Not every course is a links
Decades from now, golf fans will tell their grandchildren about the
magical summer of '04, when the planets fell into alignment and
tree-lined, waterlogged, gussied-up major championship courses
disappeared from view, eclipsed by a trio of rugged, windblown,
weather-beaten links: Shinnecock Hills, Royal Troon and Whistling
Straits. Great men played in the U.S. Open, British Open and PGA
Championship that summer, it will be said, but they were dominated by
Mother Nature and Lady Luck.
So forget about a Grand Slam this year. The next three majors are on
links, considered by some to be unattractive, by others as
unpredictable, and by even the best players in the world as unrelenting
in their demands.
Unfortunately, some golfers think every golf course is a links. But the
two terms are not interchangeable. A links is a small, special category
of golf courses. The classic definition: a course on oceanside sand
dunes that were formed by a receding sea and covered by fertile soil
from a river estuary.
Of the three, that describes only Royal Troon. But we consider
Shinnecock and Whistling Straits to be genuine links as well, for our
classification relies not on mere proximity to the sea, but instead upon
the particular kind of game needed to succeed on such courses. It's a
game that involves less of an aerial assault and more of a ground
attack: low, penetrating drives, knockdown shots, run-up approaches and
putters from well off the green.
|Which are links?|
Never judge a links by its label.
Some of the best-known courses in America have long been labeled "links," but not in our book, because they lack one or more of the essential ingredients: firm and fast conditions, punishing rough, constant wind. Other courses admirably fit our description of a links, yet are only occasionally recognized as such.
See if you can identify which of the following we consider as links. Here's one clue: Don't be swayed by location.
All are links except Harbour Town (too many trees, lagoons and condos in place of rough), Pebble Beach (hardly an opportunity to bounce the ball anywhere on the course) and Rich Harvest Links (breezy, yes, but it's a cornfield made opulent by bent-grass fairways and rock-lined ponds).
For our purposes, a links is any course -- by an ocean or not -- built
on well-drained, sandy soil that offers firm and fast fairways and
greens, has uneven ground, an infinite variety of stances and lies, very
few trees, punishing rough of native grasses and deep, recessed bunkers.
Most of all, a links in our book must have ever-present wind, whipping
from many points on the compass, the kind of breezes, zephyrs, gusts and
gales that can affect not just tee shots and approach shots, but even
putts -- the kind of wind that can blow sand clean out of bunkers (which
is why links bunkers are normally recessed into the earth).
Links golf is more than just a definition. It's also an experience. Tour
pros who have abandoned persimmon woods and wound balls will be facing
the architectural equivalent of yesterday's equipment during the next
three months and will find it far less user-friendly than their favorite
PGA Tour stop. In an era when championship golfers play point-to-point
golf, Shinnecock, Royal Troon and Whistling Straits will force even the
best players to create shots.
Part of that experience is a reminder of the past, as well as a glimpse
of the possible future. Before automatic irrigation systems and memorial
tree-planting committees, a majority of American courses looked more or
less like links: wide open and treeless, with dry turf and hard greens
when it didn't rain, and shaggy fairways and receptive greens when it
did. But most courses weren't built on sandy soil, which is why
innovations were made in greens mix, drainage, agronomy and the like.
Over time, American courses became modest versions of Augusta National.
But trees planted 50 years ago as wind buffers are now choking out
sunlight and air to golf holes, so they're being removed in massive
numbers (see "Is Your Course Overtreed?" October 2002). To reduce
escalating costs of fuel and labor, polished roughs have been turned
into ragged, unmaintained areas. Many country clubs (and new courses)
are looking more and more like links these days (public-relations firms
certainly call them links) even if they don't quite play the same. But
that could change, too, if government-imposed water restrictions leave
no choice but to go firm and fast.
Links golf is also an attitude, of patience and perseverance in the face
of bad bounces and hideous lies. Remember the final round of last year's
British Open, when a dozen players, including Tiger Woods and
third-round leader Thomas Bjorn, stumbled across the dry knobs and
barren hollows of Royal St. George's, leaving Ben Curtis as the
astonished, and astonishing, winner? Sure, stuff like that happens at
the Open, because it's always played on a links. But this summer that
could happen in triplicate.
Especially if the wind is up. "That's what affects scoring most on the
tour, both here and in Europe," says Mark O'Meara, the 1998 British Open
winner at Royal Birkdale. "If you don't have the wind, these guys are so
good they're going to shoot low scores. But if you get wind, that's when
you make them work for a living."
The work will start in June on New York's Long Island, at the U.S. Open
at Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, which O'Meara calls "about as linksy as
you can get for an American-style course." Emerging from high ground of
an isthmus between the Atlantic Ocean and Great Peconic Bay,
Shinnecock's fairways tumble off high ridges and slide through narrow
valleys. Its smallish greens slant and cant at aggravating angles. It
has more bunkers than trees, especially after last year's aggressive
chain-saw massacre of pines, oaks, bushes and underbrush. It also has
hay-like rough that can snap a golf shaft and swallow a golf bag.
Shinnecock features clusters of holes in triangles, so that no more than
two consecutive shots are in the same direction. Golfers must play
Shinnecock the way sailors tack against the wind, from side to side.
On calm days Shinnecock is still a genuine test. In inclement conditions
it can be a brute. During its two most recent Opens (1986 and 1995),
players faced only a single day of blustery Long Island weather each
time, yet the winning scores were Ray Floyd's one under and Corey
Pavin's even par.
|You might be playing a links if ...|
1. You've never seen a puddle in a fairway. (give yourself 10 points for
2. There are no sprinkler heads in the rough.
3. Your preferred ball-flight trajectory is quail-high.
4. Your bunker sand is an earthy color, not bright white.
5. The faces of the bunkers are stacked sod.
6. Your secondary rough is knee-high by the fourth of July.
7. You once aced a par 3 after landing your ball 50 yards short.
8. They sell stocking caps in the golf shop.
9. You call bad bounces "rub of the brown."
10. You can play the course forward and backward.
0: You play exclusively at a TPC.
10-40: Your course is at least budget-minded.
50-90: Your course is indeed a links.
100: Your regular game must be at the Old Course at St. Andrews.
Stretched along the rumpled coast of the Firth of Clyde leading to the
Irish Sea, Troon is the game's equivalent of a wind tunnel. On its
out-and-back routing, it's the longer second nine that's usually dead
into the ocean gales.
There's a bunker, legend has it, for every day of the year, 365 in all.
Some players can experience a week's worth or two in a single round.
Still, Royal Troon is relatively flat and, with the exception of a few
blind tee shots and hidden bunkers, very fair. "If you hit a good shot
in the fairway," says Darren Clarke, "it's going to stay on the
Most of Troon's greens are accessible by low bump-and-run shots. The
notable exception is the tiny "Postage Stamp" eighth, 123 yards to a
surface just nine to 15 yards wide and less than 30 yards deep. In the
final round in 1997, Tiger Woods dashed any chance of a charge by
triple-bogeying the eighth.
If the world's best players haven't been thoroughly whiplashed by early
August, they certainly will be by the conclusion of this year's PGA
Championship on the Straits Course at Whistling Straits Golf Club near
Sheboygan, Wis. It's a nouveau links by architect Pete Dye, who
transformed an abandoned military base on a Lake Michigan bluff into a
bombed-out portion of Afghanistan, with jagged hills, vast craters and
huge hunks of land slumping to the shoreline. It has eight holes right
along the lake's edge, nearly as many cliffhangers as at famed Pebble
Beach. There are estimates of some 500 pot bunkers on the Straits, but
it's tough to determine just what to call the pockmarks pitting the two
miles of sand dunes that Dye conjured up and piled high.
For this last leg in this triple crown of championship links, we must
thank the PGA of America, which four years ago dropped Valhalla, the
previously scheduled host of this year's event, to make room for
Whistling Straits. That move got the jump on the U.S. Golf Association,
which had wanted to play the 2005 U.S. Open on the same course. Such is
the recent passion for links golf among the game's governing bodies in
Too bad the PGA of America didn't boot Oakland Hills in favor of the
Ocean Course on Kiawah Island for this fall's Ryder Cup. That would have
given us four consecutive major events on links.
But three in a row isn't bad. Were it not for pastoral Augusta National, the old school of golf architecture would have hit for the cycle in 2004. Arguably, it still did. When originally designed, the now-plush Augusta National was patterned after the Old Course at St. Andrews, which is the oldest, hoariest, crustiest links of them all.
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