God??s Good Earth. He was the sort of chap that you couldn??t be angry at even if he??d slept with your sister, or worse, drunk all your whisky.
As hard as it was to leave the locker room we had to. To play golf. A shower reared its ugly head as we traipsed to the starter??s box; waterproofs were pulled on quick smart. Please understand though that rain at Loch Lomond isn??t like rain anywhere else. It??s going to be hard to explain this, but... On the shores of Loch Lomond, where bonnie Bens rise up around you and clouds float sleepily above, it almost feels Right And Proper that it should rain. And you don??t mind it when it does. Or I didn??t anyway. Maybe I??m mad. Anyway we had a good old chinwag with y??er man the silvery haired Starter whose name sadly escapes me (probably Murdoch or Fraser or Tam). Then it was game on.
He advised agin playing the blacks. 7000 yards of golf course that ?? in the conditions ?? would play more like 7500. Feck it; full glory it would have to be (in keeping with our masochist ethos). Just as well that we both thumped drives straight through the chute and down the middle then, because it might??ve been a bit awkward with y??er man standing there (after his words of caution) if we??d snap hooked a couple into the abyss. There wasn??t a soul ahead of us, and we weren??t going to be holding anyone up. So really we had Loch Lomond GC to ourselves. A nice, even decadent feeling.
Right away the course??s trademark (to my mind anyway) revealed itself. Feature (deciduous) trees are positioned strategically on most holes, often just off the fairway. Be they oak, ash, sycamore, chestnut or maple ?? these things were quite stunning; and if you were unfortunate enough to find yourself on the wrong side of the fairway they would block your way in earnest. Sadly our camera wasn??t with us on this occasion (a crime, really), so I can??t show you an example. Use y??er imagination. Gawjus.
By the time you??ve played the 2nd hole you start to get the feeling that you??re playing one of the world??s great parkland golf courses. It??s a strong dogleg left par 4 with bunkers guarding the landing area, feature trees down the right, and a dyke some 60 yards short of the green (which I thought was a burn from afar). Heavy hitters like me mate Goldstein can smash driver over the left hand bunker, and over the dogleg, leaving a mid iron in; but most mortals are forced to be a bit more cute and hit two solid blows.
Our appreciation of Weiskopf & Morrish??s design went into overdrive on the 3rd, a dogleg left par 5 that takes you down to the water??s edge. The tee shot is played through a narrow chute guarded at the front right entrance to the fairway by a feature tree. Past that it opens up slightly, but a couple of huge bunkers are cut into the corner of the dogleg on the left. To fly them is dam near impossible for most (even my gorilla playing partner couldn??t quite manage). As you climb slightly and round the bend your view of the green opens up, but only partially. That??s because it??s guarded first by two huge trees on the right, behind which is a pond. A false front on the front right of the green no doubt sends careless approaches mercilessly into fish territory. A fair lay up area lies short left, but if you get too aggressive then a greenside bunker on the left awaits. Just a wonderfully crafted golf hole. And a stunning backdrop to boot.
While putting on the 4th an American looking chap standing by the next tee caught the corner of our eye. He was wearing a bright red waterproof jacket, khaki shorts, sneakers, and he was holding a big umbrella. It was Harry. He spends 3 months or so every year in a house down in Ballacher, then heads back home to Myrtle Beach late August. His summer??s spent playing golf in his adopted back yard, at Loch Lomond. Understandably he??s a relaxed character, who??s clearly done well in life. In fact he??s so laid back he??s horizontal. We??d met Harry through a mutual friend, the lovely Carol Kaufman, some weeks ago at her club Renaissance in East Lothian, where she hosted us all. It was on that day that Harry extended us an invitation to come here.
I set about trying to impress y??er man by knocking a 6 iron straight at the pin on the par 3 5th, to 10 feet. Then before long I showed my true colours: and missed. Harry didn??t have time to play, but he wanted to walk with us for a few holes. When you??re in the man??s company it??s impossible to imagine the phenomenon that is stress. A bit like the impossibility of feeling anger while looking at a penguin. His calming influence ?? combined with the serenity of the bonnie Loch that by this time was just a few feet away ?? quickly blew away any residual frustration that lingered from seeing another birdie opportunity slip cruelly by.
On the 6th tee I paused for quiet reflection. And basically said an atheist??s prayer. There??s a Beatles track called ??In My Life? that in recent years has been for me a source of much inspiration, the way it??s harmonies and lyrics blend to make you feel as if you exist in a blissful vacuum of peace and contemplation. Gazing across the Loch I was transported to that same place (except in this case it was Rabbie Burns?? words bouncing around my head). You stand there and imagine who??s sat on these shores before, pondering the important and the not so important questions in life. I guess you could say it??s a place thick with atmosphere. Or you could say it??s breathtakingly beautiful. Or both. A place where hopeless romantics are brought to their knees.
And nervous golfers driven to drink! The par 5 6th is 600+ yards and plays right along the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. I hit my first ball straight right probably into the path of an unsuspecting brown trout. (I??ve mentioned this before, about my unfortunate tendency to hit all the ??Don??t Do It? shots, like over the wall on 1 at Prestwick or into the Road Hole Bunker at St. Andrews ?? well, this was no different). But was I bothered one bit? Not at all. That was until I saw the 6th is stroke index 1, meaning in practical terms that I could take a triple bogey if I didn??t get my act together. I don??t like making triples any more than the next rooster, but I particularly detest them when they??re par 5s ?? because an 8 appears on your card. 6s and 7s are bad enough, but an 8...???? Fortunately the ball dropped after 7 blows, saving (some) face.
Harry instructed me in no uncertain terms on the next tee that the only successful tee shot could be a high fade with a driver (3 wood wasn??t an option because the hole was 450+ yards). First, I have a 7.5 degree driver with a stiff shaft; second, I hit hooks. The impetuous child within me was awoken, however, so I thought I??d try to follow Harry??s instructions. Of course it didn??t go to plan! In any case, by this time, you??re sandwiched in between the majestic clubhouse and the Loch. Much as at Cypress Point, at Pebble, at The NGLA, at Royal Dornoch ?? you pinch yourself and thank your lucky stars.
Somewhat unusually the 9th tee is adjacent to the clubhouse, the hole taking you away past the carpark along the line of the driveway. It??s a fairly straightforward affair; a hole on which they bring the tees forward for the big boys so they can have a go at the green (it??s a risk / reward short par 4 guarded by some clever bunkers). From there though the examination becomes a sterner one, your birdie opportunities (fundraising opportunities, in our case) become fewer and further between. Indeed some of the holes pose such a challenge that the best is subconsciously drawn out of you, out of necessity / survival. 10: long downhill par 4 through a chute off the tee; over a burn at about 350; to a subtly undulating green guarded at the front and to the left by a pond, to the right by a bunker. A pure 3 wood and a shaky 4 iron it took me to get home; par was a very welcome score indeed. 11: 250 yards uphill par 3 to a green with a huge bowl in the front middle (pin back left). The first 150 yards are all carry over dense scrub ?? not that it should come into play, but it focuses the mind on the task at hand, and quickens that swing just a little. Behind the green is a wonderfully mature forest with an ancient looking building (of whose purpose I??m still not sure) nestled quietly in the shade.
On 12 the feature trees lining the fairway are among the most striking on the property. In a strange way these trees look more alive than almost any tree I??ve come across before. I say that because they??re covered in lichen and, in some cases, by other trees...! You know, carpets of leaves covering the trunks. Must be the clean air and abundant moisture. What say you tree experts?
Harry had told us earlier to keep an eye out for the 13th, because (on one of the occasions) when he won here, Big Ernie Els hit driver / 6 iron to 6 feet. Now, the 13th is a long par 5. Not in a month of Sundays could I get up with driver, 6 iron. It may be downhill, and at some 320 yards there??s a down slope that can catapult you another 30 yards or so. But there??s just no way. As if I needed reminding that Those Boys play a different game...
There are some scintillating holes coming down the stretch that can be played with great enjoyment (albeit differently) by any golfer. 14??s another risk / reward short par 4 (with a split fairway) that??d give some of Dr. Alistair MacKenzie??s creations a run for their money; 16??s a brute of a 500 yard dogleg left par 4 with a gushing burn 30 yards short of the green; 17??s an all carry long par 3 playing along the shores of the Loch, where it forms something of a bay; and 18, well 18 is a fitting crescendo to the symphony. The back tee is tucked away through a chute on a small tee offset at 30 degrees from the path of the fairway, which at the landing zone shapes right to left. You need to swing hard because the carry must be 230. A long bunker awaits at the far side of the fairway if you block or crush one. Left is dead. Once on the safety of the fairway you play over the final feature tree ?? perched on the left side ?? to a huge, 3 tiered green pitched towards you. Adding to the drama are a boathouse, the ruin of an old tower (directly behind the green), the clubhouse itself and, of course, the Loch. It??s a sensational vista.
Who was there to meet us as we walked off but Wallace. He??d arrived in one of the club??s custom made buggies into which your clubs are chucked then escorted back to your car, while you relax in the comfort of the clubhouse. Harry being the consummate gentleman that he is had kindly left a few quid behind the bar for us to have lunch and a jar (or silver tanker, in this case). Then we might??ve decided it was time to get back to The Real World. But. A group of Kiwi lads ?? some involved with The First Tee ?? were also out on the course, and had hoped to catch up with us after they finished. Wallace then took it upon himself to ask management whether we??d be able to use the spa facilities in the interim, while the boys were still out on the course. No problem at all.
So we were ferried across in one of the Merc taxis they have on the estate, to an old walled garden into which the spa has been built. It??s a very special place indeed. A lovely Glasgwegian lady showed us around the facilities, then told us to make ourselves at home (after equipping us each with a pair of loan togs). Dream Result. I won??t gloat, but these water jet contraptions they had in the hydro pools were fit for use by The Sultan Of Brunei himself. I didn??t want to leave. Then there was the Turkish crystal steam room (or whatever it??s called); and The Best Shower In The World. Yes folks, another superlative. It had 3 modes: tropical rain, cool mist, and side massage. Cool mist was the best.
Once cleaned up I sat in my bath robe with a bottle of cold water enveloped by a huge armchair in the men??s relaxation room. Outside is an immaculate garden walled in by those ancient bricks. The sun was streaming in; and the bees were floating around fetching pollen for their Queen. I admired their protestant work ethic. And reflected for a few moments about how lucky a lad I was in this moment of privilege. I suppose there are people out there who become so accustomed to such luxury that they no longer appreciate it. Don??t think I??ll have anything to worry about there...!
Golfed, lunched and pampered we were delivered back to the locker room, where our Kiwi friends-to-be pals were perched at the card table. Eric, who owns The Golf Warehouse back home in NZ, was taking the Australian MD of Srixon for a bit of a getaway to thank him for being a valued supplier. Eric??s right hand man ?? Reece, who was #1 on the NZ Order of Merit for a spell ?? was there too, as was his pal Lawrie. The four of ??em seemed to be having a famous old time. As they well should. It soon became clear that we all had plenty to talk about, so the boys kindly invited us to join them down the road at Cameron House, where they were staying (and where I??d slept in the car park the night before!). So we did. And a smashing time was had by all.
What a surreal day.
JP
Posting comments has been disabled.
No one has commented on this page yet.
Chisholm Park
12 holes bart cape kidnappers christchurch christmas doak ed bayley hawke's bay heretaunga jane poole napier golf club new zealand puregolf2010 rangiora rarangi gc royal royal wellington the first tee the interislander waiohiki
