Travel Feature: Scotland Golf Vacation

Andrew Penner

Posted 2003-11-11

Nourished by a savage wind screaming off the Ailsa coast, I shield my face from the salty rain and reach for my four-iron on the devilishly difficult 163-yard sixth at Turnberry. “Nae, the four wun’t du,” says my caddie. “It’s driver.” A home-rolled cigarette dangles from his weathered face as beads of rain build on his brow. “An’ keep it lew.” He’s said very little to me throughout the round, concentrating mainly on keeping my clubs - and his cigarettes - safe and dry as the weather, and one of the finest courses in the world, pummel us.

I trust him and take a mighty lash with the driver, skidding the ball into a sod-walled bunker by the green. It takes me two to get out of the pit and I one-putt for bogey. He nods as we leave the green. “Good playing, lad. That’s as good as par today.” I look up and see the famous lighthouse clutching the rocks beside the ninth tee and the famous Ailsa Craig, a massive granite dome, bursting from the angry sea a mile out. I think to myself, “Above par. Ya, that about sums it up for Scotland.”

The weather will not be good all week. But I’m thrilled to be here. Thrilled to saunter about on some of the most revered golf links in the world. And, regardless of the weather, what true golfer wouldn’t? Scotland is the home of golf. Scotland is golf. In the churning sea off Turnberry, woven through the ancient dunes at St. Andrews, and twisting through the rusted bracken at Muirfield, Carnoustie, and Prestwick, dwells the soul of the game.

My trip to Scotland first took me to the southwest of the country, to the Ailsa Coast, to play the links at Turnberry, Troon, and Prestwick. Then via ferry I visited the remote islands of Arran, Islay, and Gigha, and also the rugged Mull of Kintyre (a peninsula), which is home to the Scottish 18-hole treasure they simply call “Machrihanish.” These wonderful areas, off the beaten path, their coastlines specked with one-pub towns, whiskey distilleries, woolen mills, and country inns, are, at least to me, the best I know of Scotland.

Turnberry, which many people would rank second in the country behind the very private links at Muirfield, is famous for its thrilling Open Championships. In 1977 “The Duel in the Sun” between Jack Nicklaus and Tom Watson captivated the world. The lead went back and forth and finally Watson, with a near tap-in birdie on 18, snared the title. It was legendary. In 1986 Turnberry belonged to Greg Norman. He battled wind and rain in one of the most grueling Opens ever and was the victor. It was the greatest tournament of his career. The players love going there. The course is, among many things, spectacular.

Like all the great courses, the holes at Turnberry feel as if they’ve been there forever. Many sit snug between the dunes, rising, falling, and bending, ultimately, where nature’s winds have told them to. The thrilling stretch of holes along the sea - the 4th to the 11th - are surreal. The 9th, with it’s championship tee perched on a rocky spit of land canting towards the sea, the lighthouse and castle ruins a stone’s throw away, is one of the most memorable spots in golfdom.

And then there’s the 10th. Another heroic par-four with the sea biting into the fairway’s left side, the 10th is the kind of hole a photographer could make award winning shots of in the most dismal light of the day.

Photographers would also fancy a shot or two of Turnberry’s remarkable hotel. It adorns the hill overlooking the courses (The Kintyre Course is not as good, but definitely worth playing) and has one of the finest spas in all of Europe. The hotel, which also features numerous lodges named after Scotland’s best courses, is owned and operated by Westin. After a 36 hole day, you’ll have a fine sleep there.

Just a half hour up the road is the one and only Prestwick Golf Club, host to the first 12 Open Championships ever played (1860-1872). Prestwick, which last hosted The Open in 1925, is out of the rotation for one simple reason: there’s almost no room for a gallery. In spite of Prestwick’s tight layout (its claustrophobic character adds to its charm), it’s a gem of a course. Unique, quirky, frustrating, impossible, they’ve all been used to describe Prestwick. But I loved every nuance, every awkward dip, and every blind shot at Prestwick. Provided you take it for what it is (some of golf’s most sacred ground), my guess is you will too.

It is said, mostly because of its varied landscape, that the Island of Arran, located an hour by ferry from the Ailsa Coast, is “Scotland in Miniature.” From sweeping moorland to granite peaks, from wooded glens to wide open seascapes, Arran is, arguably, the most beautiful island in Europe. It’s normally home to 6,000 people, but in summer the population intensifies as tourists come in droves. My time in Arran, although short, was mainly spent gazing in awe at the majestic cliffs, the heralded wildlife, and the storybook coastline.

From Arran, it was another short ferry to the Mull of Kintyre and one of the world’s lesser-known gems in links golf. The Machrihanish Golf Club is, in my opinion, something from another world. Here, on the tip of a forgotten peninsula, weaving through some of the most romantic dune shapes I’ve ever seen, is a place for golf unlike any other. Without reservation I would say that the outward nine at Machrihanish is one of the best nines I’ve ever played.

This is the type of course that incites poetry and song. The first hole, in fact, has been bantered about as the finest opening hole in golf. From a narrow patch of ground that’s nearly been captured by the sea, golfers have to smash one over the beach and hope they find the slanting fairway that cruises along the sea’s edge. It’s reminiscent of Pebble’s 18th. Sadly, Machrihanish is often passed up because of its remote location. It takes a couple of ferries or a three-hour drive from Glasgow to get there. Those who make the effort will be rewarded.

From there it was yet another boat to Islay, an island famous for its drink. The Islay single malt distilleries – Bowmore, Laphroig, and Lagavulin – have been making whiskey for hundreds of years. Famous for their smoky, peaty taste, these are often considered the finest single malts in the world. After a morning round at nearby Machrie (ranked in the top 100 in Europe and also a course not to be missed), a couple shots of a Bowmore 15-year-old made the punishing round in gale force winds suddenly worth every second. The Machrie, and the isle of Islay, will definitely be on one of my travel itineraries again.

But then it was time to head back to the mainland, to Glasgow. And after a short flight from Islay’s small airport the heaving hillsides around Loch Lomond were soon in sight. Then, over the ridges as we swooped in from the northwest, the verdant greens of Glasgow’s parks, the Firth of Clyde, and the row houses, urban snakes coiling around the ancient town, came in view. And hanging on the hazy horizon in the east, just two hours away by car, the Old Course at St. Andrews, the highly touted Kingsbarnes, Muirfield, Carnoustie, North Berwick, the list goes on and on. Next time, I dream as we touch the tarmac, next time I’ll head to other side of Scotland. To Dornoch, to Aberdeen, to St. Andrews. Where the golf, and the whiskey, will no doubt be above par too.

Andrew Penner is a golf professional and a freelance writer. His book, titled “One Flew Over The Caddyshack,” is available at Amazon.

For more information visit the following:

www.scottishgolfsouthwest.com
www.visitscotland.com
www.ayrshire-arran.com
www.westin.com/turnberry.com
www.machgolf.com
www.prestwickgc.co.uk
www.machrie.com
www.seeglasgow.com