Finding Design In Links

Here, hugging the craggy coastline of the Kingdom of Fife, the poignant remains of Scotland’s once largest and most magnificent cathedral dominates the skyline of St. Andrews. Crowded tombstones surrounding the ruins and stuffed within its crumbled walls speak mindfully of the temporal nature of power, the papacy and organized religion.

Founded in 1411, Scotland’s oldest and most architecturally copied university weaves throughout the cobbled streets and alleys. The University of St. Andrews’ leaded windows, cut sandstone, medieval edifices and impressive college greens entice this much-too-long-in-the-tooth designer to want to enroll immediately in the freshman class. I might find it a trifle challenging, though, given that the competition has exploded since Prince William and Kate, former students, first met, kissed and romanced each other there beneath the crow step gables and towering chimney pots.

Fragments of a heavily fortified castle with 9-foot-thick walls, a gruesome dungeon, and ancient tunnels command a dynamic vista perched on a harrowingly tall cliff. A sweeping jetty built of impenetrably huge boulders sweeps austerely out through St. Andrews Bay and headlong into the gray North Sea.Though Scottish kings were crowned here, Protestant reformers were burned alive and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were besotted here, St. Andrews is best known as the birthplace, home and capital of golf. Scotland is the nation that claims to have invented this most cruel, humbling, frustrating and satisfying of sports.

The “Old Course” at the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews, arguably (though probably not) the first course, defines the original game: rolling turf meandering through patches of hungry heather, sharp sea grass, spiny thistle and thorny low shrubbery, pocked with sandy bunkers (or “pots”) culminating in a small hole large enough for an ambitious burrowing gerbil.

St. Andrews, which has prospered on golf schools, golf equipment (especially golf balls), and the haggis-serving pubs that feed the defeated players, claims that the game was originally executed with a stick of driftwood, a beach pebble and a rabbit hole. The game of golf, whose name was first recorded in an edict handed down by James II in 1457, was prohibited because it distracted his soldiers from their practice of archery. Golf became popular for women when Mary, Queen of Scots and an avid sportsperson, took up the game in 1567.

St. Andrews is a “links course.” “Links courses,” popularly referred to now as golf courses that run primarily by a bay, ocean or large body of water with a distinct lack of large trees (mimicking a maritime environment), sport narrow fairways, tall grass roughs and undulating masses of dune-like bunkers. The Scots simply called all their golf courses “links.” Our East End golf courses, such as Shinnecock Hills and Maidstone, are designed somewhat to emulate the Scottish experience. Low-lying, near to the water and aggravatingly close to the gusting ocean wind, these rolling courses have a long history of challenging world-class sportsmen.

The Old Course at St. Andrews sits on a unique peninsula of land which juts into the Bay of St. Andrews. One side borders a huge crescent-shaped beach made famous as the beach that the sprinters in “Chariots of Fire” ran on. The other side is hemmed in by a staggeringly beautiful tidal plain, miles wide and filled or emptied according to the tides. Beyond this plain lays a patchwork of rich green fields running up barren Scottish mountains, deep blue, green and brown, and sometimes submerged in thick gray clouds. The air is clear as crystal, washed pristine by the sweeping curtains of rain. At the base of the peninsula lies the medieval town of St. Andrews with gray stone walls, dark gray slate roofs and charcoal church spires piercing the leaden skies.

Fortunate and proud to have among us a five-time champion of the British Open (or just the “Open” as it is defiantly known as here in Scotland), our family was invited by my brother Tom to attend and witness his final tournament at St. Andrews, a course that is the ultimate mecca for golfers and has both profound meaning and symbolism for Tom.

As soon as we arrived for the practice round, we were all struck by the singularly unique challenges of the historic Old Course (there is indeed a “New Course”). First, the greens appear to be huge lumpy masses of infinitely close-cut turf that stretch seamlessly into fairways that also appear to be long, lumpy rolling masses of infinitely close-cut turf. There is hardly any fringe surrounding the greens or fairways, which abruptly end in deep knee-high grass. As the low-shaved fairway grass is not irrigated, the ball can bounce high and roll far on this hard surface. To make matters more strenuous, the Scottish bunkers or “pots” are built like deep sinkholes, with brick-like layers of sod as vertical walls, and I might add nearly impossible to chip out of, although they are quite attractive and neat to the eye!

As this is Scottish design—and, of course, they never make things easy for others or themselves—when you tee up, unless you are teeing off on number 1 or number 18, you will never again behold where the flag stands, which of course indicates where the hole is. So unless you are well prepared, and my nephew Michael, Tom’s caddy, was, you have little idea where the hole lies.

Next you add impossibly narrow fairways and several shared greens. St. Andrews Old Course was not originally designed as an 18-hole course, so the fairways blend into each other, as do several of the greens.

Now on top of all these impossible design challenges, you add Scotland’s dismal weather—a mixture of bone-chilling cold, frequent downpours, a constant wind gust over 35 miles per hour—from which you must accept and simply play your ball from wherever the wind has blown it—delayed tee times and late evening finishes, when it is difficult to distinguish a red flag from a yellow flag. My brother had advised all of us to bring sufficient rain gear; however, Tom, like all professional golfers, standing and waiting for their turn, cannot wear proper rain gear, which is stiff and would hinder their swing. So the golfers stand in their thin togs, freezing.

Despite the foulest of weather and this difficult course, Tom made a great showing of his first 12 holes—besting even the youngest of golfers and the top of the line-up, who found it hard to match. The remaining rounds did not make the cut for him, but the tremendous show of support, respect, applause and shouts of encouragement and gratitude were overwhelming for our family and, of course, for Tom.

On his final approach to the 18th hole, the hour close to 9:30 p.m., when dusk was upon us all, the crowds were 15 spectators deep, and the bleachers filled with a standing ovation and you could see the glitter of flashing cameras. People were running down the streets of St. Andrews to catch his last hole, along with our family, and most of the weary professional golfers, who poured out of the locker rooms. And I was most touched when the entire membership of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews came out with their cellphones and cameras despite their own stern enforcement of the “No cameras during the Open” rule.

Throughout the tournament, Tom was paired with Ernie Els and Brandt Snedeker. But on the final hole, they both took their shots and left the green wide open, giving Tom the solo spotlight to make his last putt. Tom looked tiny on that vast, vast green as he gave a dignified bow to the roaring Scottish crowds. We proudly watched as everyone chanted in their Scottish brogues, “Toom, Toom, Toom,” and overheard a young red-headed Scottish caddy, who was standing close by, whisper, “It’s incredible to see this, I may never see a legend like him again.”