When I received the email from The Machrihanish Golf Club last fall informing me that, as a member, I had been selected to participate in the 150th Anniversary Ryder Cup tournament the following July, I likely set a record with the speed of my confirmation email. I didn’t check a calendar or cross-reference schedules. My availability wasn't really debatable. I'd already made my decision, and I made it decisively, which is to say impulsively.

“Yes!” I immediately wrote, “I would be delighted.”

To be a member of an Old Tom Morris golf course- let alone one that is in the world's top 100 and also shrouded in mystique and natural beauty- is an insane thing to actually type out. But here we are. I am honored to be a small part of it and am reminded of that idea each year when I make it back to this part of the world.

I say that without exaggeration. We live firmly in the depths of a post-ironic world where sincerity and irony are hopelessly, and often purposefully, blurred. Increasingly, it feels that if one is looking to detach from the relentless grind of modernity, you must take clear and purposeful steps of action to do so. It doesn’t happen by accident.

You must seek it out.

Sitting overlooking Machrihanish Bay in the clubhouse one morning last month, having coffee, an American friend of mine, who frequents and (possibly haunts) the West of Scotland, told me that what he likes best about the Scots is that they are a people of action. They do what they say they will and will go out of their way to help you and see that “you’re sorted.” Robbie Wilson, of whom I have endless affection, is one of the fixtures of golf in Kintyre, and his calendar remains full of golf with people who are journeying from around the world to come to Scotland to golf. When they are willing to go one step further and travel to the very edge of it all and go west, they will find Robbie waiting for them. I asked him once why he spends so much time welcoming visitors, and I think about his answer a lot: “They are mostly all lovely people,” and then he stopped for a moment and added, “And I hope they would do it for me if I was in their shoes.”

The best way to get to Machrihanish, at least I am finding, is to go through the Isle of Arran. Once you get off your flight, it is a shortish ninety minute drive to Aryshire coast. You will have heard of the courses there- Prestwick, Western Gailes, Royal Troon, Turnberry, etc- so golf can be arranged quite easily should you be interested. You take a short ride across the Firth of Clyde and then take a different, much smaller, ferry off the otherside of the island to complete your trip to Campbeltown. Arran is becoming an increasingly popular destination for golfers. Jim Hartsell has spent much time writing about it recently (both in articles and his book) and a couple of the courses (Shiskine and Corrie) are to be featured in an upcoming No Laying Up video series. It seems that the golfing stock for Arran is certainly rising. I might argue that its largely due- though I suspect he might argue against this notion- to the efforts of The Great Man of Arran, Greg McCrae. (Both Greg and Jim are former podcast guests; feel free to check it out). Greg’s tireless efforts to raise the profile of the Arran have been highly succesful over the last two years and I was very happy to get a game in with him at the Shiskine Golf and Tennis Club (always superb). Greg, too, is a man of action and his love of his island seems to permeate most of his waking hours. It’s contagious. One of these trips, I am going to go to Arran and just stay and not move on. But this was not that trip and too quickly I was gone. Thanks to Greg for the hospitality and for making the time to play.

******

The 150th Anniversary Matches at The Machrihanish Golf Club featured twenty-four home members pitted against twenty -four Americans in a three-day, Ryder Cup-style tournament that the Europeans won 27-24. You haven’t lived until your name is called out for Sunday singles playing in a two-ball (and even managed to find the first fairway) in front of a crowd. Three years in the making, the tournament was a great success for all involved, and there was an immediate clamor for another event in a few years’ time. The European side was gracious in victory, and during the final speeches on the last night, things were unexpectedly more emotional and heartfelt than I might have anticipated beforehand. For the locals, they are proud of their course and community and were thankful that so many people had taken the time and trouble to come celebrate a milestone at their home club. For the Americans, it’s a self-selecting group of like-minded players from all over our own sprawling country who have found common ground on one important point. Whatever our differences as people, we all have fallen in love with a part of the world that keeps those seeking easier passage away. And the reward over the years for taking that journey is not just the golf and the scenery but the understanding that we have- all of us as one- found something that feels unique and worthy to be connected with.

There is a lot I want to write to explain to you what a great event this was and how, ultimately, how proud I was to be a part of it. It was a very successful tournament, and I could go on at some length, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll leave you with this: At the concluding dinner, I was seated next to the current Captain of the Club, Michael Kelly, as well as former Captain, Barry Colville. I thanked them for the hospitality the Scottish members had given us, as the visitors, and that we had felt quite welcome as a group.

Michael looked at me earnestly and said, “Well, you should feel welcome. You’re members.”

I wouldn’t say I floated through the rest of the evening. But perhaps approaching that.

If ever you can’t find or reach me, go to Scotland. Go west until you can’t any longer, and when the mountains meet the sea, turn south. Then drive a little farther with the ocean on your right. Eventually, after a distance all things will merge into one, and there will be a golf course at the end of it.

You will find me there.

****

And, of course, what trip to Kintyre is complete without a few laps at Dunaverty. Roughly twenty minutes south of Machrihanish, the Dunaverty Golf Club lies in the decidedly Tolkien-esque sounding village of Southend and has something for everyone- views, history, charm, and plenty of good golf holes. These photos are from an evening round after the day's matches at Machrihanish.

Parts III and IV of The Photo Issues shall be along directly. Part I of The Photo Issue can be found here.

Joining us today is Jim Hartsell—Alabama architect, lifelong student of Scottish links, and a prominent author in the world of golf . Jim fell in love with the old courses of Scotland as a boy watching the 1977 Open at Turnberry. That early fascination has taken him back again and again, exploring the lesser-known 9- and 18-hole gems that most travelers never reach.

He’s the author of The Secret Home of Golf, the authorized history of Sweetens Cove; When Revelation Comes, his deeply personal journey through the links of western Scotland after the loss of his son; and his newest book, A Round of Scottish Courses, a celebration of the hidden outposts that still feel like golf the way it was meant to be. We share a love of many of the places in Scotland that we have discussed before on this pod- Machrihanish, Kintyre, Dunaverty, Arran, etc.

Jim also co-hosts The Duffer’s Literary Companion with Stephen Proctor, contributes regularly to The Links Diary and The Golfer’s Journal, and has been the subject of a No Laying Up film based on his book, When Revelation Comes. I think you’ll really enjoy this conversation. Many thanks to Jim for coming on the pod.

We are back from our summer hiatus. We remain a restless bunch and forever looking towards far-off shores, and I am always jotting down the odd note here or there whenever I can for stories to write later. It’s become more or less habit at this point. The writing part of this pursuit- the welding of ass to seat- has been elusive at times while in transit. But today, I find myself returning to notes that I jotted down some weeks ago on a ferry somewhere off the coast of Nova Scotia on the way back to Maine. It’s been a long minute since I have been home for more than a few nights consecutively, and at least for this moment, I am looking forward to at least a few days of downtime before we are off again. There is much to unpack.

It’s been an involved period of travel for me- Western Massachusetts to Nova Scotia to the North Shore and then to the West of Scotland, followed by New Brushwick and then Western New York. New Hampshire is where I do laundry recently, and then we are gone again. July is gone and August soon to follow. Miles and miles have passed before me. Large projects abound, and the ensuing rabbit holes have been instructive, if not completely derailing. The research, travel, and conversations are always the fun parts of any project; it’s the actual act of writing that has felt elusive lately. I find myself squarely in the deep end of the pool at this point. Which you should not read as an altogether bad thing. I have spent quite a bit of my writing time recently on two research pieces that loom largely on my own horizon (which would seem more clever to you, gentle reader, if you could see my current view on board a ferry; two dolphins and a whale already). A litany of other smaller projects keeps popping up with a frequency that makes me think I am on the right course with all of this. So I find myself with more writing than we have known what to do with lately- though you haven’t seen much of it yet, I suppose. It’s been a self-imposed work period, and sometimes it feels deep and dark in these woods. Compared to the AI slop that is out there, I’ll prefer to continue to take my time. There’s a long story to finish about a train trip to Pinehurst, and I also have been taking the next steps- clumsy and uncertain at times- with writing the club history for my beloved Hooper Golf Course in Walpole, NH, centennial celebrations next summer (of which we have glowingly spoken of Hooper a variety of times in these pages). The course, and perhaps more importantly, the community that supports and nourishes the course continues to grow on me and is one of my favorite places in the world of golf. The responsibility of writing their remarkable history feels slightly daunting. Appropriately so, I think. Walpole is a tight-knit, proud community, and as an outsider, I find the generational body of institutional and family knowledge that comes with the course's history fascinating. Those of us with a certain disposition toward seeking out unique places in this game almost always come away with a different understanding of them after spending time with the people who play there regularly.

And so we continue to fling ourselves out into the universe.

I like this kind of life- this displaced wandering- and I don’t think that it’s an accident or merely coincidental anymore that I am drawn to the very edge of it all in these travels. I like the places most people don’t consider. And I have done well to document most of these travels with my camera. While I don’t think of myself as a photographer, I am, at the very least, enthusiastic about the endeavor and have spent a lot of time in the very early morning gloom, the late sun, the wind and the rain, all trying my best to capture some of the things that I have been lucky enough to see recently. I am learning about composition and perspective, and when I look at these photos, I think I have done a pretty good job capturing moments of time, space, and memory. I have thought a lot about the following words: “In photography there is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality.” I think I am going to try to write more about this idea but, in the mean time, I hope the following gives you a small sense of the same idea.

Without further ado, here is Part One of ‘The Photo Issue’. Enjoy.

Nova Scotia- Coming From Away

If you are a golfer, the question you most often hear when you mention that you are traveling to Nova Scotia is “Are you going to Cabot?” Having visited the world-famous property on the northern island of Nova Scotia previously, we satisfied ourselves with a couple of lesser-known Stanley Thompson courses in Digby and Ashburn Old (within the city limits of Halifax). Both were delightful reminders of how good Golden Age golf courses can be. Ashburn Old is a hilly, moneyed private club with a pedigree as one of the best courses in the Halifax area (with a long waiting list to join and excellent views of the city), and it has its own labeled canned beer (delicious). Digby, though, with its suspended walking bridges, delightful Thompson greens, and faded glory, really spoke to my golfing heart with its plunging set of par threes and fire-y conditions. If you're in the area, both are excellent places to visit.

*******

(The Waggle has been on an extended summer hiatus. You might forgive the wandering spirit.)

With that, we welcome our guests today. Ben Mallach and Joey Peterson took an outrageous trip to southwestern England and explored Cornwall and the Welsh border with convincing depth. Ben and Joey have been friends for several years, having first met during the construction of Cabot properties in Nova Scotia. Ben Mallach is a Canadian golf course architect and the driving force behind Eclectic Golf Design. A true all-rounder in the industry, Ben combines hands-on shaping experience with a deep knowledge of golf architecture history and agronomy. He has worked under respected architects, including Rod Whitman, Andy Staples, Mike Young, and Jay Blasi, and has studied and worked at some of the game’s most storied courses, including St. Andrews. He is the keeper of the ‘hot takes’ and noted commentator on all matters golf and golf course architecture. Joey Peterson is a rising name in golf agronomy, and when he’s not traveling, he is the new superintendent at The Peninsula Golf and Country Club-a highly regarded Donald Ross course- in San Mateo, CA. Joey has worked across the golf world and has seen and worked at a variety of locales, including Cabot Nova Scotia and clubs around Chicago. Huge thanks to both for coming on and having a chat.

Please welcome architect Brian Ross to the podcast today. After working as a design associate for firms in Austin, Texas, and Pinehurst, North Carolina, he established his own full-service firm, Ross Golf Design, LLC, in 2019, with offices in Austin and Roanoke. Ross is known for his hands-on, detail-oriented approach and has completed several notable projects recently. This list includes his highly regarded work at Park Mammoth, Kentucky- considered to be one of the best courses in that state, and the very impressive restoration and expansion of the Great Dunes Course at Jekyll Island, Georgia. (with Jeff Stein). It was great to have Brian on, and I think you will enjoy this conversation.

Jon Cone, of the Northpoint Golf Club, also joins us to share his thoughts on his recent trip to Park Mammoth, fielding an ambush question on the National Links Trust, and about his own wanderings and recent content. Jon is a return guest to The Waggle Pod and a friend of the program. His very good review of Park Mammoth and all his other content can be found on his website here. Thanks to Jon for making the time to come on.

It was getting late. We were jet-lagged and hadn’t slept yet. But we were in Edinburgh, having fun. And sometimes that’s all that matters in these moments. My thirteen-year-old daughter, E., had done well, trooping up and down The Mound and The Royal Mile all day long without too much of a complaint. The next day was a big one: St. Andrews. Before she went to sleep, she pulled me aside and quietly asked the question that every father who is obsessed with the game longs to hear: “Tomorrow in St. Andrews, can we play that course you told me about? I really want to do that.”

Yes. We can, little girl. Yes, we can.

My daughter, E, has come to the game honestly. On this point, I am particularly proud. Life with a golf psychopath can’t be easy. She will remind anyone who will listen that when she was fairly little, I mistakenly knocked her over while taking a practice swing in the living room (no club was involved). She watches the majors with me and seems to enjoy the tradition of each in its own way. And she knows and seems to understand that sometimes, this game takes me away for days at a time. She doesn’t seem to hold that against me for that either. Over time, we graduated from iPads in the cart, to range sessions, to occasionally going out on the course for a few holes. Last year, she surprised me by announcing she was joining her middle school golf team. I kept it very cool. Or at least I hope I did, but was delighted on the inside. She made the team again this year- so I suppose that I am doing ok overall- and reports “not hating it”. Which, as far as middle school girls go, passes as a fair compliment. If you look closely at her bag, you’ll notice oddities from around the golf world, though- a hairy cow headcover from Machrihanish, an Old Course towel, tees from Pinehurst, ballmarks from the Myopia Hunt Club and Sand Valley, and an old hat from Bandon. But her clubs are a starter set, and the only other real tell that her father has deep issues with golf is the old Scotty Cameron putter in her bag, which I have to say, she rolls with the confidence of a young person.

After driving up the Fife coast, leaving me drooling at the window as we passed through Leven, Anstruther, Elie, and Crail, we arrived in St. Andrews proper, and the bus dropped us off directly in front of the Golf Museum, which is just behind the Royal and Ancient Clubhouse. Our party separated for a bit: two to the beach and two to the St Andrew’s Ladies Putting Club, our destination. The famous Himalayas. Tucked in just behind the second tee of the Old Course and next to the Links Trust Clubhouse, the private putting club has been around since Old Tom laid it out in 1867 for the women of the town who were denied access to the full course, and is happy to have you stop by and play their now 27 holes. The course still closes for official club business and tournaments, but most days, you are more than welcome to play if you visit. For £8, we paid our green fee and rented a putter and ball apiece. The course is a remarkable collection of fun holes, and the undulations that you put across deviate from shin-high ripples to chest-high waves of old linksland turf. On some holes, your only play is to let the slope do the work and hope to leave yourself 10 feet past the pin to have a chance at an uphill putt coming back. It’s wild to see the first time. I don’t know what my daughter expected from the course, but her initial reaction on seeing The Himalayas was something along the lines of, “Oh wow.” Which I have to imagine is not an uncommon reaction for most on their first visit to the Home of Golf.

I know I felt on my first trip.

The reason St. Andrews is so famous for golf is a long, involved, and complicated history. And I shall not tell it here. There are many great books about the town and the golf courses and the saga of it all, and you should read one of them. The short answer, though, has less to do with The Old Course and Tom Morris and The Royal and Ancient than you might think, though it’s hard to get around the prominence of all of these institutions.

Ultimately, in golf, it’s about the land. How we choose the land we play on and why, how we preserve the land we frequent, and how we present the land we play on to the next generation matter more to the future of golf than we realize. And for golfers, this dictum remains particularly true in St. Andrews (and, in large part, across the United Kingdom). Hidden behind the throngs of the world’s golfers and the tour buses and university students, there is a long and storied commitment to the preservation of the physical land in St. Andrew’s. Before the game’s origins, linksland was considered nearly worthless acreage, suitable for little else besides grazing animals and walking. Eventually, with political and social change, spaces like this (but not limited to linksland) started to disappear across Britain with the arrival of various “Enclosure Acts”. But St. Andrew’s status as a Royal Burgh meant its land remained protected. The ‘common land’ you play golf on now in St. Andrews has been deemed such since 1123, when Scotland was its own country. This predates the Magna Carta by almost one hundred years (whose ideas have also shaped your life in ways that you probably haven’t thought about in a long moment). So when you play golf in these spaces today, you aren’t simply playing golf; you are also accessing the land won as a public right long ago and not as a privilege granted by private ownership. By 1974, this task of preservation was handed to the newly created St. Andrews Links Trust, established by an Act of Parliament to manage and maintain the seven public golf courses at St Andrews (including the Old Course) in trust for the benefit of the local community and the public, preserving them as historic common land while ensuring wide public access and long-term protection.

These deeply held ideas are why you go to Scotland to play golf in the first place, and it’s why the spirit of the game has always burned particularly bright in St. Andrews. And the town has a long history of welcoming strangers. As an ancient cathedral town, its earliest visitors were more interested in St. Rule, the relic bones of St. Andrew, and, for at least a few hundred years, the biggest church in Scotland rather than golf. But strangers have always been coming here from all over the world, and the town’s spirit retains that easy acceptance of weary strangers. It’s communal. Everyone is allowed. You are welcome. It’s why, as Americans, we like to see the dog walkers and beach combers on the sea paths and strolling along the ocean while we chase our balls across the landscape on our holidays. While visitors often find this to be quaint and charming, in reality, the locals and students have always been out there, enjoying the land and seas, their presence woven into the very fabric of the game's origins.

So being in St. Andrew’s in the last two weeks brought the situation with the National Links Trust, the courses at East Potomac Park, and the battle with the federal government into sharper clarity for me.

You should know the National Links Trust. They are, after all, based largely on the St. Andrews Links Trust in both spirit and charter. The organization is “dedicated to promoting and protecting affordability, accessibility, and engaging golf course architecture at municipal golf courses throughout the United States of America.” This mission drives their work, particularly The Nation’s Capital Project (the restoration and operation of East Potomac (Walter Travis), Rock Creek Park (William Flynn), and Langston golf courses in Washington, D.C.). The names of Tom Doak, Gil Hanse, Jim Wagner, and up-and-comer Beau Welling have been cited for their willingness to offer pro bono restoration work on the current courses. It’s noble work, and we have far too few of these types of organizations in American golf.

However, all has not been well with this project. East Potomac Golf Links, in particular, has faced major changes since late December 2025. The National Park Service, at the behest of the Department of the Interior, abruptly terminated the National Links Trust’s 50-year lease effective January 1, 2026, citing missed renovation timelines and other obligations. This sparked a wave of dismayed outbursts from writers and commentators across the golf world, who rightfully felt it was a power grab by the federal government and openly detrimental to public golf in Washington.

The new plans posted online seem to call for a complete redesign (in the least surprising part of the story, Tom Fazio’s name has already been attached, though not confirmed, to this project), transforming the historic 36-hole layout into a single, high-end championship course, capable of hosting large, possibly major tournaments, and speculation of a potential Ryder Cup capable site with a “Washington National Golf Club” type atmosphere. Observers across the golf world have noted that this ‘Washington National’ approach will likely replace the historic, reversible Walter Travis design with the kind of dramatic, big-budget aesthetics Fazio and the current President are famous for. If the artistic renderings supplied in the press release are to be believed, this is exactly what will happen (Garret Morrison, of Fried Egg Golf, broke this down succinctly here). In addition, if carried forward, the project would result in the permanent loss of the full 36-hole public golf complex, the miniature golf course (the oldest in the nation), picnic groves, playgrounds, some bike paths, and the community-oriented character that has defined East Potomac for over a century.

In January 2026, the DC Preservation League and local residents filed a federal lawsuit challenging the lease termination, the placement of fill material on the course (allegedly including hazardous waste from the East Ball Room and Rose Garden renovations at the White House), and potential major redevelopment plans. Outrage followed, but little recourse to action seemed possible. But just two days ago, on May 9, 2026, a major agreement was announced. The National Links Trust will receive long-term leases for Rock Creek Park and Langston Golf Courses. The National Park Service, likely with significant direct intervention from the White House, will seek to redevelop East Potomac into the 18-hole championship facility described above.

I cringe whenever “championship” is used in golf course design. Also, with two notable exceptions, I think the term ‘National’ mostly falls into the same bucket when applied to names of golf courses- it’s usually indicative of boring, over-priced, and over-hyped golf. The National Links put a positive spin on the agreement, noting that they are simply happy to be still in existence, and put out the following statement, which you read in full here. Perhaps my coffee hadn’t yet performed its magic when I read that, but it struck me less as a positive development and more as the efforts of a cagey hostage, reading a prepared statement and acknowledging the futility of further struggle.

“We’ve done our best to hold on; what do you expect us to do against the force of the Federal Government? At least we got something out of it.”

And let’s be clear. This story really doesn’t matter all that much. It’s golf. It’s a game. There are bigger problems in the world. And really, in the East Potomac story specifically, we are arguing about the aesthetics of golf design and the value inherent in that. And that only really interests and impacts a particularly small percentage of golf enthusiasts- mostly dorks like myself. At least on the surface, that’s how it looks. But there is a word for when governing structures are repurposed to maximize the wealth of the networks of power at the expense of the public good. It’s a reflective moment. Everything in our nation’s capital is purposely symbolic- as well as it should be for a planned monumental city- for it’s literally the one place where we, as a nation, carefully signal to the world the values and history and ideas we purport to hold most cherished. So maybe, the news this morning of East Potomac is doing that very thing for America in 2026.

But let’s make no mistake here: this all fucking stinks. At the cost of reducing affordable and interesting public play in our nation’s capital, we will instead most likely get a big-budget, big- green fee, eyesore that will mostly benefit the PGA Tour and the PGA of America, organizations increasingly known for their willingness to engage in grotesque cash grabs at the expense of the future of golf. Believe all of them (and the current version of the National Parks service) because they are telling you, very clearly, that: We Do Not Care.

I hope I am wrong. Let’s see how it plays out.

The round around the course doesn’t take long at the Himayalas, but it’s among the most fun things you can do while in St. Andrews. E. Made some putts, missed some putts, and then buried a pretty good bomb. We ran into someone from my club back in New Hampshire, which seemed to underscore the transient magic of the Old Grey Town and perhaps of the game in general. This town is the center of the golf world for a reason, and it often feels like anything can happen in a space that still has a whiff of mysticism and pilgrimage to it. A few holes into our match, the wind whipped up off the North Sea, the skies darkened, and we experienced the only rain that we would have on the entire trip. On the fifth hole, E. rolled in a 12-footer and smiled at me, pulled the hood on her rain jacket over her head, and said, “This is fun.” And, for a moment, I saw all the travels that have taken me far away from her, the things I have had to show her through FaceTime and saved pictures, come full circle. And, it felt like we were playing real golf together. At the most famous golf course in the world.

And I suppose we were.

So I fussed over her like we were playing a real round. Giving advice. Showing her the lines to hit. Making sure she noticed the firmness of the link’s turf. I showed her how the Old Course winds itself around and over the Swilcan Burn and how it fits into the land between the Old Course Hotel and the New Course. I wanted her to understand the importance of where we were and the historical improbability that a place like this- a protected space- even still exists. How do you explain all of this to someone of her age? I kept wondering what she was thinking about all of this- being in St. Andrews- and kept wanting to ask her, but I quieted my own excitement and chose silence instead. Even in the moment, I think I realized that it probably meant more to me than to her, and that’s ok. This is a benefit of age and understanding, and about the jarring realization of the temporary nature of all things, golf courses included.

The rain ended almost as quickly as it began, and the sun did its best to peek out from behind the wall of granite-colored clouds over the sea.

So, at the end, there wasn’t any life advice. No reminders to feel lucky. No deeper reflections on how I was living a dream- with my daughter, in St. Andrews, playing golf. Instead, I put my arm across her shoulder and gave her a hug. We finished our game and shook hands on the last hole, then headed back down the path towards The Royal and Ancient Clubhouse. We found the rest of the family, and for a moment, watched golfers from across the world live out their own tightly held dreams on the first tee and the eighteenth green of The Old Course, and then we moved on.

After lunch at The Dunvegan, we had just enough time to dash down The Links Road, climb over the low white fence that is the boundary line on the 18th fairway, and wait our turn to take photos on the Swilcan Bridge. We kept a close eye on the group putting out on The Road Hole, and when they moved to the eighteenth tee, we scampered back off the course and down the road to Grannie Clark’s Wynd. We watched the group on the tee hit their tee shots, and then the marshal ushered us across the walking path that bisects the first and eighteenth fairways. It’s a well-orchestrated operation on The Old Course, and the next group up on the first tee waited patiently for us to cross the hallowed ground largely because the locals, for well over a millennium now, have never forgotten this is a place for all to come. For all to see.

I walked at the back of the pack and watched my step-daughter skip across the most famous fairway, on the most famous course in the world, and then my daughter did as well. I watched them laugh, and then stroll, and take pictures, and soak in our last few minutes at St. Andrews as if we belonged there.

Because you see, we did.

***People can help support the important work of the National Links Trust by making a tax-deductible donation on their website or purchasing merchandise, both of which directly fund affordable public golf initiatives and course restoration efforts. The link is posted here ****

***The bulk of the photo credits goes to the immensely patient and talented CVM. Check out her own attempts to beautify her local space at The N.H. Potager. She does virtual consults as well, and some open bookings are available. Hit her up.

Like so many others in the northern latitudes, The Masters is typically the symbolic start to the golf season, but also, more or less, of spring as well. The Lords of Augusta do well most years to usher us into a new season with a certain amount of pomp and circumstance and tradition. And many of us feel the stirrings- long dormant since the fall- of a chance to finally play. Despite the deep winter we endured, we should be mindful that we remain, more or less, on schedule, and at least at the beginning of a new year, the golf gods are mostly smiling down on us. Also, we had snow flurries earlier this week, so we appreciate your flexibility and patience as well. I like this time of year quite a bit, and not just for the obvious reason of being able to play again, but because it seems my friends, spread hither and yon throughout New England, begin to tap out texts that all share some flavor of “greens are better than you would think; come on down” or “where’ve you been playing?” My lunchtime habit of spending some time at the local driving range has started in earnest; my daughter’s spring golf season has begun; bad swing habits have yet to fully return, false optimism is present, and sunlight has largely returned to the great frozen North.

For new readers, I started writing these shorter weekly pieces last spring, with the idea that perhaps at least six or seven (shout-out to middle schoolers everywhere) of you would be interested in updates from my in-season golf wanderings. It’s a distinct line I am trying to find with the writing, and these more frequent submissions, at least for me, should never really descend into course reviews, though I don’t think that there is necessarily anything wrong with the idea of doing that (And know of a couple great reference pages I regularly check. But my mark is a different one to hit. At least hopefully. The idea throughout the season will continue to be to offer these weekly “more frequent submissions” to show the extent to which I remain afflicted and moved by the discovery and play of interesting golf courses. (Hopefully, with better-than-average photography attached) New England specializes in this idea, and the nooks and crannies of the Northeast continue to hold a treasure trove of Golden Age designs that, as a cohesive set, are as good as anywhere in the country.

To wit, I was on Cape Cod two weeks ago and played three courses that exemplify this idea well. There was an undercurrent of seeing change on this trip. Early-season golf is an opportunity to see where you are as a player and to adjust your expectations accordingly. We start the season noticing the changes in ourselves as much as the places that we visit. Taking inventory of one’s hopes and dreams. I stopped by the doomed Cape Cod Country Club for what might be the last round I will play there. I want to tell you that I had strong emotions walking off the course- something of a reflection to share- but I didn’t. I just had fun. You’ll have all of 2026 to see a fun and historically interesting golf course that deserves a better fate, but the life and death of golf courses are rarely fair or make much sense, and these changes do feel inevitable. The Highland Links at Truro- the veritable 1890’s nine-holer perched on the bluffs overlooking Cape Cod National Seashore (which we previously have written about here)- was faster and firmer for April than most courses that you will play this time of year. The sandy, almost links-type soil, no doubt was responsible for this, and the playing conditions and views (you can see the ocean on seven of the nine holes) were superb. Here too, change was evident. The somewhat famous sixth tee, which backs right up to the edge of the bluffs could be one of my favorite places in New England golf. Tim Ball of Knockdown Golf recently pointed out that his own mid-winter round showed fairly massive fissures across the teeing area caused by significant erosion evident in the ground on the back tee. When we saw it with our own eyes, I was left with the impression that at least the tee box hole would be falling into the hundred-odd feet of ocean sooner rather than later.

The main event on our Cape trip was playing Eastward Ho! I have been lucky enough to play the perennially Top 100-ranked course two or three times before, but this was the first visit since Kyle Franz’s restoration was completed last year. It’s a wild, firm, and strategic test of golf that rarely offers a flat lie, and we caught it in big wind. While the par-3, fourth hole gets a lot of attention for the addition of a Biarritz-style hole (truly massive), the addition of sandy waste areas further enhanced what was already a bold and adventurous course, gifted with proper wind in a spectacularly exposed location. While having a beer at the nearby (and highly recommended) Chatham Squire, my friend B. said it best: “place is hard.” On this point, I would concur, and that is as close to a course review as I would like to get. It’s one of the great courses of the world for a reason, and it’s not to be missed.

Finally, my Dad and I were at Pinehurst last week, and we took the long way down by train from Boston to Southern Pines. We ended up having an unforgettable trip for a variety of reasons- our method of conveyance being right at the top of that list. It also allowed me to write the following sentence: Here are my last four rounds of golf: Eastward Ho!, Pinehurst #10, Pinehurst #2, Pinehurst #4. Please forward all hate mail to thewagglegolfjournal@gmail.com. But pretty decent start to the year, right? I haven’t quite figured out how to thank Pinehurst for their support of the project I am working on, but I realize now that I am going to spend a fair amount searching for the answer. This game has been unreasonably good to me, and I spent a good deal of the travel home thinking on this very idea. How do I tell this story?

Fortunately, I have had the good luck to have a few prominent writers on the podcast recently. You should check them out on the main page (click here). While all the conversations were rooted in golf, I was also excited to discuss writing and creativity, and to learn where their inspiration comes from. They are all serious writers, and all offered differing levels of advice to me that essentially boiled down to one thing: Put your ass in the seat and do the damn thing, and it will come. So to Sean, Stephen, and Mike: Thank you; I am starting to do that very thing. And you will hear more about this Pinehurst trip soon. Big shout-out to my Dad for coming along.

And so, we are off and running this year. It was a long spell, this winter. But it held travel for me. Interesting travel. Surprising travel. And the stories that will come out of these trips are going to be a new chapter for The Waggle. One that I didn’t necessarily see coming. Or at least that’s the hope. It feels like some big opportunities have presented themselves, and I am going to have to do my best to avail myself of them. Seasons change, and so must we. We should pay attention to these moments, or at least shouldn’t always fight it instinctively. They sometimes feel fragile and ethereal in these difficult moments of truth and doubt, but occasionally, if you’re ready, you might even just begin to see the larger story unfolding.

“It’s a hell of a thing for a writer to have other writers as heroes. You admire them from afar and through the rosiest of prisms—people whose words mean so much that you elevate them above the almost certain reality that they are as confused and dysfunctional and desperate as anyone, maybe more so. It’s willful blindness, I suppose, but when one loves the written word, it is easy to confuse the writing with the writer, making it all the more consuming when I come upon one who makes me feel like I am twenty-five again, drunk on words and swaying at the entrance to some paradise, a place I never knew existed but always wanted to find.” - Guy de la Valdène

If you were interested in purchasing these books, consider ordering from The Auld Grey Toun Bookshop in St. Andrews and support good local bookshops whenever you can!

If you’ve been lucky enough to play golf in Ireland, then I imagine St. Patrick’s Day brings to mind some of your experiences there. I have been to Ireland a fair amount of times, but our trip to Donegal, in the Northwest corner of the Republic, a couple of years ago (recency bias acknowledged) looms large in our memory banks. We played some great golf courses during our week, but St. Patrick’s Links at Rossapenna and the Cruit Island Golf Club (click both those links and thank me later) made it a special week for reasons unique to rugged links golf in remote locations. There’s a feel there that’s hard to replicate. And so I am thinking of some books, songs, and poems today, and of this part of the island that really captured a piece of me. Donegal is not to be missed.

Coming full circle, I had Don Placek on The Waggle Pod last week (you can check it out here). Don and I had a wide-ranging conversation about golf, creativity, and his life working in the game. Don was incredible, and I did my best to avoid being too much of a fan-boy during our time together. When we were done recording, I asked Don to send me a few of the course routings that he has done for Renaissance projects, and St. Patrick’s came to mind immediately. A few days later, I received the following by email and wanted to share it with you all. Very cool and pretty surreal to have Don on the pod. I hope you all had a chance to hear that conversation.

Finally, I am out to hit ‘publish’ on this and then head out for a few jars of the black. It won’t be a big night, but sometimes fortunes change, and we all can be overwhelmed in the moments that present themselves to us. Be safe, be fun, and remember this paragraph from one of my favorite (and funniest) novels, Kingsley Amis’ Lucky Jim- as your guidepost for the night and perhaps the morning after:

“Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of the morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done so once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he’d somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.”

Talk to you all later this week.

It is a huge honor to welcome Don Placek to the podcast this week. Those familiar with the golf architecture world will know Don as a lead associate for Tom Doak and as one of the four principals at Renaissance Golf Design. He has been responsible, in part, for creating many of the most influential courses in golf over the last twenty-five years, and the list continues to grow. Don is also a noted artist and mapmaker, and his inspired renderings of these places have become symbolic of the creativity and ingenuity for which Renaissance is known. This was my Chris Farley/ Paul McCartney (“Remember when you were with the Beatles; that was awesome”) moment on this podcast, and I really just wanted him to tell me stories about each and every course that Renaissance and Tom Doak built over the years. We touched on all of those things, but I was mostly interested in talking to Don about acts of creativity, inspiration, and his thoughts on the evolution of our understanding of the game. I was incredibly humbled and honored that he was willing to come on the podcast and have an in-depth conversation about these ideas. I can’t thank him enough.

Don Placek. Wow.

He was also kind enough to send me a couple of renderings of his famous drawings/maps to post with this pod. Below are two special places that I have been in golf, and it was surreal to get these in an email.

Sean Melia of Bay State Golf joins the podcast today to talk about his life in golf, writing about the game, and his quest to play every golf course in the state of Massachusetts. Sean is one of the leading voices in the New England golf scene, and it was great to sit down and have a fun conversation about some of his adventures. You can find his work and links for all of his many projects here: Bay State Golf .

I wrote a new piece for The Waggle Golf Journal this week. I can’t believe how many people have checked it out already. If you missed it, it’s called “Everything, Everywhere, All At Once,” and you can find it at the link below. Do me a favor and smash that subscribe button, then send the link to one of your buddies who might enjoy it. Thanks to everyone for the support and for reading!

The travel bags are getting pulled out as we speak, and we will be on the road next week (hopefully). Quick little mission. Talk to you all then!

It’s only after getting off the plane at Savannah airport a few weeks ago and heading to baggage claim that I really think about where I am. There is a small sign tucked behind an unused security partition. I don’t think anyone else notices it. “Marines- Recruit Assembly Area” is what it reads. In this part of the world, the major airports are often gathering points where small groups of nervous kids from all over the country awkwardly huddle, send final text messages, and try to absorb the last vestiges of modern life they will see for the foreseeable future. Then they will be collected and bused down the road in the middle of the night to Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, to stand on the famous yellow footprints. I know what I am looking at. A long time ago, I stood on those footprints myself. And I briefly think of the heat. And the humidity. And the screaming. And of a different lifetime.

So returning to the Low Country always carries with it historical weight and memory for me. As it should. This part of South Carolina and Georgia, such as you find it, seems to always recall an earlier time- a reminder of our stark, primordial, and swampy origins. In this part of the world, nature feels ready to reclaim what is theirs should we turn a distracted eye from our own creations. Time and space feel borrowed here, and if you’re looking to hide away from the world a little bit, this isn’t a bad place to choose. The tidal swamps, inlets, and rivers meander and weave together seemingly without direction or landmark, and it’s easy to imagine becoming disoriented and lost when navigating the waterways of the Low Country. The end result, at least to me, is that the past never really feels very distant in this part of the world- the center of history here feels elusive, and there is a fine distinction between what is presented to you and what you are supposed to notice.

We are here on the invitation of my friend, P., to visit the Chechesee Creek Club (C3 as it’s known), the private Coore and Crenshaw design located just across Broad River from Parris Island in Okatie, South Carolina, and just down the road from Hilton Head. For those of us living in New England, the idea of Southern golf is always welcomed in the winter, but we were warned, in the days leading up to the trip, to “bring pants.” At home, I tossed an additional wool sweater into my bag as a reverse-jinx talisman, hoping that by bringing extra gear, it would turn out to be unneeded. The strategy had mixed results. But it's been a long winter so far in the Northeast. The idea of mid-50s temperatures and the ability to play outside feels liberating in comparison to New England’s feet of snow, wind, and endless practice swings in the living room while waiting for the new golf season to roll around. Truly afflicted golfers all become a little desperate this time of year, and you’ll likely know the feeling I’m talking about. (It’s better that we don’t mention the horrors of simulator golf in these pages. Some things are better left undiscussed. )

So a mid-winter trip was welcomed.

I am finding, over time, that the places in golf that I end up thinking about the most are often the places that surprise me. But I don’t usually let that happen naturally; it’s not part of my process. Typically, I read, watch, and listen to everything I can beforehand so I don’t miss anything on these visits. I am not sure why- maybe it was the idea of being across the street from Parris Island- but on this trip, I did almost nothing in preparation except get my clubs together. Outside of understanding that Chechessee was a private, somewhat secluded club and a Coore and Crenshaw design, I was mostly flying blind and felt good about that.

If you’re reading this volume of The Waggle, you likely don’t need me to tell you who Ben Crenshaw and Bill Coore are and why their golf architecture partnership has been one of the most important collaborations in the modern era of golf. If you don’t know, take a second and Google it. They are hugely influential, and this point probably can’t be overstated. In golf architecture circles, a certain amount of time is spent discussing the current era of golf course design as being inspired by the ‘minimalist’ school of thought. The growing number of C&C courses now spread across the globe is, in part, directly responsible for these ideas. The typical Coore and Crenshaw course is almost always described as some version of feeling “found” in the landscape rather than the course being forced, “built up,” or imposed upon the land. To be fair, they almost always have really interesting- world-class, really- pieces of golfing ground to work with. But there’s the rhythm and restraint involved, and it’s an artistic route-finding more than brutish construction. In this timely and interesting piece he just published on Bill Coore on his own Substack, the author Michael Croley talks about Bill Coore looking at golf courses in the following way:

“Like a good book (or in the old days when we listened to albums from beginning to end), a good golf course routing lets you traverse the property in an interesting and compelling way. They have a rhythm to them and, like any hike or nature walk, not every bend will—or should—reveal a majestic waterfall. Good golf course architects don’t just build challenging courses with properly placed hazards and interesting green complexes full of contour that allow for multiple lines of play and creativity; they harness and use the land they’re given to create highs and lows in a round of golf that is reflected in the holes they build or develop.”

When C&C and Tom Doak, among others, started popularizing these ideas in the 1990’s, it flew in the face of the golf orthodoxy of the time, which was focused on making courses bigger, longer, and amenity-driven. Most of the golf you have likely played in the South is a good exemplar of this- think railroad ties, plenty of water holes, and housing developments. Chechesse opened in 2000, when perhaps C&C's most notable courses were Kapalua and Sand Hills. In the ancient pre-social-media era of our immediate past, it was hard to even find pictures of these places on the internet, and you mostly just heard whispers about their existence. It was a different time and place then. Ran Morrisssett wrote a great review, as he always seems to, of Chechesse on Golf Club Atlas in 2006. He knew what he saw, and it speaks to my golfing heart:

“Chechessee Creek Club is a throwback to a time when golf was simpler.

Gone are the insipid mounds that plague so many modern coastal South Carolina courses. Gone are the long green to tee hikes that make riding a golf cart a foregone conclusion. Gone is sacrificing sound course design in the quest of a signature hole. Gone are decorative waste bunkers of no strategic value. Gone is the fear of losing golf ball after golf ball in man-made water hazards. Gone is the concept that a course built today must adhere to some banal formula of par 72, 7,000 plus yards….What is apparent are traditional design elements of the kind that the coast of South Carolina has rarely seen since Seth Raynor worked in Charleston in the 1920s. Just as the sub-7000 yard Harbour Town with its small greens was revolutionary in the early 1970s, Chechessee’s sub-6,700 yard design is a welcome return to shotmaking.

And these lines, also from Golf Club Atlas, from shaper Dave Axland provided further scope on the project: “the principal challenge at Chechessee, besides getting that flat site to drain without moving much dirt, was to develop bold golfing features and yet not overwork the site to the point that you wouldn’t appreciate the specimen trees or inherent Low Country nature of the property. Seth Raynor’s work at nearby Yeamans Hall and the Country Club of Charleston served as somewhat of an inspiration or model. We aimed to create strong green and bunker features at Chechessee in the image of Raynor’s basic style.”

In the years that followed, C&C cemented itself as a major design firm and as a major player in ushering in the second “Golden Age” of golf course architecture. The courses that came next are places you have heard of: Old Sandwich, Bandon Trails, Friar’s Head, Cabot Cliffs, Lost Farm, Sand Valley, Sheep Ranch, Streamsong, etc. Iconic and spectacular sites. And this is what you think of typically when you hear the C & C name. So it felt historical and important to see a golf course built by this firm in the earlier part of their career, when it still felt rebellious to build courses like this on land that wasn’t spectacular, and that wasn’t attached to a new resort.

One of the things that makes writing about golf courses tricky is that there is a tendency to categorize or qualify each new course that one sees. To try to make sense of your own experience. I suppose we could probably say that about anything. Chechessee Creek Club stands out in this part of the world because it’s well routed, understated, and features a set of greens that provide intrigue and strategy without being over-the-top insane. We caught a dormant winter course that was playing fast and firm, and we were repeatedly reminded that what is simple and fun is not necessarily easy. Playing to the front of the greens and two-putting was the winning approach in retrospect (I only partially cracked this code). The entire operation, from the golf course to the clubhouse to the on-property cottages, gets the details right and sort of melts seamlessly into the oaks, palms, and Spanish moss surrounding the course. It’s quiet. And comfortable. And a lot of fun. In its lack of grandeur, C3 hints at something a little more timeless and deeply rooted in the spirit of the game. I liked it very much. If a golf trip with a bunch of funny guys that culminates in eating a family-style, fried chicken dinner in the men’s locker room, watching the NFL playoffs, after walking 36 holes, is not your thing, then I would politely refuse any invitations that might come your way. Feel free to give them my name instead.

We played a bunch of golf in four days, settled our many bets, and then it was time to leave. At one point during the third or fourth loop of the course, I made it a point to look across the tidal flats- in the general direction of Parris Island- and wondered how much I actually remember about my time there. What memories did I really have about a place that fundamentally impacted the person that I have become? I stopped walking for a moment and thought that I could hear the cracks and pops from the rifle range from across the river, but it was only the wind. And maybe the ghosts. And so I moved on, clubs gently rattling on my back in the late afternoon light.

The process of making Marines at Parris Island, for all its legend and stories, has always been pretty simple. You get torn down to be built back up. You learn to pay attention to details as a rite of passage. It’s not pretty. It’s not quiet. And there is only the wrong way and the Marine Corps way to do things. Tradition is important in this dynamic as well, and whatever you think of the Marine Corps ethos, it, too, carries a timelessness hard-won and fiercely protected. And that counts for something, still, I think. I know it taught me an awful lot. And that it also left me with many unanswered questions that, thankfully, seem more distant than they used to feel.

My platoon in boot camp lived on the third deck of our assigned barracks. I had a top bunk centered on a large window (we would have called it a porthole) that looked across the tidal swamps. That slight height advantage in this part of the world meant that each night, before I collapsed into an exhausted sleep, I could see, in the distance, the bridge that takes you to and from Hilton Head and Savannah and all of the other places in the world outside of the Marine Corps where it felt like life was still happening. Lying there under the scratchy olive drab blanket, I would imagine that the twinkling lights in the distance moving across the bridges were vehicles full of happy families on their way home from dinner or the beach or maybe even a day of golf. I wondered about my own life choices and where all of this was going to take me. And then, quicker than you will ever believe, it would be early morning, and a new day would begin.

On the flight home, it occurred to me that I was probably going through boot camp at the same time Chechessee was being built, and that also gave me pause and a moment of wonder about whether that means anything beyond a coincidence of time and place and circumstance. I don’t think the 18-year-old version of me would have cared much that a pretty good golf course was being built in the swamps across the river. But he might have. But I do care about such things now, and think that the charm of the Chechessee Creek Club- the respite that it’s trying to provide- in this old and mysterious part of the world left me thankful to have been able to see it.

You should go if you get the chance.

Shout-out to P. for the invite and hospitality, and to the fellas for the warm welcome; I had a blast. Pat LaFontaine over Claude Giroux.

Check out the store here: The Waggle Golf Journal . We have so many beanies; take a look and help out our small shop.

See you next week.

Please welcome Jordan Jackson of Dog Tracks and Cow Pastures to the first podcast of 2026. Jordan is a serious, well-researched voice in the golf architecture world, and I will be paying close attention to his work going forward. These conversations are the best, and I always walk away thinking about aspects of golf course design and the game in a different way. In Part I, Jordan and I discuss his background in the game, Canadian golf, Stanley Thompson, and the world’s largest log cabin. among several other topics. Jordan recently launched an interesting biweekly newsletter called “Boundary Lines,” which you can sign up for by following his Instagram. This was a delightful conversation, and I am sure that we will try to have Jordan on again in 2026 for another chat, and hopefully, we will get a round in together soon. Thank you! Part II will drop next week.

Dog Tracks and Cow Pastures can be found by clicking here.

Special thanks to Robbie Wilson in Kintyre, Mike Norcia at Forewind Golf, Tim Alpaugh at Claret Dreamer, and world-famous golf architect Jeff Stein for the unbelievable support over the year. Thanks for helping me get going.

To “The Patron of the Arts”- you know what you did. Thank you.

And to C, thanks for reminding me how to get home.

As always, thank you for your support of our little project. Please subscribe and spread the word if you can, and check out our store at:

The Waggle Golf Journal Store

2025 has been an incredible year, and we are excited and looking forward to 2026.

We have, for better or worse, reached the point of the year where we are often compelled to reflect on the year that was. Retrospectives can be challenging for all of us: reducing the sum of our experience into bite-sized morsels requires editing of a fairly personal nature. And golfers, like fishermen, can occasionally find truth elusive. Looking back, we didn’t play as poorly in the tournament as we thought at the time- a bad bounce here or there was the real culprit. A bad season of putting can be forgotten as the snow starts to fly and the tinkering, internet browsing, and carpet putting of winter provides an opportunity to improve- you know you started rolling the ball beautifully at the end of October anyway! With enough distance of time and space, failures can be excused, successes overblown, and memory, as always, is unreliable on its best days. As we look to the calendar turning over anew, there is hope on the horizon and perhaps a hint of nostalgia in the rear-view mirror.

This year of golf has had its share of surreal and unexpected moments and surprises, and, as the first full season running The Waggle, it was truly a golf year that I won’t soon forget. We have traveled a fair distance this year, saw a bunch of fascinating golf courses, made a lot of new friends, and, perhaps most importantly, kept this project alive through the trials and travails of my real life, when, perhaps at times, I didn’t know if I could. On occasion, I even played a decent round of golf here or there. The numbers don’t lie: we wrote over 55,000 words (a small novel) or so, created a podcast that now has twenty-six episodes (that’s about full day of listening to me rant about golf in case you were wondering), was a part of two short films on New England golf courses with the guys over at Forewind Golf, and took thousands of photos, some of which are pretty good. At the end of a very busy year, we are happy to report that we checked off a bunch of goals we had set, covered more ground than we thought possible, and made a ton of new friends. I am happy to say that this audience continues to grow; a year is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but I am more than slightly happy with what has happened so far. Thank you to everyone for the support and love that you have shown- it’s been incredible and humbling and has been the most fun that I have ever had with golf.

As we wind down 2025, we will celebrate the year with a few best-of lists drawn from our experiences. The Waggle logo continues to draw on the Celtic history of the power and magic of the “ideas of three,” and we find that to be a useful organizing principle here as well. We have seen a lot of golf this year and are always trying to make sense of it all (and, quite frankly, have a LOT of pictures/drone footage left over). So over the next two weeks, you’ll see a few of our attempts to organize our year. Unless otherwise noted, the lists are not rank-ordered, but, as always, remain a reflection of my own meandering experience. Make of that what you will.

Here we go with Part I:

Favorite ‘New’ Courses Seen- (New England Division)

1. Rutland Country Club (Stiles and Van Kleek redesign, 1927)- Rutland, Vermont: While golf sicko buddies had recommended Rutland repeatedly, I had yet to see it until this summer. What I found helped to redefine mountain golf for me. Rutland boasts some great green sites, a hilly yet sensible walk, and a knowledgeable, friendly membership that knows it probably has the best set of greens in Vermont.

   

2. Worcester Country Club (Donald Ross, 1913)- Worcester, Massachusetts: Perennially ranked as one of the best courses in New England, Worcester is also steeped in golf history and has held U.S. Opens, U.S. Women’s Opens, and the inaugural Ryder Cup. It’s a fun and challenging routing that drapes itself over the rolling landscape with Golden Age confidence. WCC receives bonus points for having an active train line that bisects the property, which almost always makes a course one that you will remember (you don’t have to believe me, but you should!).

   

   

3. Dedham Country and Polo Club (Seth Raynor, 1925)- Dedham, Massachusetts: Playing a Raynor is always a treat, and everything at Dedham lives up to this pedigree despite flying ever so slightly under the radar. Your typical Raynor template greens are well-sited and exciting, and the heaving, boulder-strewn landscape never lets you forget you’re in New England. My friend, Chris Simpson of Nor’Easter Sticks, says, “It might be my favorite place in New England, and I never play well there. Tells you how good it is.” He’s not wrong. I played one of the worst rounds of the year at Dedham and had an incredible time in the warmest of company. Places like Dedham remind you how deep the quality of New England golf really is.

   

   

Honorable Mention: Shelter Harbor Golf Club (Dr. Michael Hurdzan/Dana Fry 2004)- Charlestown, Rhode Island

Favorite ‘New’ Courses Seen- (Non-New England Division; this was almost an impossible task)

1. Cleeve Hill Golf Club (Old Tom Morris, Alistair MacKenzie, 1891)- Cheltenham, England- set spectacularly across the dominant terrain feature in the local area, Cleeve Hill is perhaps one of the most spectacular inland courses that you will find anywhere—CH receives bonus points as it allows you to play through the remnants of a Neolithic Hill fort, which was frankly one of the highlights of the year.

   

   

2. Old Barnwell (Brian Schneider, Blake Conant, 2023) Aiken, South Carolina- Old Barnwell continues to cement its reputation as one of the best new modern golf courses in the country, and we were more than happy to get a chance to check it out this spring. An outrageous and sprawling property that is a joy to play. 10/10 would return.

3. Somerset Hills Country Club (A.W. Tillinghast, 1918) Bernardsville, New Jersey)-

It’s a top fifty course for a reason. Perhaps Tillinghast’s best offering to the world of golf, Somerset leads you on a tour through an old orchard, a former racetrack, and up, around, and over some exciting land forms. My quick visit there only whetted the appetite for a more thorough trip, hopefully at a later point. A classic American golf course.

Honorable Mention: Cabot Citrus Farms- Karoo Course (Kyle Franz, 2024) Brooksville, Florida:

Most Outrageous Tee Box Views

Kintyre is among the most beautiful places on the planet. And yet, it dawned on me only last week that all four courses on the peninsula (if you include Machrihanish Dunes) possess some of the most wide-ranging views in the world of golf. And you can see them all in one day if you hustle. Anyway, Kintyre sweeps this category with following:

1. The Machrihanish Golf Club (Old Tom Morris, 1876) Kintyre, Scotland- 1st Hole: It’s one of the most famous holes in golf for a reason. You drive down the Kintyre peninsula, thinking about getting to hit this shot, and it’s a thrill every time. A unique start to a special day of golf. Go see it.

2. Carradale Golf Club (Local architects, 1906) Carradale, Scotland- 6th Hole: The exciting and interesting nine-holer, located thirty minutes north of Campbeltown, asks you to play to greens benched into the sides of hills, to play over the ruins of a castle, and, if you follow the path through the gorse, gives you one of the best tee boxes I may have played in all of Scotland.

3. Dunaverty Golf Club (Local architects, 1899) Southend, Scotland- 11th hole: The view back across the course and Dunaverty Rock is the reward for your steep climb up to the 11th tee. Terrible acts of war were committed on the land and beach below you, but the modern vibes are those of quiet and beauty. Northern Ireland is just to your left. You’ll not forget this tee box.

Honorable Mention: #3-Grindstone Neck Golf Club (Local architects, 1891), Winter Harbor, Maine.

That’s it for today. We are planning on having several more installments of an impromptu year-in-review before New Year’s, so look for Part II early next week.

As a final aside, I was a recent guest on Mica Stark’s Granite State Golfers podcast. We talked about New England golf, Scotland, hickory golf, and, as Mica said, why so many of us are drawn to the game. It was a fun conversation, and I tried to limit my incoherent rambling to a minimum. You can check it out here:

**If you are a paid annual or founding member subscriber and have NOT received your member gift yet, please email me at: thewagglegolfjournal@gmail.com, and we will take care of it!

Garrett McKnight of the Cape Arundel Golf Club and I finish our very conversation on important golf influences, why solo trips can be good for your golfing soul, and how to wander into an Old Course tee time while wearing hiking boots. Garrett was a feature interview in our short film, “Anchor to Windward”, which came out on Thanksgiving Day last week. I would imagine that this will not be the last time you hear from him on this pod. Huge thanks go out to Garrett and everyone at Cape Arundel for their thunderous support of this entire project. It was an amazing experience and the film captures that really well

The links for the film can be found here- “Anchor to Windward” via the Forewind Golf site. Shout out (again) to Mike Norcia and Justin Joslin over there for making it all happen.

Don't forget to check out The Waggle Store: www.thewagglegolfjournal.com this holiday season. Take a look out of your window and then let me know if you need a beanie.

Thanks for reading and listening.

The link to the film can be found here: "Anchor to Windward” Film

As always, you can find The Waggle Golf Journal on Substack here

The Waggle Golf Journal Store is also available here.