GHIN
A year ago, my best friend, Chris, texted me asking if I’d be interested in going on a Scotland golf trip that his brother, Stefan, was putting together. Their mom wasn’t in great health, and dealing with that reality helped them realize how important it is to seize the moment while you can because tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. It might seem like a cliché until life kicks you in the stomach, and then it feels like the only logical choice:
Do stuff while you can.
It was an expensive trip, but it felt important for a lot of reasons. If there is one rule I try to let guide my friendships, it’s that you show up for your people. The times that I’ve made a different choice, whether it was based on work or finances or convenience, I’ve always regretted it after the fact.
In addition, I’d never played The Old Course and didn’t know when an opportunity to do so might present itself. If you write and talk about golf for a living, and you haven’t played the most important course in the world, you can’t help but feel a bit of imposter syndrome. The company we’d hired to put together our itinerary, Hidden Links, made getting on the Old Course seem like a sure thing, saying they’d never had a problem getting groups on in 20 years, so for a good six months I couldn’t resist telling people: “I’m off to Scotland this summer to play The Old Course!”
I booked a flight to Edinburgh and dreamed of what line I’d take over the hotel on the 17th when my chance finally arrived.
I should have suspected my trip might be (slightly) cursed when summer storms delayed my flight out of Baltimore on Aug. 3 for two hours, meaning I’d miss the flight from Boston to Edinburgh. Remembering what happened last year on the way to the Open in Liverpool, where Virgin Atlantic held my golf clubs hostage for a week, I had to beg Delta Airlines to get my checked bags off the Baltimore to Logan flight, knowing if my bags got sent to Boston without me, I’d likely never see them in Scotland. Because of my AirTag, I could see they were still on the plane, and the automated Delta baggage chat in the app was absolutely no help. (I don’t have status like TC does, but I do have some, and it’s still a nightmare to try and get a real person on the phone when you have a problem.) After an hour of standing in line, the baggage people at BWI mercifully pulled my clubs and suitcase off the plane, and I glumly returned to my house, waving goodbye to a tee time at Carnoustie I was going to miss because of the delay.
The next afternoon, I boarded another flight, this time going to Edinburgh with a connection through Atlanta, confident that the worst of my travel woes was behind me. My flight to Edinburgh was delayed for two hours, but at midnight, we finally boarded and set out over the ocean. I had an email from Hidden Links informing me that our group had not been selected in the initial application to play The Old Course, but not to worry because we still had two chances left. At least my flight delay hadn’t killed that dream, or I might have sobbed into my beer at Legal Sea Foods at Logan Airport.
Three hours into our flight over the ocean (my brain a little fuzzy and likely half asleep) the captain informed us that he was reluctantly going to have to turn the plane around and land in Boston. (The flight tracker showed we were somewhere over Nova Scotia.) A woman on the flight needed medical attention.
We hear a lot about how people are selfish these days, and I think social media typically gives us a window into our worst selves, but I was impressed at how understanding everyone on the flight was. Our plans were being upended, certainly, but no one who isn’t a raging asshole believes their tee time or their vacation is worth someone’s life. We just wanted the women — whom the majority of us could not see — to be okay.
Our new flight to Edinburgh wouldn’t leave for 16 hours, but Delta offered us a $36 food voucher as a panacea for our troubles. I waved goodbye to rounds at The New Course and also Kingsbarns. I asked Delta if I might get a day pass to the Sky Club, even offering to purchase one at essentially any cost, and they said no. They also shot down a hotel. It was not their fault I’d been delayed.
My friends in Scotland expressed their bafflement at my bad luck. Hidden Links sent us an email saying we had not been selected in the second round of private applications for The Old Course.
After 16 hours of sleeping intermittently on the floor at Logan, it was time for a group of zombie travelers to board our flight to Edinburgh. I watched Challengers on the flight (enjoyed it!) but the entire time, I contemplated whether I was actually landing in Scotland or if I’d be stuck in a time loop forever.
Mercifully, we finally landed in Edinburgh, where I decided to rent a car to catch up with my group of friends because Hidden Links told me I should just Uber (on my own dime) and that it was not possible for them to get me to St Andrews, despite having paid for transportation as part of the package. Renting a car for the week cost essentially the same as a one-way taxi, so I jumped at that. (I’ve seen those commercials, and while I didn’t expect Nick Faldo to pick me up in a helicopter, it didn’t strike me as too much of an ask to book me a taxi, but alas it worked out better in the end.)
I finally arrived in St Andrews that afternoon, and since my friends were off playing Kingsbarns, I decided to see if I could play The New Course. I had, after all, already paid for a tee time I didn’t use. Perhaps they would honor it?
The Links Trust informed me that, sorry, I would have to pay another 140 pounds and see if Hidden Links might refund me on the back end. It was about that time that Hidden Links sent another email informing me that my group had not been selected to play The Old Course for the third straight day, but I was now welcome to enter the singles queue lottery.
I did not weep, but a part of my sleep-deprived brain considered it.
Thankfully an NLU reader named Joe recognized my lumpy frame and graying beard and asked if I’d like to join his group on the New Course, and despite having slept on my feet for three straight days, I somehow shot a 39 on the front nine. (Jet lag and the wind got the best of me on the back nine.) It was a lovely afternoon and one that I’ll always be grateful for, punctuated by one of the best birdies I’ve ever made, a 6-iron to three feet on the 9th hole.
(After I hit the shot, I hit the “Had To Do It To Em” pose for the camera.)
The 9th tee at The New Course.
I also, for the first time in my life, got to take some TIO relief on the 18th when I yanked my approach left and got to take a line-of-sight drop from some of the infrastructure that’s up for the AIG Women’s Open.
Left of 18 green at The New Course.
But it was hard not to think about The Old Course as I went to dinner that night (finally meeting up with my group) at the Rusacks Hotel, which overlooks the 18th fairway.
It used to be if you wanted to play The Old Course, and you couldn’t afford to pay a travel company like Hidden Links to try and secure you a spot in line, you just had to want it badly enough to make it happen. You could show as a single at the Old Pavillion near the first tee the night before, enter your name, and if you were willing to essentially camp out on a bench until dawn, you could get a tee time. They were handed out (based on availability) in order of how soon you got into the queue. It was a little insane, but also charming and democratic, and if that option still existed, I would certainly have done it, like thousands of golfers before me.
It no longer works that way, however. As a single, you enter the ballot for the following day electronically on an iPad and your entry is now randomized. In theory, someone who shows up at 9 a.m., when the ballot opens, has just as good of a chance of getting one of the coveted slots as someone who enters at 4:59 p.m. But how that works is not explained. Each of the three days I entered, I ended up somewhere in the 50s on the waitlist, regardless of how early or late I filled out a ballot.
I understand, logically, why the Links Trust decided the change was necessary. The first tee of the world’s most famous course had apparently begun to look like the base camp for Mt. Everest, with groups of golfers arriving days in advance just to make sure they didn’t miss out, bringing their clubs, their sleeping bags and their trash with them. Important people began to claim it was unsightly, perhaps even a safety issue on cold nights. This was a reasonable way to restore order.
It still feels like something egalitarian got lost with the change. The Old Course’s golden tickets are now handed out by an algorithm, not a person who gives you a wink and wishes you luck when they write down your name. People I know who landed a tee time under the old system talked about it like it was one of the fondest memories of their lives, just a group of strangers collectively rooting on each other, their one bond being that they all loved golf more than they could describe. It was — to be a bit dramatic — an act of communion.
Now that process takes place inside a computer and is delivered to your phone.
I understand why. Times change. But I reserve the right to mourn what was lost.
I had some drinks at the Dunvegan, I bought my wife a cashmere scarf at one of the local shops, I applied for the daily lottery multiple times, and had a delicious haggis roll and stout from the halfway house between The New and The Old.
But eventually, it was time for our group to leave St Andrews and head to Troon. Our tee times at Prestwick and Western Gailes beckoned.
I would like to think I’ll be back someday, that there is a round on The Old Course still in my future. I am 100 percent certain Hidden Links won’t be involved in my next itinerary. But with this new system, I may need to give it some time and space in regards to The Old Course, at least until my luck changes.
It sounds like I had a miserable week in Scotland, but that’s not true. Much of the golf was great. The Guinness too. The company was excellent. I was the only American in our group, and it was interesting to hear the perspective of seven Canadians about what’s going on in America and what the future might hold for us. They mined me for stories about the PGA Tour and LIV, and asked about some of my favorite courses in the United States. We talked about our families and our favorite football teams, about aches and pains that once seemed temporary but now felt permanent. I didn’t know six of the people on the trip before I met them in Scotland, but by the end, I’d laughed with all of them and cheered on their golf games. You don’t have to be the best of friends with the entire group in order to enjoy yourself on a golf trip, which is one of the reasons a golf trip can be spiritually fulfilling, even with strangers.
At night, my friend Chris and I talked about our families and our futures. His mom passed away a few months ago, and one night when we were driving around Edinburgh near the end of the trip, Zach Bryan’s “Pink Skies” magically appeared on Spotify’s shuffle. I explained that a lot of people believe Bryan wrote it about his mother’s funeral, and for a few minutes, we said nothing, just let the music wash over us. We met when we were in our 20s and now we’re staring down 50. I don’t have a brother, but he’s a pretty good stand-in for one.
Unlike the New Course, Kingsbarns was kind enough to honor the tee time I’d already paid for (but missed), and my friends elected to play it for a second time so that I could experience it. They loved it and considered it one of the best courses they’d ever played.
I walked away with mixed feelings.
Over the next three days, I played consecutive rounds at Kingsbarns, Prestwick, Dundonald and Western Gailes, and that lineup provided an interesting contrast between classic links courses and modern links courses.
Prestwick and Western Gailes have been a big part of golfing lore in Scotland since the mid-1800s. The first Open Championship was held at Prestwick in 1851, an idea Old Tom Morris and his friends dreamed up over pints at the Red Lion Pub just up the street. Western Gailes has been a golf club since 1897. They each weave their way through the dunes and feature rumpled fairways, deep pot bunkers, blind tee shots and quirky greens. Here is my friend Chris, leaving a putt woefully short at Prestwick despite the double rainbow in the background.
A double rainbow greeted us on the back nine at Prestwick.
Kingsbarns and Dundonald are at the opposite end of the spectrum. They don’t feel intimate or claustrophobic, they’re huge canvases with the boldest of brushstrokes. Both were built in the early 2000s, and designed by Kyle Phillips, and the conditions are immaculate. The Women’s Scottish Open is happening this week at Dundonald, and when you are on property, you can understand why. This was a course built to test the best of the modern game. Kingsbarns was meant to blow you away visually, and every hole is like its own dramatic set piece in a movie.
I played well for a stretch at every course, and the wind punished me severely at every course, so I don’t think the weather factors into my assessment here, but I came away realizing that a great links course reminds me a lot of a great bar. I’m the kind of golfer who likes a bar where the lights are a little low and the stools are kind of wobbly from a century of regulars sitting in them. Sometimes I like a clean, modern bar with an inventive menu and surfaces that aren’t cracked, a place with great natural light and a staff that jumps to attention every time I need a refill. But the soul of a good bar is impossible to fake, and the same is true of a golf course.
The 17th hole at Prestwick.
Western Gailes was impossibly hard at times. It has knee-deep fescue on almost every hole, and I lost half a dozen balls when the wind was off the left and I couldn’t keep my wipey fade in play.
But something about it — and Prestwick — spoke to me like Kingsbarns and Dundonald never could. That probably feels like a snotty, hipster take, and if you love modern links courses with clean sightlines and beautiful visuals, I am not going to tell you that you’re wrong. The game needs to evolve, and you could never hold a major tournament at Prestwick or Western Gailes these days. But I know the kind of places I want to seek out the next time I return to Scotland.
The 17th hole at Western Gailes.
Our round at Western Gailes was supposed to be the final day of golf on the trip, but because I’d missed out on Carnoustie, I decided I wanted to try and squeeze in one more round before I departed Scotland. My friend Josh — a professor at the University of Edinburgh and a member at North Berwick — is always kind enough to play matchmaker, and he got us an invite to play Dunbar from a friendly member, Stephen, on what turned out to be the nicest day this summer in Scotland.
T.C. raved about Dunbar on his recent trip to Scotland, calling it one of his top ten favorite courses he’s ever played.
I left feeling the exact same way.
Josh playfully tried to pin me down after the round and make me choose between Dunbar and North Berwick. I refused to make a decision because I think they’re both exceptional. I’m torn because I’ve wanted to play North Berwick for a decade, and I didn’t even know Dunbar existed as of a month ago, but both courses (in addition to incorporating an old wall in their design) have the kind of routing that just puts a smile on your face on every shot. The Par 3s at Dunbar were so good, I forgot to take any pictures of them, but I’m still thinking about them a week later. The routing is a miracle. It occupies such a tiny strip of land, but somehow that makes it feel cozy, not cramped.
Whatever disappointments I felt early in the trip — particularly when I was sleeping on the floor of Logan Airport — were wiped away by that stroll in the sunshine.
TONIC
Not a lot to add from me in the Tonic section this week, other than I’m clearly in the minority when it comes to Season 3 of The Bear, which I defended in my last G&T column.
My friend Steve texted me about how much he loved the section about parenting, then added this addendum:
“You’re really fucking wrong about this season of The Bear. It completely sucked. I feel like they got so much love for Seven Fishes that they went all in on art and left out the plot this season. I’m tired of watching people plate fucking food! No plot, but lots of using droppers and little micro greens being put delicately on plates. But no plot!”
I did get him to agree that Napkins (Tina’s origin story) was a banger of an episode. I get so angsty about my own writing sometimes, and whether or not it measures up to the idea of art I have in my head, that it was an important episode for me to step back and consider that’s not how most people live. They just want a job that gives them a chance to survive — with dignity — from one week to the next.
“I don’t need to be inspired, I don’t need to make magic, I don’t need to save the world,” Tina says. “I just want to feed my kid, ya know? Give me a routine and I’m in.”
They don’t have the luxury to bitch about how their expensive golf trips didn’t work out exactly the way they wanted, so if you made it this far and you think I sound like a spoiled dilettante, you may not be wrong.
I’ll leave you with this: Sturgill Simpson’s new album, Passage Du Desir, is one of my favorites of his career. D.J. pointed out in our NLU Slack that Scooter Blues might be the best Jimmy Buffett song ever written. How can you hear someone rhyme “chocolate milk and Eggos” with “stepping on Legos” and not consider it genius?
We both agree that Jupiter’s Faire is one of the best songs Sturgill has ever written, and I’m thrilled he’s making music again after he damaged his vocal chords and his return seemed anything but a certainty a few years ago.
Kevin Van Valkenburg is the Editorial Director of No Laying Up
Email him at kvv@nolayingup.com