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When conjuring a title for this post, it was tempting to use the pun “PanPure”. That however would’ve been contrived, so I didn’t, favouring Plain English instead. Anyway the sentiment: the greens at Panmure are really the best we’ve had the pleasure of putting on in this links wonderland (just a shade purer than North Berwick and Royal Troon, which were also quite magnificent). I usually try to shy away from lists and rankings and the like – because they are polarising and I of course (as those of you who know me will no doubt know) avoid controversy at all costs... But on this occasion I’m making an exception because I feel so strongly on the matter. And putting is a subject dear to my heart.
Panmure’s the 20th oldest golf club in the world, and sits on the outskirts of the wee town of Barry (good Scottish name that it is), just down the road from Carnoustie (an equally good Scottish name). It’s a qualifying course for Opens and Senior Opens (like last week’s) held at Van de Velde’s favourite track.
My mum’s cousin Harvey has been a member there since 1959, which makes him part of the furniture. He’s had the same locker the whole time, No. 15. I wonder whether Nos. 1 to 14 have changed hands during his tenure or whether those old boys are still there too? I dropped Harvey – whom I hadn’t seen for 13 years – a line on Monday to let him know we were playing Panmure on Wednesday at noon, and to ask whether he’d like to join us for a game. Now retired from his family company in Dundee and from his duties with the Scottish Rugby Union (which he used to head up a few years ago), Harvey has a bit of time on his hands (most of which is spent fishing) and was only too happy to join us. Super.
Harvey’s one of life’s lovely folk: an affable, laid back character who seems to know everyone and doesn’t have a bad word to say about any of them. I think the reason he didn’t play (he just walked round with us) was because he thought we were gun golfers and he didn’t want to hold us up if he wasn’t on form. A very modest fellow. Given the way I struggled around he would’ve likely beaten me in any event! Although being so modest he would’ve kept it to himself...
Like Royal Troon, the first few holes are gentle and lull you almost into a false sense of security. Today however the wind was gusting strongly into us, making them (in fact, the first 10) a pretty testing affair. On the glassy greens though you always had a chance at your par putt if you’d been so careless so as not to be on in regulation. Around the course are a plethora of rustic features, giving it a very aged feel. Take the greenkeeper’s hut adjacent to the 1st green, or his house adjacent to the 2nd. They look like they’ve been there since Moses Struck The Rock (a nice lick of paint gives the appearance of mutton dressed up as lamb – a Kiwi phrase that I haven’t as yet heard over here). There’s an army base by the 16th too; I imagine it’s there because the links terrain – with its dunes, tussock, gorse and heather – probably looks just like Afghanistan. Certainly my own experiences of linksland warfare (Cowboys and Indians) as a youngster remain vividly etched in my grey matter. As a fervent Indian I’d always find the best vantage points among the gorse from which to fire my bow and arrow at my Cowboy brother. Of course he’d tell you otherwise – but those Cowboys aren’t to be trusted.
The course starts to blossom as you reach Hogan’s Hole, the 6th. (Apparently it was Benjamin’s favourite hole in Scotland). It’s a beauty. A blind tee shot is played to a fairway that for the shorter hitters is a double one (with the 7th), then up through a few moguls to a raised green surrounded by heather and gorse and general mischief. On the 6th we played through a group of American chaps that had been playing at a leisurely pace. I hit a low draw from the tee leaving only a wee punch 6 iron up to the dance floor – but standing over the approach felt a little rushed and blocked it into the bundai. With our American friends waiting back on the fairway we didn’t want to look for it for more than a minute or two, so I declared it lost, took a triple and moved on to the next tee. The beginning of the end after an acceptable start. Shame – but that’s golf.
Harvey provided invaluable local knowledge and was full of good stories. I particularly liked one he told about Tarum Airlines (anyone heard of them?), who he and the Scottish team flew with some years ago (once and once only) - apparently they had to tape one of the exit doors shut because it was coming loose! And the big burly forwards were asked to move down to the back to balance the plane for landing! It’s not like it used to be...
Below are a couple of photos of the 8th hole, which is a wee cracker. Blind tee shot and - unless you're on the right hand side of the fairway - a blind approach.
The sun poured over the links for the most part, and the wind blew enough to make life very interesting. Perfect golfing conditions. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve grown to love (or rather, rediscovered my love) for the way the sun shines between the clouds here. Not like NZ or Aussie, or even the US, where the sun sits alone in a piercing blue sky. Here the contrast is greater; invariably the sun dances between dark clouds, creating a greater appreciation for that warmth-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling. It’s like Christmas: if you had it every week it wouldn’t be the same!
In the clubhouse Harvey treated us to lunch and a refreshing beverage – not in the very impressive wood panelled lounge (which requires a jacket and tie), but in the amusingly named “Dirty Bar”. A steak pie and chips taste quite wonderful when you’ve been sluggling it slowly around the links. A few of Harvey’s pals, who’d been playing behind us, came up to offer kind words and a few quid each for The First Tee. Harvey also threw a fiver in, God Bless Him. A very generous and gracious bunch; Michael and I were humbled.
Before we left we got a quick tour of the Big Boys’ Bar and the Dining Room, the walls of which are lined with paintings of the club’s early captains (the Earl of....the Duke of...etc etc) - they looked androgynous and English in their full regalia, and would get beaten up if they walked around downtown Dundee these days. In their day I’m sure they were distinguished and revered. And probably beaten up at school too.
Thanks Harvey – great to see you and to catch up on 13 years of news! Don't know how you managed to escape without having your portrait taken, but I'll source a photo from somewhere...
JP
Our pal Carol – who took us out for a fantastic day at The Olympic Club in San Francisco back on Day 133 – also spends a bit of time over ‘ere, often managing to tie in little trips with business (something she appears to be very adept at doing). Carol just loves Scotland, and she just loves golf. And so it seems that bringing her friends along for a game at The Renaissance Club, out in East Lothian, is for Carol one of life’s pleasures – something she is only too happy to do. Today we were among the lucky few that were extended an invitation.
A bit about Renaissance: You can read about its history here. Basically the land was part of the Duke of Hamilton’s Archerfield Estate, until a couple of ambitious American brothers had better ideas. To the West is The Honourable Company’s home turf, aka Muirfield. To the East is Archerfield Links, a new club like Renaissance. It’s quite a setting. The Firth of Forth sits out in front of you to the North, and on a clear day you can see The Kingdom of Fife (on a really really really clear day you can see the flags of Lundin Links, Leven, Elie and the like – if you have binoculars and the hankering). Bottom line – a lovely canvas for a golf course.
Enter Tom Doak, who’s certainly among the most revered course architects of the modern day. Tom’s responsible for the likes of Cape Kidnappers in New Zealand and Pacific Dunes up at Bandon in Oregon. He knows what he’s doing. And he doesn’t like to mess too much with the natural lay of the land. To quote the man himself:
“The most noteworthy courses of the past decade have been among the least expensive to build. Thanks to clients who understand the value of beautiful property, we’re able to create courses which compare to the best of the past...and look like they have been there just as long.”
Well said Tam. Anyway Tam – as I’ll now call him, since we’re in Scotland – was pleased for the club to be named after his company, Renaissance Golf Inc, given his high regard for the property and the area’s rich golfing heritage. So there you go.
It’s quite a grand entrance, I must say. When you wind past Archerfield House and eventually find the big gate bearing the club’s crest, you know right away you’re in for a pretty unique experience. A tree stump bolted to the wall by the gate bears a sign “press to enter”. The driveway takes you past the 2nd green and 3rd hole, and up to the imposing clubhouse. It’s all very grand.
Right away we spotted Carol, who was doing what she does best – chatting to her friends and to the staff. After a big hug we were introduced to Harry & Carolyn (a charming retired couple from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina) and Ian (a dry witted Aberdonian). The lads – who Carol knows from Loch Lomond, where they all belong – would be joining us for a hit, while Carolyn planned to go for a brisk walk and finish what sounded like a good book. Sean the maitre-d’ gave us the run down on the place and mentioned we had 7400 yards of golf course to look forward to, if we were game. Which we always are.
Tam’s a quirky character if his golf courses are anything to go by. The boxes on the 1st tee are laid out on the practice putting green. Mike and I shied away from hitting 2 iron in case we took a divot! The 5 of us set off, with Carol having picked up another in caddy Paul. Our half dozen must’ve looked almost as imposing as those two ball foursomes plus caddies that we saw at Prestwick last week – a veritable golf army marching down the fairway! Skins was the format – as you can imagine there were a few halves with 5 contestants and shots flying everywhere...
The course though young manages to feel established, as Tam would hope. Ancient dykes (walls, for you non-Scots) have been retained, and add a rustic charm (not to mention the fact that they double as obstacles too). Doak left a few features trees and forests as well, giving the course something of a hybrid links/parkland feel. Quite unique. From the tips it’s a slog – something you appreciate almost right away, when you stand on the 2nd tee – a 260 yard par 3 to an undulating green. The rain came tumbling down too for a few holes on the front, stretching the holes out yet longer. Nothing wrong with a bit of Good Scottish Weather though; indeed it prompted Carol to don the most impressive rain gear I’ve ever seen – not so much as a drop could penetrate that outfit!
After 8 we paused for refreshments and sustenance, and were joined by a mutual friend Toddy, who’d been lunching at The Honourable Company on the back of a morning hit. Suffice to say he had a warm glow about him. Our 5 was then 6, so we split into 3s and hacked it around the back 10 at a more Scottish pace. Along the back 9 there were some stunning vistas across the Forth; we also saw the plot of land where they’re hoping to stick another 3 or 4 holes, down closer to the beach. Apparently Muirfield used to lease the land from The Duke’s estate, but couldn’t get planning permission to do what they wanted to do. The crowd at Renaissance are more optimistic and word is they’ll be getting to work in the not too distant future. If they manage to get the proposal through they’ll be a handful of stunning holes (and the first few will be used for warming up / practising). The flags are already out!
Toddy flinched awkwardly when I rolled in a stray birdie on the 14th – he’s one of the kind humans (Carol being another) who’s sponsoring us a pound for every birdie carded in Scotland, and a tenner for every eagle. Being a staunch supporter of The First Tee of NZ though he knows it’s for a good cause! Just as well he wasn’t paying for double bogeys today – otherwise he would’ve had to fork out a significant wad!
Our group converged in the warmth of the bar and perched on the most comfortable set of leather sofas this side of Cape Town. I was asked for my card by Carol, who took it upon herself to tally the skins. By some miracle (and it was a miracle) I came out on top, despite playing abominable golf. With all the horse trading finished we just sat and enjoyed each other’s company and tried not to fall asleep on those amazing sofas. Carol being the consummate host that she is insisted that we order a morsel or two to keep us going until dinner – a very comforting plate of bangers and mash arrived not too long after (Goldy continued his burger stretch as part of his weight gain program). Just the ticket after taking beating on Tam’s Leviathan.
As all good things do, the day came to an end. Carol was off in the morning to see friends in France, before heading to Tokyo on business. We were heading to Edinburgh, which was slightly less glamorous but more convenient. I’ve been trying to twist her arm into coming down to New Zealand for the Final Day at Cape Kidnappers on 31 December, but Carol’s a tough nut to crack. So in the spirit of peer pressure I’m going to publicly invite you Carol to come and be our guests down on our turf – it’s high time that you enjoyed some of our hospitality! Toddy’s been trying for years without success, but now you’ve got a couple other young motivated Kiwis on the case too...
Thanks again for an epic day at Renaissance.
JP
Waking up in the West End of Glasgow was unexpected. But that is how we roll and we had found a new friend in Tommy and his li’l dog Sushi. The two of them had joined us the prior night for a Guinness or two and it may not be the last we see of Tommy as looks like we may join up for a hit in the coming weeks when we next venture to Glasgow.
It was about 1pm by the time we rolled into Edinburgh where we met Jamie’s auntie Gillian who was taking us out to her 9 hole course in central Edinburgh – Ravelston.
Gillian and Ian have had us to stay with them for a few nights already in our Scotland leg and for that we are both very grateful. I must apologise to Ian for leaving their internet cord plugged into my mac during the day… Caused a few consternations, but the yellow cord is back in and all is well.
Gil (pictured with JP below) plays her golf at both Ravelston and Kilspindie and is a Keen Golfer like us which is great. She’s proud of Ravelston and rightly so. It’s a picturesque wee course that has views overlooking the city of Edinburgh, is a good layout (albeit 9 holes) and most importantly has a good group of keen members who sound like they make it a strong club.
It is a challenge too. Holes play across an undulating piece of land and when the breeze is blowing like it was today it’s a real test. So much so that neither of us managed a single birdie today which doesn’t do the fundraising much good.
There are a couple of great views at Ravelston, particularly as you play down to greens framed by a stone wall and houses. I thought I had sculled a bunker shot into said house at one stage but fortunately it held up… Good thing my green fee ticket came with associated insurance, valid only for one day.
Across the way is Murrayfield Golf Club and supposedly they want Ravelston’s 9 holes so they can have a 27 hole golfing establishment. I don’t think Ravelston are so keen on the idea. And they aren’t doing so badly themselves judging by the nice wee extension on their clubrooms.
Ravelston is a great example of an inner city course that encourages people to simply get out and enjoy some fresh air and a spot of golf. And you can’t beat that.
Thanks Gil for taking us on and for looking after us (and feeding JP’s brother Connor who can eat. And eat. And eat).
Ayrshire’s been good to us. Very good, in fact. Which is only right and good, in a karmic sense, because the place was for many years a source of less than happy memories for Yours Truly. Our family made an annual (non-religious) pilgrimage to Nor’n Ireland – The Land of My Father – part of which involved driving from Kirkcaldy to Stranraer. The Pattons Five were packed into the car (along with golf clubs, footballs and, optimistically, beach-going apparatus); the 3 in my generation, which I led, would fight incessantly for the duration of the drive; and the windy Ayrshire roads seemed never to end. Pandemonium in the old Saab, to put it mildly. In fact on one or two occasions I think I may have been ejected from the car (yes, dad occasionally followed through on his threats) in the town of Irvine – no doubt deserving it. Of course I was allowed back in, and the “holiday” continued.
Anyway. On a more serious/golfing note. The 6 avid readers of our blog (hi mum, hi Uncle David...) will have seen that over the past few days we had the privilege of playing Prestwick, Dundonald, Royal Troon and Western Gailes – 4 top tracks, each within a stone’s throw of the next. At the end of the links lies The Gailes Links of Glasgow Golf Club (the club’s other home being Killermont up the road in Glasgow). And what a gem it is too.
The clubhouse is an understated affair from the outside, but once you get in you know you’ve arrived at Glasgow Golf Club. At once spartan and suave, if that’s possible. The gentleman behind the desk in the pro shop – in all likelihood the Pro – greeted us with that lovely soft Weedgie accent (can I use that term here or is it non-PC?), and told us we more or less had the course to ourselves. There was some gig on up the road at Killermont, so hardly anyone was around. At 4.30pm on a muted Saturday evening that was music to my ears.
The 1st hole is a fairly gentle affair, as it should be. A 2 iron; a wedge; and a putt – nice to start with a birdie and get that First Tee donation counter rolling for the day. On the 2nd we started to get a feel of what Glasgow Gailes is all about. At roughly 350 yards (I’d need to check the card but can’t be bothered), you lick your lips on the walk back to the tee. However. From about 130 yards out the fairway begins to narrow, and narrow, and narrow. Merciless heather looms on both sides, and there is a pot bunker or three to gobble up any unsuspecting stray pills. Hit a good 2 iron and a good wedge and you’re in business (assuming you navigate the false front); veer off course and it can be lethal. My kind of golf hole, if I may say.
The fairways actually were wider than they looked. But from the tee they’re partially obscured from view by the heather ahead, and in the low light conditions it wasn’t easy to see much at all. The message then is that they’re fair, but that the golf course tricks you into thinking it’s harder than it is. Make no mistake though – that heather is abominable! Every time I ventured into it I dropped a shot, or two. This won’t come as much of a surprise to any local reading this blurb or blog or whatever it’s called. They know its mischief. But for a lad that hasn’t tangled with heather for over a decade, it’s a novel sensation and one I could happily leave for another decade. Hit it in the bloomin’ fairway then son, I can hear you say...
Save for the group we caught up with on the 17th hole, there was not another soul on the course. Well, no other golfers anyway – the odd family or two were walking their dugs up and down the links, seemingly happy as Larry. Whoever Larry was. I was happy too, and relaxed – at least when I wasn’t visiting Heather anyway.
There were one or two semi-blind shots to contend with, which require you to place a certain amount of trust in the golf course. And your swing. On each occasion I seemed to somehow scratch together a birdie or an eagle, which tells me one thing – when I see the hole I get ahead of myself!
The course had a good set of par 3s, come to think of it. None were gut wrenchingly long, but you had to be pretty cute about where you pitched the ball. Humps and bumps and that cow Heather were lurking everywhere – no more so than on the 14th, which has a raised green surrounded by mayhem. The talking point really though was The Gailes’ collection of short par 4s, each of which demanded something a little different. I could’ve played them over and over and never sicken of trying to get the better of ‘em.
In the locker room we got chatting to one of the chaps from the two ball in front. Tommy’s a member, and was having a wee fiver match with his mate Tony (which he managed to pull back to square after being dormy 4 down, much to Tony’s dismay). Out in the car park we were about to go our separate ways, but then Tommy suggested we grab a pint up the road in Glasgow. We had nothing to be back for in Edinburgh that night, so took him up on his kind offer. Before we knew it we were at a buzzing pub in Glasgow’s West End – Tennent’s – with a guy we’d only met half an hour previously, putting the world to rest.
Before last week’s wee excursion I’d never really been to Glasgow – apart from for the odd game of school boy rugby or rep hockey. ‘Twas worlds apart from Edinburgh in my mind, somewhere I didn’t know much about and had never bothered to find out more. So when Tommy offered us a bed each at his ample flat up the road, and a night out in the West End, a great opportunity presented itself – and in Tommy we had a Top Guy to show is what it’s all about. Within the hour we’d picked up a fish supper from the local; gone back to base camp to spruce up; picked up Tommy’s wee dug, Sushi (otherwise known as “Toota”); and returned to Tennant’s for another round. Wee Toota was with us too, of course – she’s a local attraction at the pub and gets much more attention than her owner! We chucked as everyone ogled the wee thing, asking “how is she?”; no one by the same token bothering to ask how Tommy himself was. He didn’t seem to mind.
Tommy took us out to meet a few of his pals who were – in the Glasgow way – entertaining to say the least. Real characters. It wasn’t a late night, but it was a very social one. Our host showed us some real Glasgwegian hospitality, which reminded me a bit of The South in the US, in the way that the people seem to embrace anyone and anything. Some people might be a bit wary about spending an evening on a whim with a random single man in Glasgow, but not us. For one thing it was immediately apparent Tommy was a great guy; for another, it’s what This is all about – meeting people and seeing where the wind takes you. Great day.
JP
Shinnecock
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