Ryan Book

There’s a moment of levity during Disney’s ‘Hercules’ where the fearsome Titans, having been freed by Hades, begin marching on their way to crush the gods. “Hey, guys,” deadpans James Woods. “Olympus is that way.” The Titans go from terrifying to accessible in an instant, probably easing toddlers into the film’s frightful crescendo. The members at The Berkshire may have made a similar statement to Herbert Fowler as he laid out the opening par three at the club’s Blue course. “Hey, Herb…the championship course is that way.” Golfers will receive no such moment of humor, however. The 215-yard par three, over a heath valley (and, in my case, into the wind) serves as notice that Blue demands similar respect as its more highly-ranked sibling. 

Can it maintain that tone for another 17 holes? 

There are moments. Blue features, along with No. 1, the two most challenging holes on the property. No. 16 reminds me of No. 7 at (the American) Inverness, a stiff par four that will require a long, linear shot to cross the creek and elevate to the green atop the hill on the other side. The final four holes, all par fours, average nearly 415 yards from the back tees…a relative uptick in muscle compared to the rest of the rounds at The Berkshire. 

Maybe for moments, but ultimately the Red ultimately proves itself the better of the two routes, despite Blue’s fiercer moments. A look at the property reveals that Fowler spread the Red over a much larger footprint, occupying much of the most interesting land movement — similar to how Bethpage Black occupies nearly 40% of the park’s five-course property. The game was set in Red’s favor. 

It’s a testament to Fowler that Blue manages to convince some that it’s the Red’s equal, or even its superior. I struggle to entertain such talk, but I’ll acknowledge that the gap between Red and Blue is much less than the aforementioned Black and its next-best competitor at Bethpage (named, appropriately, “Red”). 

How so? Fowler manages to continue one theme from Red, which is a brilliant assortment of par threes. No. 4 is ultimately a prettier (thanks to the ubiquitous heather) version of No. 2 at Red. No. 13 offers a shorter uphill tee shot, framed by two impressive bunkers at the green’s fore (perhaps the biggest at The Berkshire? Don’t quote me on it). No. 10 is far from Fowler’s original design but, although its pond is stylistically incongruent, the convoluted green makes it much more praiseworthy than standardized “Florida golf.” And yes, of course the round’s opening salvo. 

Holes in the Blue-as-equal argument emerge when you tee off from No. 2, however, down into a valley. Fact is that the route doesn’t really emerge from that lower flat area until No. 9. The land moves considerably more across the back nine, but the Red course is clearly baked more evenly. 

Blue is ultimately the little brother, yes. But to be fair, Poseidon and Hades are both Zeus’s little brothers, and anyone well-versed in Greek mythology knows that the best tales (The Odyssey, The Abduction of Persephone) revolve around these so-called “lesser” gods. Respect Blue.

I teed off alone / my mind was blank / I needed time to think, to get the scorecard in my mind / What did I see? / Could I believe? / That what I saw that morn was real and not just fantasy? / The concept I saw / in this dream / were they reflections of golf’s potential staring back at me? / Now in my dreams / it’s always there / the sliced first tee shot that leads me to despair! <screams></screams>Our preconceptions are whack / no use holding back / I just had to see / how this round could be / The heathland mist / par figures move and twist / could it be real / could I buy what Berkshire sells?/ Six! Six-Six! The routing of the beast! Yes, obviously this metalhead needed to pay homage to Iron Maiden’s monumental anthem after a round at Berkshire’s Red Course, however — just as Bruce Dickinson couldn’t shake Satan’s grip — I find myself constantly turning over the scorecard in my mind. Six par fives, six par fours, and six par threes. Why are we, a modern golf society, tied to Old Testament commandments on the proper assortment of pars, rules for which were never carved in stone? One possibility is land availability. A map of The Berkshire Golf Club reflects that Red was always intended to be the prime routing, hence why Hebert Fowler spread it across much more of the property, leaving a larger footprint than the Blue. Even then, the idea of six par fives is an intimidating one for most plots. Although not weak unto their own, there’s a degree of sameness in the distances. Certainly the first five, and even No. 17 during more traditional heath conditions, are quite reachable with two strong shots (this is coming from a rather weak player). Although most of these holes are fine additions to any golf course on their own, I do prefer some variety in distance among the long holes at a club. No shame in a proper three-shotter. I’ll acknowledge that I’m an American (we have the tech / we have the force / we have the power to make our distance take the course), and also that “par” is a meaningless concept within the matchplay mindset. But I’ll stand by my assertion that these holes struggle more to differentiate themselves from their fellows within Red. Which is the opposite of the short holes. My goodness the short holes! In a world where so many clubs struggle to assemble four unique par threes, Fowler’s work at The Berkshire (both courses, really) is a study. No. 10 is, simply put, among the best I’ve ever played. As I watched my iron shot soar 185 yards (only to get killed at the front of the green by the very real English Winter wind), I could only curse my friend for scheduling his London wedding on Bonfire Night. Had he wed during Summer, I would have seen the valley across covered in purple blooms, and I would have wept. No. 2, uphill and short, would do Donald Ross proud (had he not professed, in writing, his unfounded hatred for Fowler). No. 5 is more coy, shielding the front landing area with a pastiche of bunkers and heath. No. 7, longer and featuring the most turbulent green on the Red loop. No. 16, the longest and stiffest. No. 18 is itself a fine closer…but if Fowler were Malcom Glazer, he’d likely take on significant debt to buy Blue’s opening hole as the final short on the Red squad. This analyst’s first checkbox in determining the greatness of a golf course is the terrain on which it sits and, as suggested above, the lion’s share of The Berkshire’s best terrain went to its alpha course. Turning the corner around nos. 8, 9 and 10 — conceivably the best par four, five, and three on the course, respectively — define the blessings of the Swinley Forest landscape. The second box on this analyst’s list is differentiation of holes. I’ve already indicated how the Red excels at this within the realm of par threes, and perhaps lags a bit within its par fives. The par fours tend toward the friendlier end of this spectrum. But I believe it’s worth considering the differentiation of the entire package compared to that of competing courses. The 6-6-6 routing could have been a carnival talking point…an oddity in a 4-10-4 world. But here Fowler both broke from convention and thrived while doing so. This alone separates it from the bulk of golf courses on earth and creates interest for the player. Golf course architecture hobbyists are seeing a slew of new short courses that break from the 18-hole standard, but few offer much differentiation from the arbitrary norm regarding the arrangement of par holes. Berkshire Red offers a counterpoint, and it seems reasonable that a Tom Doak or Rob Collins should soon see fit to try their hand — given the current predilection toward sprawling, isolated plots — at a course that bucks traditional par assortment. Let he who hath understanding of this reckon with new numbers for future beasts.

Ohio, lacking the scenic punch that the rest of the National Park states manage, has done a most American thing and appropriated Native American earthworks as its unique value proposition in terms of what makes our state better than yours. Among the astonishing mounds you can see as you traverse Ohio is the 1,400 “Great Serpent,” the 250-foot “Alligator” (where an Adena saw an alligator for inspiration, I don’t know) next to Denison Golf Club, and you can even play Moundbuilders Country Club, where Tom Bendelow tactfully routed 18 holes across what is essentially an ancient sundial. One bit of Ohio earthwork I don’t necessarily recommend: The unsightly levee running north along the west portion of the Avalon Lakes golf property. Pete Dye made no bones about his willingness to move soil when creating courses and, lest I appear to sympathize with the minimalists of new, let me clarify that I embrace those techniques. Examples such as Whistling Straits and Pete Dye Golf Club required a heavy hand to convert “brown sites” — properties not allowing the construction of housing due to prior use as landfills, mines, military training sites etc. — back to something resembling a natural landscape. Golf requires an ace up its sleeve to defend against accusations of water usage abuse, chemicals etc., and such brown site projects should be that card. Avalon Lakes was not such a site, however, and Dye did more than just tweak the terrain to create a golfing challenge. Aerials confirm that the ponds he first placed during 1967 were completely artificial. Further aerials confirm that yes, they have grown, and multiplied, in the time since. And when you make lakes bigger, that soil needs to go somewhere…hence the levees that separate holes and kill views across the course. I try to avoid the anti-water stance, but the current glut of glug on the property invites an eye-roll. The most glaring examples include a Jack Nicklaus-esque display of aquatic stonemasonry surrounding No. 9, which could defend itself well enough with a turbulent green, thanksverymuch…No. 13, a long par four where the pond 350 yards out from the back tee exists only to catch the topped shots of high handicappers…and God help me, the horseshoe that wraps around the final green, a thematic punctuation mark on this theme that summarizes the round. The shame is that such contrivances put bruises on otherwise well-executed holes. The pond off the tee at No. 14 is not a poor one…rather, it’s well placed to judge aggressive shots off the tee, while also making the safer landing area appear thinner than truth would have it. A second shot pushed a little right to avoid the greenside bunkers on this reachable par five will funnel down into a shortgrass area below the green…unfortunately, the constructed levee will collect balls, punchbowl style, into more-or-less the same exact position. A wider shortgrass area would allow for more variety in what the golfer will find when they arrive greenside, rather offering every golfer the same shot. No. 17 features one of my favorite Dye features: a blind landing area. One can see the green, but not the landing area, where a bounced shot should be able to roll down; those who overshoot to that blind area often find a bunker. Here, the player can peek through two mounded bunkers to the right of the fairway and see the green. But you can’t see the pond, which has been brought in intentionally to punish the first time player (fortunately this wasn’t my first time…I bailed far left). It seems more a twisted joke than a thought-provoking hazard. Like a nice slice of banana bread where one black walnut got into the mix…a serving that’s 95 percent good still leaves a bad taste. I wouldn’t ask Dye to turn in the keys to his bulldozer; the man had a style. There are more subtle instances where some added undulation ahead of the green does wonders at Avalon, not to mention the short par four No. 5, where a bold drive over the constructed, rising ramp of bunkers can kick a shot down to the green. Still, the very best moments occur because Dye was a master of visual manipulation, not a master dirtsmith. Consider No. 3, where the bunkers at the inside of the dogleg seem to meld with those at the outside, making 35 yards of landing area disappear. The centerline bunker ahead of the green similarly joins those at greenside right, again hiding 20 yards of landing area between the hazard and the putting surface. Simple, brilliant. My rating might not seem to reflect the tongue-lashing conducted above, but Dye rarely made outright poor, or boring, courses. Compared to his early instincts on display at Urbana, Fowlers Mill, and yes, The Golf Club, Avalon Lakes is a rather immoderate effigy among more noteworthy monuments the Dye tribe constructed around Ohio.

I’ll open with my “fire” take: Although a championship course tends to win “best course” based on strategic consideration alone during yearbook awards at a multi-course club, it can’t always claim the “best personality.” Such is the case at Kenview. William Diddel didn’t face too much struggle when plotting 36 around Kenwood Country Club’s plot. Kendale intends to test the game’s best (the recently-restored course recently hosted its first LPGA event). That, the east side of the property, rolls with just enough movement to suit the expectations of such a course. That allocates the wonkier West half, where the land begins to crumple and collapse downward toward I-71, for the “lesser” course at Kenwood. Perhaps only “lesser” in an analytic sense, however. Personality is usually a mixed bag, of course. Quirk is a madness that sometimes blooms brilliantly (Lou Reed’s ‘Hudson River Wind Meditations’) and sometimes lands hard (Lou Reed’s ‘The Raven’). The winners among this lot are No. 15, a par five that heads up to the top of a peak, leaving a lie looking down toward a strip of fairway that hugs the cliff all the way to the green, a tightrope walk with risk measured by how quickly you aim to reach your target. No. 12 curves perilously around a separate falloff, inland. No. 9 offers an even more daunting uphill tee shot than No. 15, which opens up to the clubhouse in the distance. The losers among this lot are No. 13, a long climb to nowhere. No. 2 seems like it should be a reachable par five when played right (and correctly), but the trees inside of the dogleg make it unlikely for all but the best tee shots. “Shoehorned in” might be the most polite way to describe the par three No. 16, but even with a shoehorn it seems ridiculous to put shoes on a polydactyl cat. The topic of sacrificing great land for the sake of creating 36 holes presents itself strongly at nos. 6 and 10; the former rolls in waves like the best of parkland golf, and upon approach the latter reveals a long view toward downtown Cincinnati. Diddell surely would have chosen to incorporate either into his championship route had fate allowed. Jeff Kissel’s recent review of NCR North highlights its playability in relation to the South’s championship caliber. The relationship between Kendale and Kenview is different. Although Kenview lacks its sibling’s distance, it is not an amateur’s course. Instead, it presents its challenge in shots made with shorter clubs, and creativity made from odd lies and using odd landforms. But a fine counterpoint/complement to Kendale it is. Quirk invites personal taste, and personal taste invites arguments (Lou Reed’s ‘Metal Machine Music’). As with all others traveling under the “quirky” banner, opinions will vary, even mid-round. Many will love and many will hate Kenview, but those who love it will likely do so more tenderly than those who love Kendale.

I’ll absolutely acknowledge my bias in the matter, but the biased fact of the matter is that — as a combination of breadth and depth — Ohio is the third-best state for considering the wide portfolio of Donald Ross. By my count, there are 26 remaining designs within the Buckeye boundary, which can be sorted into a pyramid of sorts for ranking purposes. Although the tip of that pyramid isn’t so obvious, Inverness, Scioto and Brookside are usually held as top-tier. Much trickier is defining the second tier, but I believe I’ve narrowed it down to four that don’t quite have the muscle to reach the peak, but stand above the remaining Rosses on the list. That group includes, in my respective ranking order: Hyde Park, Congress Lake, Maketewah, and Springfield. This is contentious unto itself, and I’ll acknowledge that one’s rankings of these will bank entirely on their personal architectural emphasis; for example, if putting greens are the end-all, Springfield probably ends up on top. Regardless, the greater point is that a once-over of Top100’s current rankings reveals that Congress Lake is the most painfully underrated of this subset. Those well-versed in my analyses (and shame on you, if that’s the case) have spotted that land movement often surpasses other factors, hence how Congress Lake manages to roll with the clientele listed above. This Akron-area route Zips up-and-down a constant sampler of glacial plumbing, the wet portion of which ended up in the title lake. The nature of this movement, on the whole, is difficult to quantify. Its constancy impresses, rarely leaving Ross (or his predecessor, Park) a head-scratching moment where he’s forced to reckon with a landmark so severe as to disrupt the natural flow of the holes. On the other hand, there’s an argument that such landmarks inspire great routers (Ross among them) to create eye-opening and conversation-generating showcase holes. Congress Lake may suffer somewhat from landscape-inspired sameness, in its lack of such a signature. It’s a problem that impacts personality, if not quality — the back nine at Inverness inspires a similar complaint from this nitpicker, which doesn’t dampen my enthusiasm for the course. The game-changer, which allows Congress to elevate despite the continual up-and-downs, is the recent work conducted by Jim Nagle — an underappreciated name in the current rush of renovation/restorations — with emphasis on the putting surfaces. I can’t speak to what existed previously, but old aerials can. Simply finding GIR isn’t enough to win a match point anymore; nos. 4, 8, and 13 stand out in my mind. “Don’t be above the hole” is the first piece of advice at any Ross design…my playing partner managed to be both that and the opposite side of the vertical spine dividing the back of the putting surface during the lattermost hole referenced above. A fun putt to watch, if not take. Congress Lake has lived relatively outside the spotlight, even more so than — as the current rankings reflect — the other trio of second-tier Ross courses in our well-seeded state. We all know who’s going to win the national championship when it comes to discussing the best Ross-rich states (North Carolina and Massachusetts) but, unlike Ohio’s most celebrated football team, our library of Ross designs is never overrated.

It was odd for me, as both a golfer and a Keynesian, to accumulate my thoughts following a round at Catawba Island. I don’t typically regret playing 18 when I could have played nine, and I generally don’t weigh the positives of a collapse in the housing market either. But here we were. Lest this review devolve into a pyramid-scheme cycle of cynicism on an Evergrandian scale (real estate collapse jokes!), I’ll open with praise for the front nine…a series of holes that probably merit four balls alone.Namely because I realize almost every problem I had with the course could be remitted with the removal of the latter. Arthur Hills did not receive much to work with. Sure, Lake Erie sits nearby but, unlike Lake Michigan and its title state, Ohio has never capitalized on its 312 miles of shoreline for golf purposes. Folks with second homes up here prefer boating, fishing, local wine and activities I generally classify as “Salt Life” (because it irritates my friends in this category). Unlike the aforementioned Mitten State, the land on Catawba and surrounding region never did the whole “dunes” thing. On top of that, the lakefront property was occupied by boat-savvy by the time Hills got to the property during the late-Aughts (the original nine holes of yester-century once featured a tee shot across the marina that now sits by No. 17’s green).He responded with nuanced earthmoving, creating moments of visual deception and strategy, rewarding those who dare flirt with said deception. The case-in-point is No. 4, where the distance between a forward row of fairway bunkers and a back row is murky. Those bold enough to carry the forward hazard will receive both a view and a better line. Those who bail out left will be blinded by the latter row of bunkers, built into a slight push-up. It’s artificial land movement subtle enough as not to reek of artificiality…something that can’t be said for the pocket-sized pond to that green’s right side. Similar techniques pop up throughout the first four holes, blooming especially well at no. 9. No. 8 needs no such work from Hills; this longer par four continues up to what may be the property’s highest point, featuring a sizable green. A rare moment of Ross-ian sensation at a Hills course. After nine, I was feeling fine. After 18, I was feeling mean. What happened? For one, there’s that aforementioned real estate. Granted, at no point did I fear a lawsuit would accompany a pulled drive, and in no way am I the golfer to melt down when someone proposes a wind farm off the coast of my resort. The development around Catawba, which continues to boom, forces Hills’ routing hand. The course/cottages dynamic is sustainable across the front nine, wholly walkable (if one forgives the drive from the clubhouse to the first tee). The system breaks during the second half, where the distance between holes is only matched by the distance Hills needed to bend over backwards in order to make 18 fit. About 1,000 feet from No. 10 green to No. 11 tee…about 600 from No. 11 green to No. 12 tee, as there’s a single tunnel to service Catawba Road…1,300 feet from No. 13 to the No. 14 tee (crossing past No. 17’s tee in the process). Golf carts are a common accessory among Lake Erie islanders, golfers or not, so perhaps the club wished to encourage their habit. More troubling was a pair of pairs. Although I’ve played several sets of back-to-back short holes, they’ve excelled either as individual holes or in differentiating themselves from the other. No such luck at Nos. 14 and 15, where Hills essentially had a retention pond as a plot. No. 15 is not a poor hole per se, but following the forced carry at No. 14 — to a peninsular green — it seems repetitive, fair or not.Neither No. 10 nor 11 is a bad hole on its own. Back-to-back par fives are not an issue for me. The placement of these holes at this point in the routing, however, creates a situation where all four par fives are played within a seven-hole stretch (the first is No. 5 and the last No. 11). And there I sat, considering the cost-benefits of removing the back nine. The longest stretches between holes disappear. The lesser par threes disappear. The distribution of par fives no longer seems heinous. The good news, it seems, was that housing wasn’t actually to blame for Catawba Island Club’s routing problems. Rather, the insistence on a “proper” 18 had created problems that a golf club less-encumbered by expected standards could have avoided. I felt a bit better. It seems perverse to hope for a housing crisis.

How can I be the first to review Sylvania Country Club for Top100? Perhaps because Ohioans are wary of what lurks nearby; parents warn little Buckeyes that traveling trans-Sylvania will end up among Michigan’s bloodsuckers. Or, more likely, the average Toledo golf tourist is hell-bent for Inverness and can’t be bothered. Too bad. This course progresses upon a compelling canvas, a blend of what Willie Park left behind and what story of what the club did next.Sylvania is interesting foremost for its unusual scorecard, a collection of five par fives and five par threes, among more medium holes. This variety was child’s play for Park, however, whose initial vision was seven par fives, seven par fours, and four short holes. That routing, which amounted to a par 75 playing 6,350 yards, more-or-less still stands as is, however nos. 5 and 7 have become par fours. Even I, a matchplay purist who tends to dismiss the relativity of par, acknowledge that the post-Park scorecard makes more sense. Likewise, I came to learn that my favorite hole on the course — the long par three No. 14 — was a lesser hole upon its initial conception. Currently, the player tees off from 230 yards out to an excellent green, divided into left and right plateaus by a shortgrass gutter. Amplifying the challenge is the semi-blind nature of the shot, the flag just barely visible through a saddle on the knoll intersecting your path. A combination of finesse and local knowledge will reward. Did I actually run through the list of every par three I’ve played in Ohio prior to this writeup? No. Am I willing to say this is among the best short holes in the state that I’ve played? Yes. I learned that Sylvania’s membership later cut the saddle into the mound to allow the view to the green on what was otherwise a blind launch (a significant improvement). I also learned that the club’s iconic water tower, framed so nicely while coming down the No. 16 fairway, was also added post-Park. Well, dammit, what can I give the man credit for? The use of hills, to be sure. Whether the modern player approaches them as a four or a five, the variety and interpolation of the skinny property’s series of valleys and ditches makes for a routing that, frankly, has more pure character than Inverness. Nos. 7, 8, 11, 12, and 17 are among the best of these; No. 12, the scorecard’s toughest hole, uses the swales to provide both active and passive hazards. Passively, the player may find their long shot to the fairway a bane when their approach is now heading uphill. Actively, when that approach shot lands in the next ditch, a cross hazard requiring a blind pitch up to the green. Two ditches, two lost shots, and no lost balls. Excellent stuff from a strategic standpoint. Many “retail golfers” are more likely to remember the holes that interact with the Ottawa River, a beautiful creek that I, in a typical display of snobbishness, believe runs through the course’s weakest holes. Arthur Hills is responsible for the current No. 2, which hops Ottawa twice. Not a terrible hole per se, but it spends most of its time on the course’s flattest land. Although trees have grown post-Park, few are overly distracting. Among that few are the pair that block in the fairway at No. 18, one of which does double-duty by also blocking out the left side of No. 10’s green. That hole, a fine par three on its own, unfortunately does not actually exist on its own. It’s the second of back-to-back drop shot short holes across the river that, while not clones, don’t vary much in terms of distance. Despite finding old aerials and maps, a few questions remain. Although the greens at Sylvania don’t seem to have ever been that large, a few have shrunk noticeably from their ‘40s presentation. The bigger question is how much roll once existed on these greens? The quality of the putting surfaces are strong as-is. If it weren’t for the fabulous contours on Nos. 5 and 14, one might not suspect that there may have once been more roll to the rest of them. As one who has traditionally looked upon Arthur Hills renovations with suspicion, my guard is up. Sylvania is a fun course, and one that deserves a look from an Andy Staples or similar character. Could that architect knock something out of the Willie Park, as he did just a wee bit north at Meadowbrook? Sylvania is currently a blend of what Willie Park left behind and what occurred over the next century. What happens in the near future can elevate that story further.

As an armchair golf course architecture enthusiast coming of age during the “woke” era, Dick Wilson is near the top of the list for embodying the penal era of course design. Two southwest Ohio courses may be the counterpoint. NCR is frequently described as “the thinking man’s Dick Wilson.” More recently, noted renovationist Keith Foster opted to tackle Coldstream Country Club. Foster’s usual repertoire, notably Tillinghasts and NCR’s renowned neighbor — Moraine — invite one question:Is there more to a Dick Wilson’s heralded designs, from a strategic perspective, than modern analysts acknowledge? Let’s begin by acknowledging the land at Coldstream; I’d hazard to say it’s among the best of the plots behind Cincinnati’s best courses. Better roll than at Kendale, while not as drastic as Hyde Park or Maketewah. The problem, for a while, has been that this land was covered in trees, the most telltale sign of penal architecture during the “dark ages” of design. Historic aerials, however, indicate that these trees were not there when Wilson’s design debuted. As one of my hosts explained (and I can personally confirm), one can now play a terrible round at Coldstream and still not lose a ball. If Wilson’s original design came sans-trees, was he so penal? Sure, his go-to green shape both here and at NCR — much longer than wide, with deep bunkers at the gates — are, but for the most Seve of saves, seriously accessible from only one area of the fairway. This isn’t so much "penal" as a more black-and-white form of strategic golf. That said, there are only so many way to slice the meats on Wilson’s subway sandwich greens; 12 of 18 greens are significantly longer than wide, and any course is better for hosting a few. However there's good reason why Macdonald's collection of templates generally favors greens of girth, with a Biarritz here and there: Wider greens expand both the opportunity for a ground game and a broader range of internal contours. Although landing in the fairway should guarantee no one a birdie putt, I do posit that players should be able to set themselves up for a fearsome putt should they so desire. Coldstream offers much lower odds of procuring any sort of GIR, even the dangerous kind, due to the skinny, angular natures of its putting surfaces. Architecture wonks more "championship"-oriented than myself — think the Mark Whites of the world — may indeed prefer Coldstream for this very reason. This style of green works splendidly for a few holes, of course. The 75-yard swing in distance from front pin to back at No. 10 creates scenarios where a wizened member might aim to land on the green on the second, third, or even fourth shot based on that day’s pin. For the most part, however, for the work Foster put into these putting surfaces, they deserve more ways to access them. The architect, celebrated for his Tillinghast green restorations, has gotten creative here. Early in the round, at the more traditionally-shaped No. 2 green, an internal micro-mound of Maxwellian nature appears at the center of the par three, emphasizing the irrelevance of GIR if the prime location is not found. Similar internal putting hazards are found throughout the round at Coldstream, even on the longer greens discussed so warily above. Even off the green, such as greenside right at No. 4, Foster trimmed the rough down to fairway height to allow an existing mound to serve as the chief hazard during chip shots, and not thick grass. Foster’s other contributions shine. Notably, the feathered edges of the bunkers are a vision entirely of his own (they don’t exist in ‘60s aerials of the club), and one that suits the eye quite well during 2022. The fairway bunker at No. 15, an idea originated by Foster, works together with the broader green style (which I pined for above) and makes it one of the better holes at Coldstream. Heck, as much as I complain about length-versus-width, a look at the old aerials makes it obvious that Foster’s are larger than Wilson initially intended, and for the better. Nos. 9, 16, 17 benefit more for Foster’s vision. And the tree removal? A sketch in the clubhouse reflects that Wilson had planned on a significant dose of foliage in Coldstream’s future. Was Dick Wilson a great architect? The renovation at Coldstream, ironically, seems to have proven that the answer is no…not quite. Keith Foster, however, has managed to make the course worthy of consideration, even when working loosely within the mold set by Wilson. There’s a tendency to tip the cap at the restorer during projects like this, while more fully celebrating the original's designer (see Moraine, above). Neal Peart was a considerably better drummer than John Rutsey, however, and Coldstream is arguably at its critical peak in this case because of the guy who came later.

Herpetophobes typically reserve their ill-will for snakes, but the lengthy staircase from the No. 6 green at Hyde Park to the No. 7 tee will probably cause some recoil; dozens of small lizards went scurrying from their sunspots as I trudged upward. The Italian Wall Lizard is not a native species, as it was introduced as a garden decoration by some uppity East Sider half a century ago. The silly experiment in outdoor decor took root — creating perhaps the densest population of any Ohio reptile species in the state — on the East Side of Cincinnati (I, raised on the more blue-collar West Side, have never seen one over there). It’s not the only ecological oddball at Hyde Park. Zoysia. There may have, by this point, been some other Ohio courses to experiment with the transition-zone turf, but Hyde Park was certainly the first and by far the most prominent; it has tended the grass as fairways since 1981, creating a rather unique playing experience for Buckeye residents more acclimated to cool-season turfs more prevalent across the state. Although maps of the three primary “zones” are hardly uniform, few have the “transition zone” ending much farther north than where I stood as I walked up to the No. 7 tee. Looking at Hyde Park from a critical perspective, it’s tough not to use Maketewah — Cincinnati’s other Donald Ross — as a standard for comparison. It should be noted first that Hyde Park has the more striking terrain, which is taking very little away from the land at Maketewah. A series of what I’d classify as “ravines” traverse this property, which Ross wisely used for varying purposes as his holes encountered them. For example, No. 18 insists that the player carry the crevice if they hope for a GIR on the final hole of the match, while the positioning of the No. 17 tee makes laying up a legitimate option for those who would prefer a long, visible approach versus a shorter, but more blind (and potentially awkward lie) approach from the bottom. Both of these holes feature short grass down in the valley, while next-door No. 12, a stiff par three measuring 225 yards, utterly punishes those who fail to carry either of its two ravines (the descent from the high ground between the two is too steep for maintenance, and so it serves mainly to punish). No. 2 and No. 10 are among the finer holes here, ong par fours that display both Ross’s fondness for dramatic terrain, as well as his preferred putting greens…large and testing. Some of the landscape here left even route-master Ross at a loss, however. The second shot at No. 4 will likely be the most memorable of the day, requiring either two or three additional clubs to reach the putting surface at the property’s peak. I’ve played what M. Ward dubs “Mount Olympus” at Bethpage Black and I believe Hyde Park’s rendition may be taller…at least steeper. It’s memorable, to be sure. Reasonable? To be less sure. To this point, as far as Ross and Ourea were concerned, Hyde Park triumphs over Maketewah, a course this critic saw fit to give a 4.5. That said, I hesitate to award Hyde Park a higher score, rather than acknowledge its more memorable holes as the tiebreaker. My reasoning comes back to Zoysia. As an avid proponent of parkland’s potential, I know that skilled agronomists can make fairways play plenty fast ‘n’ firm, even on Ohio’s clay canvas. This is not a comment on Hyde Park’s grounds crew, but on the limits of the strand at play. My fairway balls sat up at attention on the Zoysia curl…but sat right back down upon landing on approach. That 225-yard par three mentioned above? This weakling’s 3-wood could have used a bit of roll…and I’ll hazard that Ross expected the same when he designed it. Tyler Rae has been contracted to produce a master plan for the club and, considering the relative respect for Ross’s legacy during Tim Liddy’s reign, I don’t know that I expect too much more than bunker aesthetics. However, as Kyle Phillips’s work at Hillcrest has shown, a change of turf is not out of the question for such a plan. Either way, with Maketewah weaponizing Brian Silva for forthcoming work, I’ll enjoy seeing my hometown’s two Rosses embark in an arms race. Ohio golf will be better for it.

During my recent stay at Kiawah Island, I headed over to Mingo Point for the resort’s weekly oyster roast. Although I certainly indulged in some shellfish, I also made sure to grab a few ribs at the buffet. Baby backs are the definitive Ryan Book meal, and I prefer no sauce better than the region’s lowcountry mustard-based condiment. I, however, seemed to be the only other diner of this mindset…the buffet line was near dry of Kansas City’s smoky variety, while the more yellow BBQ sauce jar was still well full. “Tourists,” I, an Ohioan, sniffed self-righteously. The Kansas City sauce was soon restocked because the Resort knew exactly who it was serving. I get an uncomfortable feeling that the resort’s non-Ocean courses were designed with this same perspective. Tom Fazio has never been accused of being easygoing. Some of the nation’s most demanding courses bear his mark. These courses arrive because his employers ask for them. No issue there. Occasionally, I reckon, his employers ask him for a golf course that provides the simulation of playing a monster…while keeping those foursomes moving along at a modest clip. Osprey Point bears no resemblance to Ocean, but its unofficial status as Kiawah’s second course invite expectations from golf tourists that it should offer some level of bite, albeit not quite at the level of its big brother. Osprey was, of course, designed prior to Pete Dye’s standout track. But if we pretend otherwise, Fazio’s done a rather splendid job emulating the masochism players would pay $600 for just down the road, without actually punishing the player. Water lurks everywhere…but generally only on the left side of the hole — only the second shot on No. 16 offers a real threat of wet to the fader/slicer. This leaves nearly 85% of golfers unharmed and confident; the enormous channels of water along the left offer the same level of mental intimidation, and the player leaves quite satisfied with having avoided (most) of them. Happy customers. It’s a good demonstration of logistics, but a relatively thoughtless exercise for the strategically-minded golfer. I quickly learned that hazards to one side of the fairway (nos. 1, 4) don’t necessarily equate with an optimal line into the green. No. 5, a significant dogleg right, features a palm tree planted to deter thoughts of cutting the corner. But why should you? The yardage guide demonstrates the best line into this angled green is actually achieved from the outside of the dogleg, where no hazards lie. It’s almost as if the palm tree serves to discourage players from potentially slicing over the treeline into some (very) pricy real estate, rather than from finding birdie. (Using my foursome as a case study for the average player demographic, the real estate is nonetheless not safe). Ironically, where the most basic of woke golf course activists bemoan water, the forced carries at Osprey Point contribute to several of its best holes. Could the par threes at nos. 3 and 11 operate the same without the marshland stretched from tee-to-green? For the former, maybe, but the view is the best on the course, and Fazio is renowned for his views. It’s an image that brings a smile to the face of the average golfer, and even to the face of this prickly architecture-obsessed codger. For the latter hole, featuring what I believe is the largest green on the course, its alignment along the water allows the conservative player a safer landing area the farther right they aim; that the pin will often be well left of that aiming point is the (Osprey) point. The best par three, and perhaps best hole, is No. 6, which reminds me of NGLA’s No. 2 “Sahara” from its back tee. A slight exaggeration perhaps, but to play directly to the green requires carrying a 200-yard bunker along the left, while the fairway to the right of the green has been shaped into hummocks so to not reward the conservative play from the tee. Although the course punishes the hooker from the tee (sorry, other 15% of golfers), a good draw benefits the best at several of the better holes. The course’s No. 1 handicap needs to show off its water via a carry, of course, to a landing area defined by a centerline bunker. Those who can curve around the hazard get more distance, and those that favor the lakeside will have the shortest approach (while those who aim right of the centerline will need more club for a GIR). Similarly, No. 7 challenges a skilled player with its short distance — 325 yards from the “regular” tees. Unfortunately, even if you carry the large cross bunker on this hole, you’ll never get the run necessary to reach the green. If the resort saw fit to stock its fairways with a grass strain that runs, rather than the bloody Seashore Paspalum, there might be some fun to be had. If you had ants in your condo’s kitchen, you could peel up a swatch from the course and find them stuck there in the morning. But, to the theme, grass that runs would result in more balls running into bunkers, and more delays, and less-satisfied customers. I should clarify that, although this review has leaned particularly negative, Osprey Point is better than the average Ohio public. . Unfortunately, there are certain things I expect from a $275 tee time (the same I paid at Bandon earlier this year), but they are very different things than what the average Kiawah guest expects. Much like how different dinner guests expect different BBQ sauces, to suit their own vision for the task ahead. If I’m being honest, the smoky sauce at Mingo Point was also delicious (I tried both).

There are, occasionally, instances in which it’s worthwhile to get straight to the point rather than dilly-dally with some obscure metaphor, a method this writer has been known to abuse on the pages of Top100. Although relatively green to the world’s great golf clubs, I like to think that I’ve tapped a ball around enough to know a solid putting surface when I poke one. Yeamans Hall, to this point, possesses the finest set of greens that I’ve yet to play. As someone who holds particular fondness for Tillinghast and Ross, this pains me somewhat to say. The architect makes his intentions known immediately out of the gate. The Double Plateau par four is, in fact, the largest and most wobbly putting surface on the course. It’s a shock to the system, much like the first sip of sweet tea this northerner took when stopping at Bojangles on the drive down. “We do things a little differently here,” the delicious beverage said to my overactive imagination. “You’re going to need to take a few more units of insulin than you would when drinking Yankee sweet tea.” Similarly, a second look at Yeamans’ greens would do well for those looking to limit the amount of medicine they’ll need to take throughout the round. The drink benefits from maximal sugar, and the greens benefit from maximal scope. Among the highlights are, as is frequently the case with Raynor, the short holes. The Short (No. 3) receives much of the praise due to its location ahead of a scenic salt marsh; remember that alligator attacks are shockingly infrequent…the truly dangerous maw here is the thumbprint, which slurps in many tee shots, and converts GIRs to bogeys. You’ve heard the hype about Redans, and No. 6 lives up (no reptile metaphor here, but a true anecdote: I’m looking for an outlaw country songwriter to pen “Snapping Turtle on A Redan Green”). The Eden lacks a true Strath bunker, but succeeds nonetheless thanks to its sheer scale. Finally, I managed to enjoy even the Biarritz, the template I’ve dismissed most frequently. Only the second tier is cut to green height (as Macdonald intended) and was quite higher than the foremost tier. I haven’t played enough of these holes to know how regular this tendency is, but perhaps I’m in need of further education. Ironic, then, that my favorite hole has one of the less-exciting putting surfaces at the course. No. 14, Knoll, features a natural valley (rare in these parts) separating its fairway from the green. A misplaced approach hobbles all but the best up-and-downers. Some smaller movements in the earth also make No. 8 “Creek” a highlight, if not a template. The first-time player (your correspondent) will attempt to run his approach up into this lengthy green, rather than land and stop for a front pin. Your eyes, again hypnotized by a salt marsh backdrop, may land it short in an area blinded by slope, and fall victim to a redirectional bounce from the bumpy terrain, unexpected in low country. The land, I have heard, is what separates Yeamans Hall from the Country Club of Charleston, another Raynor sitting in the relative neighborhood. However, for what Coastal Carolina offers in terms of delicious dinner fare, iced tea and reptilian fauna (a good thing), the terrain leaves something to be desired. Raynor occasionally seems to be working to overcome it, such as the bunkers and humps scattered across No. 5…hazards doing work the land cannot. It’s an Alps…an ironic template on the course’s flattest land. Yeamans Hall is a celebration of width and angles…this weekend’s broadcast ably demonstrated that the patron saint of width and angles — The Old Course — provides an additional test with its crumpled palette, even if it lacks Sandwich-scope dunes. The looseleaf sheet that Raynor drew Yeamans Hall upon remains without wrinkles; the breadth of its altitude changes increase its predictability. Perhaps more so than any other factor, the importance of a large, nuanced green has topped 21st Century trends in golf course architecture, and has backboned the majority of Golden Age restorations. If any course deserves conversation for being among the world’s Top 100 based on its greens alone, Yeamans Hall must be near the top. But does it truly deserve such recognition, as GOLF Magazine recently suggested? No. Raynor’s work, and Jim Urbina’s continued work, have made the most of this low-country parcel, and it’s well-worth the time. The holes at Yeamans Hall feature beautiful faces, but a body to match would help. Perhaps Raynor’s more celebrated Long Island designs can deliver. I’ve tried to be more direct with the moral this time around, but in case you missed it: Yeamans Hall features the best greens I’ve ever putted. But have I converted from the Chvrch of Tillinghast? Not yet.

In my imaginary scenario, Barry Serafin — hip to the technology of the age — received a topographical map for property just south of Millersburg, Ohio in his inbox at the turn of the 21st Century. “Can u build a course here?” asked a separate instant message. “LOL OK” he replied, and so was born Black Diamond. That anecdote stemmed directly from my reaction, standing upon the No. 12 tee at what clearly deserved its status as the course’s top handicap. A 420-yard par four, doglegging right around a steep slope and treeline, with a lake following it all the way up the left side. The fairway separating the two hazards was perhaps 80 feet (not yards). It should be noted, however, that anyone opting to land on the left side of this fairway will have their approach angle blocked by a tree at the outside of the dogleg. “LOL, OK,” I said to the groundhog (one of many at Black Diamond) watching me from the lakeside. Fortunately, my strategy paid off; by playing my draw off the side of the hill, I managed to dampen its momentum just enough to settle on the fairway without getting stuck in an awkward lie on the hill’s second cut. Such is life at Black Diamond, and little of it is any fault of Serafin. This Appalachian corner of Ohio left little sensible land for golf, and left Serafin little sensible option aside from designing anything but a “target golf” showcase. Granted, to reach those targets means thinking outside of the box. Aiming for the right rough was an unusually common theme throughout my round. Twice — nos. 3 and 14 — I missed that target and landed directly on the right side of the fairway, a sin that resulted in my ball following the contours of the land at full-speed, and ending up in an awkward place along the left rough, or in the woods ever farther left. As an armchair architect, I immediately began to offer counter-proposals to no one in particular. Could Serafin have cleared more trees along the sides of the hole and created wider landing areas? No; a topographical map revealed that forest hid nothing but extremity…aggressive slopes and deep ravines. The rough I had been utilizing from the tee was in fact “the play.” Although I may gripe about my awkward lies stemming from seemingly reasonable tee shots, the true victims — and the truest definition of “target golf” — lied in the approaches. Serafin’s hands were tied once again; the average green features steep, roughed grass rolling down to the putting surface on one side, and steeply away from the green on the other. Considering that Black Diamond seems to draw a significant portion of its revenue from bachelor parties and other events at its on-property cabin, I can only imagine the slaughter as the twice-a-year golfer tries to get down from one side, only to be forced to come back from the other. The local groundhogs would do well to sell their gathered Maxflis for a few bucks at the turn. Here’s a spot where both strategy and mercy could be introduced: If the grass side running down to the green were maintained at a reasonably-short height, it could be used to bring balls back down to the putting surface after a high loft, much as I had attempted with my screaming eagle (screaming eagles, the actual bird, seen during trip to Millersburg: one) drive on No. 12. The problem, of course, is that Black Diamond likely doesn’t have the funds to invest in such a capable piece of mowing equipment. The creation of such a course probably stemmed from Virtues Golf Club (formerly Longaberger), which had opened to acclaim from national publications just a year earlier. Although that course also sits in a region of significant hills, it also flattens out just long enough for Arthur Hills’s bombs-away bravado holes to be deceptively strategic and fair. Serafin simply didn’t have the room to recreate those safety features here. He doesn’t get a total free pass, however. You can’t avoid par fives in golf course design, but you can limit them when designing courses destined for high handicappers, understanding that few things exact pain from a poor golfer more than a hole stretching farther than 525 yards. It’s an absolute routing travesty that Serafin opted for a 720-yard par six at No. 7. At a course with five par threes, one easily could have disappeared to allow for two par fours on what is ironically the flattest and widest stretch of the property. The kitsch of a “par six” is enough to make even the dignified Doak write “LOL OK” as a “Confidential Guide” entry. Does Black Diamond merit much consideration from a Golf Course Architecture hobbyist traveling around Ohio? I’d reckon not, and — located in the most Amish-dense county in the United States — I don’t foresee much future for the tweaks suggested above. There is charm to be had in its spectacle, however and, as hinted throughout this piece, in its fauna. I texted a video of one said groundhog to my wife, with a voiceover for my son. Her reply: “LOL.” Black Diamond’s golfing pleasures are for those who waste less brainpower analyzing them.

Mayfield Country Club had two relatively obscure Englishmen at the wheel when the course was first laid out. Although the sentiments of Golden Age architecture that spread across the United States and indeed Cleveland — Ross, Flynn, Thompson, Alison and Tillinghast all stopped by — ultimately for the betterment of the design game as we know it, it did come at a cost, as the Victorian quirk of the old world more often went by the wayside, less accusations of “luck” emerge. Way and Barker didn’t have quite the credentials as the men listed above, and the land at Mayfield isn’t quite as suited for championship golf…thank goodness. Cleveland’s golf scene is better for it. Consider the second tee shot on both counts. Calling for a 200-yard club up and over the crest of a hill, the majority of the Golden Age royalty would have frowned, or at least raised an eyebrow at such wholesale blindness. The likes of Way (who takes the lion’s share of the credit) may not have “known better,” or he may have realized the land simply didn’t give him a choice. Clear the crest and hope for the best as your ball will catch some groove or another; the most thrilling portions of the Mayfield property bear some resemblance to the bubbling landforms at Moraine, glacially-adjusted (if not so sandy) — be sure to look back at your path once you’ve reached the green. This landscape guarantees nothing from a straight tee shot, leaving a variety of lies, and here’s where the “marmite” argument comes in: “Unfair” some will cry, perhaps reasonably. “Excellent” others will opine, just as reasonably. (The rest will make their opinion based on their final lie). As for the routing, Way began his career as the professional at Royal North Devon, a course notorious for the seemingly directionless views it provides first-timers (based on the profiles of Keith Baxter and Bill Branch, there’s something funky in Westward Ho!’s water supply). Mayfield’s blind tee shots probably seemed relatively obvious to its primary attendant. This course, in your correspondent’s opinion, benefits from such shots, being that it offers a character rarely experienced at the region’s best (even Canterbury’s blind shots don’t offer quite the Victorian ambiance that Mayfield does). That said, relying on “quirk” as a calling card rarely results in perfection. I’d compare it to the discography of the psychedelic folkie Donovan…although I genuinely enjoy perhaps 66 percent of his wonky tunes, the other third don’t quite work for me. Likewise, after two quite favorable experiences with such extreme tee shots (No. 9 is superior to even No. 2), the third (No. 15) seems like overkill. It doesn’t help that at this point the player is simply hitting up to a flat fairway, without the kid-at-Christmas “what lie did I get?” suspense to look forward to. (It should be noted, both metaphorically with relation to Mayfield’s oddest shots and in a strictly literal sense, that some people will hate all of Donovan’s music. I’d start with “I Love My Shirt.”)Similarly, No. 11 is a flavor of marmite that will appeal to some critics, if not this one. A par five, those playing driver are likely to end up in a deep valley separating two hills. Although it’s fairway all the way through, the next shot will be over the second elevated area, which gives way to another descent down to the green. How does one measure the appropriate amount of topsy-turvy? Generally by gut, and this sea snake left your correspondent a tad seasick, considering that one may face multiple shots with no visible target. Mayfield is more than landscape, however. Despite Doak’s notes (seen above) about no proper restoration having ever occurred, the greens here are sized well and generally strong (the short par four No. 7 is the obvious best-of-class). The crew keeps many of the putting surface entrances cut in a severe, squared-off line…an aesthetic touch one expects at the Chicago Golf Clubs of the world, lending a classy vibe here. If a renovation / restoration were to occur, one would guess that adding some more personality to the bunkers would be top-of-the-list. Old aerials show some signs of Emmet’s influence, likely due to Barker having been head pro at Garden City (prior to Walter Travis becoming involved). The cubist take might be nice, considering the aforementioned entryways to these greens.My final rating teeters at 4.5, requiring one strong push from this analyst, who values an exciting plot of land more than most. Those less geocentric than I will have no problem marking it down for less, as the second half of the course just doesn’t pack the same mustard as a front nine, which — to be fair — possesses zero weak holes. The land settles a bit on the back nine, and Way may have lost his way a bit when the land didn’t aid in invigorating. But would Ross or Flynn have done better with the plot? Perhaps at its flatter portions, but it’s possible that they would have simply walked away when looking at its most drastic terrain. Way, not coincidentally, harnessed those moments into Mayfield’s finest.

Bill Coore, in particular, has been hailed as a prime router of golf courses, the skill of not only fitting 18 holes into a particular piece of property but also identifying the path that will expose players to the best of the land’s traits while also playing a round of 18 holes. The latter is often the more difficult task — most are familiar with how many “holes” Coore and Ben Crenshaw found at Sand Hills before narrowing it down to 18. This challenge has led many to consider Bandon Trails as the resort’s best routing, as it wanders Bandon’s largest footprint. Alas, Sheep Ranch came down to the former point, which was finding a way to fit 18 holes on the property’s smallest parcel. Of course, it’s not as if the celebrated design duo simply committed an act of freeway golf; far from it. There are world-class holes to be found among the dunesland on the other side of Whiskey Run. No. 14, I daresay, captures the Victorian quirk of ye olde links better than any other hole at the resort. The greatest tip my caddie provided during our 36-hole jaunt was an aiming point off this tee. The strategy is similar to a hog’s back hole, except in this instance one can’t expect to stay atop the boar, but rather land on the correct side of his spine (the correct side is also “right”). Few will have a perfect shot into the green — blind, at an angled lie, or both — and golf is better for such holes. No. 18 might register some complaints from golfers stronger than I, being a par five just 464 yards from the back tee. The lack of space left no doubt played a key role in its design but, to shamelessly draw from current NBA going-ons, it defies its genetic inheritance and dunks like Ja Morant. Uphill, that 464 won’t cough-up an easy eagle to the big hitters but will also tempt the meeker (me) to aim for that same score. Remove yourself from the strokeplay mindset for a minute and play a one-hole match for full enjoyment. Both No. 6 and No. 16 are further highlights, emphasizing perhaps the strongest selling point for those who claim Sheep Ranch as their favorite course at Bandon: views. Featuring eight holes that I would define as “on the coast” (compare to five at Pacific, or six at the original), and one can reportedly see for quite a span from Fivemile Point (I can’t remember the exact distance). If you manage to visit when the gorse is in bloom, the cape-style teeshot on No. 6 will drop jaws and water eyes. Views and infinity greens with ocean backdrops sell. I may be a devotee of underground music, but “what sells” may have been oversold at Sheep Ranch. Although different in terms of greens and length, every par three is ultimately an infinity, backed by the ocean. When these holes are positioned 3-5-7 during the round, three would-be showpieces on any other course end up salt-watered down. An inland short would have added some savory to counter the sweetness. One divergence from the norm that Sheep Ranch embraces is a lack of sand bunkers, relying instead on grass hollows, kept at a higher cut than the surrounding fairways. Bunkers are, inherently, an unnatural feature when playing golf on nearly 90% of planet Earth, yet I’ve yet to hear a complaint about Donald Ross dotting Ohio with them. The total lack of sand hazards at Sheep Ranch, on other hand, seems almost more unnatural considering the surrounds. A boon to playability, certainly, but I don’t recall Sheep Ranch being billed as “the beginner’s Bandon course.” I praised links “quirk” earlier but my raised eyebrow suggests this is more “kitsch.” Similarly, the No. 12 “Volcano” par five offers a healthy serving of marmite, playing up numerous clubs to a nook scraped from the area where sand was harvested for other areas at the resort. An oddity that will appeal to some, but not your correspondent. At the same time, the hole was almost inevitable, in order to add another par five to the relatively cramped tract. The good news for those who pursue a round at Sheep Ranch is that context is required when reading my comments, and other reviews that appear dismissive. The context being that there are arguably four potentially World Top 100 courses located just south along the coast, akin to running track at Oregon State when your siblings ran for Oregon). Sheep Ranch shares the same blessed sandy base, and plays accordingly. If it sat two hours up the coast, the positive comments would flow more readily, with fewer asterisks. At 6,636, Sheep Ranch is a few yards longer than Pacific Dunes, but operates on a much smaller parcel. It might have been overkill to give Doak one more byline at Bandon, but his forthcoming Sedge Valley concept at Sand Valley, or something like it, might have sat better on this linksland, and given its architects more flexibility in crafting it.

Bandon Dunes, as you have been told seven-million times, is a marvelous success because it’s built upon the sandy linksland soil of southern Oregon. You are perhaps less likely to have heard that Bandon Dunes (the resort itself, versus just the course) is built on wealth Mike Keiser accumulated by selling greeting cards and, for a short while, children’s books. The game-changer for Bandon Dunes may have been the hiring of the unheralded David McLay-Kidd, but the game-changer for Recycled Paper Greetings was the hiring of unheralded artist Sandra Boynton, whose plump, hapless characters caught the eyes and hearts of Americans, blowing the companies earnings through its then relatively-low Chicago roof. The Boynton book best-suited, in your correspondent’s opinion, for describing the original course at Bandon is ‘Blue Hat, Green Hat (The Oops Books).’ Seemingly simple concepts, such as shirts and pants, prove tricky for an adorable turkey. For myself, the seemingly simple short-game shenanigans that I had been practicing for weeks in good ol’ parkland-turf Ohio were suddenly baffling. I had become the turkey. “Oops” (or crasser verbiage) will be repeated throughout the round, because the misses are smaller and more frequent. The term “true links” gets thrown around quite a bit and, as with any adjective used when describing golf courses, the question is eventually begged: Which course is “more true”? Which of course hinges on how you envision the links “experience,” versus simply the requirements of being links? I myself appreciate Tom Watson’s reported enthusiasm at finding a strange lie, and the problem solving required to get out of it. In this regard, Bandon Dunes provides, again in your correspondent’s opinion, the links experience he has always envisioned. “Oops” is a mistake but, as the reading demographic of Boynton’s books should be taught, we all “oops” and salvation is always a possibility, especially in a links arena. Consider the fairway at the par five No. 13, the fairway a veritable hippopotamus graveyard (Boynton’s signature animal). It’s not enough to hit the ball from tee to target, or from landing area to the next target…it’s the understanding that the similar shot will create a different result based on minute variance, the results of which are exaggerated by the scope of the sandy terrain. Every shot could be an “oops,” but you won’t know until you get there. In another example, a playing partner suggested I may have a tap-in for birdie at No. 6, a par three. I did not. At some point, the trajectory of the shot caught the wrong groove and poured down the hill on the right into a waste area. It would be my worst hole of the day, relative to par (I share neither Watson’s optimism nor his short game, although I recognize the value in both). It’s poor practice to follow up acknowledgements of weakness in one’s own game with critiques that seem to be suited to one’s own game, but here goes: Many holes at the original course feature significant drop-offs around the putting surfaces that make it — of the four courses at the resort I’ve played thus far — the trickiest for mid to high handicappers. To be fair, those who would rather play from deep shortgrass than bunkers of any depth will find Pacific to be more penal than its older sister. However it’s also my opinion that Pacific offers an easier bogey for those who choose to pursue it. I only offer the Pacific comparison because eventually someone will notice that it’s the only course I’ve given a six-ball, and (spoiler alert) I’ve only given the original course a 5.5. Perhaps the biggest reason is that variety in design is pronounced more so across Pacific than Bandon, particularly in the placement and distances of the short holes. Where McLay-Kidd deserves credit over Doak (don’t think it’s a competition between the pair? If Doak wanted to keep things strictly professional, he wouldn’t have given McLay-Kidd the only “zero” in Confidential Guide history) is the outright boldness, bordering on Strantz, across several of the holes here. Nos. 10, 16 and 17 are the showcases for this trait, which are both eye-catching and effective. It speaks to fans of Cruden Bay-style links more so than Muirfield-style (that Old Tom gets some credit for both is relevant). Interestingly, I don’t know that anyone has ever professed to me that Bandon Dunes is their favorite of the five courses at the resort. It’s a bit of a ‘But Not The Hippopotamus’ situation, in keeping with the Boynton theme. This is somewhat surprising, as I truly believe that each of the five courses carries something that speaks to different tastes among different golfers, and if rough-and-tumble linksland of old speaks to you, then the original course and all its gorse (couldn’t help but inserting a rhyme after all this children’s book talk) may be the links for you. Just remember that “oops” is inevitable…your challenge in recovering is finding the shot that rhymes with your opening line. Watson was better at it than most.

Standing at the tee for No. 16 on the Ghost Creek course at Pumpkin Ridge, I only briefly searched my mind for what hole this short par three, surrounded by a pearl necklace of bunkers, resembled. Measuring 23 yards long by 18 wide, the tightness of the target justified the short distance (133 yards from the tips). I quickly realized I had seen similar holes at Donald Ross and Tillinghast courses across the country, in restoration before-and-afters, reflecting how the once monumental greens had shrunk for decades, and how the restoring architect brought the putting surfaces back out to the edges of the hazards, establishing that points were to be scored not merely by hitting the green, but by hitting the proper spot on the green. The difference here is that Bob Cupp intended No. 16’s raisin green from the get-go. The Ghost Creek course reflects the era during which it was designed, where penalists punished players and reaped income. Tactics such as placing bunkers on both sides of the fairway 170 yards out (but not 250 yards out) to whip high-handicappers (see No. 2). Or putting a grove of trees inside the dogleg to help the powerful get closer and the weak get farther away (see No. 12). Where the closing hole obviously needed to be a long par four with a pond hugging the last 100 yards and, if you were lucky, No. 9 would get the same treatment (see respective holes here). But I’d be remiss if I didn’t keep my eyes out for signs of revival. Such happened at No. 7, the top handicap hole. I had already enjoyed the tee shot, where a player could challenge the three large fairway bunkers with a draw off the tee, or bail out by bee-lining over the first bunker toward the wide right side of the fairway (at the cost of a longer approach). Two bunkers pinch the fairway about 25 yards out from the green, and I cleared them with an iron, watching the ball roll on in regulation. I bring this up to stroke my own ego but also, perhaps just as importantly, because I later looked at the yardage guide and noted that the turf behind the bunkers was recently second cut. Cupp had not intended the classic strategy that I saw and played; he intended the player to make a full carry to the green and stop it there. Pumpkin Ridge, however, has converted it to fairway. The bunkers create a visual deception that the hazard is much nearer to the green than it is, prompting the less confident player to over-club, when the opportunity exists to play a more ground-focused game. The long story short: A heavy-handed redesign wasn’t necessary. It just took a bit of creative mowing around Cupp’s existing design. Likewise, holes such as the aforementioned nos. 2, 12 and 16 don’t require Gil Hanse’s brain or budget to fix (you’re on your own for Nos. 9 and 18). The club has put considerable time and income into maintaining the property to the prim standards that courses of the Nicklaus and Fazio design trees tend to be hired for…a little bit of extra cash thrown at a Dan Hixson or a Jackson-Kahn could go quite some distance. In fact, improvements to Nos. 2, 12 and 16 would be less of a “fix” and more of a “step toward being truly impressive.”Thus far I’ve rapped Cupp’s knuckles but to be fair, the client is always right and — as with many other architects of his generation — Cupp’s designs that haven’t aged well don’t stem from he being a clod, but perhaps being too timid to suggest going against the then-problematic grain. There are moments within the sometimes-adventurous tenets of his era where Cupp’s designs click quite well during a round at Ghost Creek. No. 17, a short par, offers a range of realistic options off the tee. Go for the green and risk a creek and pond. Carry the creek (230) for a short, easy angle into the green. Lay up short of the creek and face a longer approach at a good angle. Lay up long and right for a shorter, more awkward angle in. All options have risks, costs, or both. That’s great design. No. 6 applies the same principles to an inherently penal-era hole: Challenge the creek down the right for the best angle to the green. Challenge the bunkers on the left for a shorter approach. Or go right for the middle of the fairway, avoiding punishment but also avoiding any definitive scoring benefit. It will be interesting to watch both courses at Pumpkin Ridge over the next few years. Tree-clearing has been ongoing along the back stretch of the Ghost Creek property, and an immaculate set of new back tees caught the eye throughout the round; it turns out the upcoming LIV event will be a hybrid 18 of the Ghost Creek and Witch Hollow courses. Granted, that tour’s schedule does not reflect particular interest in courses showcasing strategic design (nor has Greg Norman been particularly avid for it in his role as a designer). But should the tour make a return visit to Pumpkin Ridge, money will follow. Whether that goes to further improvements or doubled-down Tour-ification (which I’ll define as “summing up the major trends in course design during the second half of the 20th Century”) remains to be seen. The former could bode well for Ghost Creek.

John Chapman’s legacy, if he had his choice, would probably have been his role as a missionary, spreading his Christian ideals across the American Midwest, with particular success amid the Native Americans due to his naturalist tendencies. Alas, America being a land of production, Chapman would become known as “Johnny Appleseed” for the number of tree nurseries he founded. The moniker stemmed from his introduction of apple trees to the region, and the moniker for the Apple Valley region, which hosts the public course of the same name. Apple Valley Golf Course should be considered in correlation with Chapman’s legacy in two parts, the first being his core mission. Apple Valley exists well outside of Ohio’s major city centers, requiring an hour drive from north Columbus (maybe a little shorter from Mansfield). Although the course benefits from a community that caters to agriculture and Summer tourism (Apple Valley Lake is an idyllic Summer getaway), word of the course’s muddy-gem status draws curious hackers (including your correspondent) from Columbus and Cleveland, and those rarely leave disappointed. Apple Valley presents humble enjoyment, the kind that such a pleasant piece of rolling property is bound to provide, actual course design be damned. It’s the kind of barefoot pleasure that Chapman, a denier of earthly wealth, preached. (Don’t try to play barefoot. Management isn’t THAT easygoing). Some of the features at Apple Valley’s most distinctive holes manage to hide suspect architectural choices. No. 4 features a deep, railroad-tie supported bunker along its green. No. 8 has a natural valley that defends that entirety of the hole’s right side, becoming deepest ahead of the angled green. A pond provides the green’s defense at the short par four No. 11. What do all of these holes, slight doglegs, have in common? The best line of approach is from the outside of the dogleg, and all the hazards are on the inside of the dogleg. As Swedish guitarist Skwisgar Skwigelf once said: “Looks cool but does not reflects on us very wells.” These strategic errors, fortunately, are simple ones, which could greatly improve the course with a simple renovation, and not a dramatic redesign. Likewise, several holes are hampered by trees; although I doubt we can expect the forested corridors of Nos. 9 and 10 to be scaled back anytime soon, removing a few trees at the corner of No. 17 — perhaps the strategic highlight of the course — would enhance its purpose. A wide green makes a different tee shot preferred from day-to-day, with fairway hazards on both ends. A skilled player will execute a switchback strategy while the conservative player will aim for the middle of the fairway and make do. Unfortunately, the trees along the right hamper this design (almost forgot…Chapman’s second legacy, referenced above, is the introduction of dogfennel, a noxious weed, to the region). These complaints are the kind a golfer would expect from such a greens fee, and can forgive. There are moments of splendor that this cynical critic wouldn’t dare touch, however. The course’s signature hole is the par three at No. 5, which maxes out at 140 yards. A long green, angled front-right to back-left with a pond along the left side, the hole is short enough to justify the penal hazard but offers differing challenges depending on pin placement. The back pin will require, for most, a confident full swing of a wedge. The front requires something even scarier…a confident, non-full swing of the wedge. This review is somewhat unfair in that it has tended to linger on the whimsical “could be” versus the valuable “is.” Apple Valley is an excellent asset, worth heading to at least once for those who don’t mind a minute (pronounced “my-noot” in this instance) commute. It fulfills a role that Chapman would have appreciated, at least in principle, by bringing a quality rendition of the great game to those outside the urban scope. At this, Apple Valley succeeds. After all, it’s tough to raise a world-beater in such an environment without Keiser money. That said, one can’t help but wonder if a team such as King-Collins (Sweetens Cove) or Colton-Ross (Park Mammoth) might be able to elevate this isolated public course to a new level. Introducing such extravagance might defy Chapman’s sermon’s of simplicity. But I’m willing to look the other way.

There are stories of great putts and then, for the rest of us, there are tales of great two-putts. Although I would prefer it that my greatest two-putt had occurred during my Bandon trip or perhaps at the tilted ice-skating rinks that were Sunnehanna, this past weekend saw a brilliant par from the very back of the green at Sugar Bush Golf Club’s final par three, an 180-yard, downhill hole with a putting surface that almost mirrored the descent from tee-to-green, heading from front-to-back at an angle that created an isosceles triangle; I named the two putts “Menzel” and “Chenoweth,” respectively, for the way they defied gravity and lagged Wicked-ly. I exaggerate, but only slightly. Greens like the ones at Sugar Bush draw an interesting contrast between the characters of a “difficult” green. Had my playing partners, locals who frequented the course, driven a few hours south to Muirfield Village, they would suffer mightily. But, I would reckon that they would ultimately out-putt Jon Rahm if he came by their home course. I may be doing Rahm’s putter a disservice. But just maybe. My playing partners possess something that I, a competent putter, did not: the acceptance that one does not come to Sugar Bush with the expectation of birdies. Or a 36-putt day. One simply comes to golf, and the rates acknowledge this reality. Such rates frequently allude to the quality of golf one should expect as well and this isn’t necessarily the case here. The greens moved quickly...far beyond what I would have expected at Minerva Park, a similar mom-and-pop establishment that served as my home when I returned to Ohio during 2014. It’s a mixed blessing when considering the greens described above. “Randy,” one of my group — having learned my interest in the finer points of golf course analysis — was sure to point out sinister pin positions as we progressed through the round. No. 10, an 185-yard par three, plays well over a pond to a green well above the water, but with a shaved apron running all the way down. As the pin was at the front, he advised that I miss in the rough either right or left; stopping below the pin without coming back was too high-risk a shot, and missing farther than 10 feet past could mean a near-miss putt that would roll 40 feet back to the water. I was fortunate that day the super skipped on alleged pins that, as “Randy” demonstrated, sat on slopes too severe to hold anything not in the hole. This is all to give myself an excuse for as many three-putts as I turned in that day. There’s the glimmer of potential at Sugar Bush. I recently wrote a post regarding whether some experimental club would create putting surfaces of true Sitwellian proportions, with the intent to maintain green speeds slow enough to make them tenable. I have doubts; we as a golfing culture — at least in the United States — have too eagerly embraced the idea of green speed as a symbol of status, and the greens that such speeds require. Sugar Bush is hardly as Lovecraftian as MacKenzie’s infamous Sitwell green but I reckon they demand something in the neighborhood of 8 to putt properly. I’d say they’re at 10 currently...impressive that the club makes such an effort, but also too much of a good thing. The putting surfaces reeled in, and some trees removed (as is usually the case with courses of this ilk), and the impressive landscape at Sugar Bush will glow forth. No. 11, one of several short par fours on the property, is the peak of the potential I describe due to its lack of trees and its relatively reasonable green. A blind drive from the back tee over the fairway’s crest, before riding down a remnant of glacial movement similar to those found at many of the region’s best courses. A centerline bunker sits ahead of the green, creating an intimidating view for those pitching back up to the green after taking too much club from the tee. The tee shot at No. 18 may not quite be as high as that at Donald Ross’s Denison, near Columbus, but it’s worth a comparison. The clearing of trees would open up views across the entire course from this point, as well as from the nearby No. 5 tee. A clever renovating architect, with a reasonable budget, could turn this into a public of cult appeal. But of course the course already has such cult loyalty among nearby residents. A Columbus-type such as myself suggesting renovation might prompt an invitation to quit reading putts and start reading their third finger instead.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say either A.W. Tillinghast or Pete Dye were the “best” golf course architects, however few have combined oversized personalities with strong design foundations to better effect than this pair, hence why they’re at least my personal favorites. A round earlier in the week, at Bethpage Black, gave a proper reminder at just how “big” Tillie’s personality could be. Sands Point offered a refreshing change of pace and an insight into the mind of a maximalist when faced with conditions not ideal for his mantras. The Sands Point property is small, especially when compared to the wandering acreage of the aforementioned Black. The plot supports the existing 6,800 yard route but further/farther expansion won’t be possible anytime soon. I frequently think about Donald Ross’s numerous Rhode Island clubs when it comes to fitting a worthwhile “championship” course into a tight parcel...does Tillinghast have such routing talents? Sands Point suggests that he does, with the architect filling the vast majority of the plot without creating any fear — for this duffer, at least — of ending up on another fairway. My caddie has been employed by the club at two points in his life, and shared how many fewer trees exist now compared to his previous stint. Keith Foster has many celebrated Tillinghast restorations on his résumé and it’s only fair that the same success be acknowledged at Sands Point. There are just a few points where some trimming could be used. Faders may struggle with the oak off the tee at No. 1, and drawers may have the same issue at No. 8; both are long doglegs and wise members may be keen to employ the incorrect fairway to shorten the hole. Management at Sands is between a rock and a hard place, admittedly. We GCA folks are too clever for their own good, especially on a compact property. The subtlety at Sands Point is a break from what one expects from the Tillinghast oeuvre, and not in a negative way. Although the visual appeal of “Great Hazards” and the like frequently finds Tillie affiliated with par fives and long fours, there simply wasn’t room for such extravagance here. But if one is unsatisfied with hazards that include A) the mini-”Great” ahead of the green on the aforementioned No. 8, B) the deep trench around the front of the No. 12 par three, and C) the Raynorian “Corner Pocket” at the front right of No. 15 (among others), perhaps you haven’t earned the right to tackle Tillinghast’s biggest hazards yet. The greens also employ less aggressive movement than other putting surfaces from the architect, which is not to dismiss the danger of their subtle breaks. Although the one-two punch of the par fours at Nos. 3 and 4 may have been my favorite stretch thanks to their differing approaches to flexing muscle, Sands Point is a rare instance where the par threes are the true highlight at a Tillinghast club (as mentioned above, his distinctive longs often steal the show). No. 2 is the only true “Tillie Template,” an example of the short “Tiny Tim” hole. No. 7 is an uphill knock over a valley...No. 12 is the only “short” to break 200 yards (but also has the largest green on the course to provide a landing area), and No. 17 provides a more “table-top” target from 170. If there is anything keeping Sands Point from matching the other Tillinghast championship entries on Long Island, it may — however unfairly — be memorability alone. Black showcases Tillie’s grandest hazards, and the Rockaway Hunting Club happens to sit on the water...a somewhat unfair advantage when analyzing course architecture. It may take a more nitty-gritty GCA appreciator to grasp what’s on display at Sands Point. There are many fine clubs on Long Island...it can be tough to remember all of them. But it would also be a colossal shame to forget a specimen as skilled as Sands Point.

“Going viral” has never been my preferred version of journalism, so I humbly beseech you read the entirety of this post — and maybe a few other of my posts to hopefully confirm some semblance of know-how — before attacking the writer for this review. It contains shocking blasphemy: Bethpage Black, as it stands, deserves better but not in terms of ranking. If anything, the course is far too highly ranked. Rather, it deserves better in terms of iteration. I frequently recommend my friends in the GCA world check out the work of Ryan Farrow, a shaper who does frequent work for Coore & Crenshaw. During 2019, he created telling maps overlaying the Black fairway corridors of the ‘50s over the current setup. A summary of his findings: The average fairway width shrank from 52 yards to 30, and total acreage dedicated to fairways shrank by 60 percent. The final 50 years of the 21st Century is often referred to as the “Dark Ages of GCA” because many architects dedicated attention to “protecting par” rather than creating stimulating architecture. The past few decades have seen dozens of celebrated restorations that brought Rosses, MacRaynors and, yes, Tillinghasts back to prominence. The nickname “Open Doctor” is not used with friendly intent, at least in my conversation circles, when describing Rees Jones. So why does Bethpage Black, realistically the standard-bearer for outdated, penal golf receive a reprieve from critics? I can only reckon that there are too few willing to stick their reputation out and disagree with the Golf Digests and GOLF magazines of the world. Multi-Major hosts tend to inspire cult followings, and frankly Bethpage is making considerably more money by slapping the infamous “WARNING” sign on every piece of merchandise than by selling the legitimacy of its Tillinghast design. At the risk of decapitation, I’ll stick my neck out. Ron Whitten wrote a questionably-reported feature suggesting that Joseph Burbeck was the designer of Black, and not Tillinghast. Truth be told, Rees Jones is the current designer at Black...Tillinghast’s brilliance lies buried in wrist-shattering second cut. Some readers will accuse me of calling for a “softening” of Black, and I would counter that proponents of Golden Age golf course architecture would call it “strategizing.” I wouldn’t dare make it any shorter than its current 6,700 “middle” tees. But I would absolutely restore Tillinghast’s intended fairway widths. Would these offer more birdie opportunities? Absolutely not. But they would offer the wiser/weaker golfer (myself included) the opportunity to at least attempt bogey golf, and the braver among us to suffer for attempting otherwise. You know...in the same way that other strategic masterpieces of Tillinghast’s day and age operated. As it stands, Bethpage Black is the case exemplar of “caveman golf”: Hit shot or die. Repeat. None of the nuance I, as a non-Neanderthal, crave when conversing with a great course. Contrary to beliefs of the dark ages Jones arose from, great golf is not black and white...it is 50 shades of grey, without fetishizing sadism. That I still gave Black this rating reflects just how much faith I have in its potential. Black surely possesses the best part of the Bethpage property (this plot, Mr. Whitten, may be thanks to your beloved Burbeck) and I will throw Jones a bone and acknowledge his recreation of Tillinghast’s monumental bunkers restored an aura difficult to match in these United States. I only wish that he would have seen fit to give the fairways similar thought. I’m the odd bird who doesn’t necessarily take ocean views into consideration when weighing architecture by itself, and because of that I believe that the potential for America’s greatest public course may lie in these hills. As it stands, however, I don’t believe it to be in the Top 10, contrary to what most publications would have you believe. And that is a hill I may die on. Go ahead and throw those stones.

Ranking the West/North route at New Albany Country Club is a difficult one for me, as I’m not convinced it’s the pair I should be rating. The club itself has always sold the West/North as its “championship” route but, considering that the club has never hosted any actual championships of note, this gives me some leeway to determine my own superior route, no? My host suggested that he was inclined to support the North/East collaboration over North/West (German politikers, eager to create clever color-coded nicknames for their coalitions, might call this the “Kanye Offspring” option). I’m inclined to agree. Bad news first. I’ll begin with a short list of things I don’t really appreciate about the North compared to its siblings: A) The first half of holes are not particularly inspiring (the opening par three is actually quite alright). It’s possible that at this point, on my third nine, I was expecting visual stimulation akin to the rest of the club thus far (and, in honesty, much of Jack Nicklaus’s oeuvre). But, to immediately counteract myself, the final stretch on the North crossed my line in terms of blending “interesting” and “dangerous” to create what I presume is the final stretch in club competitions. No. 15 is the nearest thing to a reachable par five at New Albany (although some other yardages appear gettable, my host says the plush maintenance and surrounding creeks keep fairways slow, and par fives three-shots), with the best angle coming from attempting to carry the bunkers at the right of the fairway. Squeezing a tee shot through the narrowed fairway on the left is hardly a risk-free shot, however...so that the player has no chance at the green because it doglegs left around trees is unfortunate. No. 18 would be a fine closing hole if the fairway had a bit more bounce...the position of the creek that cuts ahead of the green can make second shots difficult for even well-placed drives on this long par four. No. 17 receives a similar complaint as the closer, but it’s also my least-favorite Nicklaus trick...the “pillar green,” set atop a stone wall, surrounded by water (the shame is that it’s a fine green, maybe even the best on the property, big and rolling, and able to defend itself from par even without the wide maw of Rose Run). The opening hole on the East is the more clever version of the creek-ahead-of-the-green trick: Playing to the inside of this dogleg right gets a shorter approach shot, while challenging the bunker at the outside of the dogleg gives a longer shot with a better angle into this green, which plays front-left to back-right along the creek. The plaudits continue on the East Side; No. 2 features a much steeper green than most Nicklaus offerings, using slope rather than water to inspire fear. Deep bunkers and angles makes No. 3 a fun par five. The short cape-style hole at No. 6 (361 from the back tees), coupled with a long green, made it a fun twist on the Gauls-to-the-wall version featured at No. 8 on the West nine (which is also a good, and challenging hole). The West Course falls somewhere between the North and East...a tad more Nicklaus quirk than the East (see the par five No. 4, in which Rocky Fork and Sugar Run reach their confluence, crossing the fairway multiple times). If anyone should suggest that I’m simply aquaphobic, consider that I greatly enjoyed the No. 5 par three despite losing two balls during the bout; one to the creek that flows along the front and right of the hole, as well as knocking my second ball over the green from the bunkers at the back (I’m honest, if not good). My appreciation for this hole may speak more to my appreciation for a well-executed uphill par three than anything else. Interestingly, I began this review by wondering whether the West/North was truly the desirable pairing at New Albany, or whether the East should be included instead. It seems that I’ve talked myself into personally favoring the East over both the two courses currently celebrated by Top100! Therefore I must endorse the West/East coalition for Ohio ranking purposes. A bit of drying out would do this parkland estate some good, and further emphasize Nicklaus’s strategic touches. That said, I more fully endorse you just playing all 27 and deciding for yourself, unless you’ve got an invitation to The Golf Club in the afternoon.

As a resident of Ohio’s largest city, I occasionally lapse into undermining the wherewithal of residents in cities of less than 750,000. For example, my hopes driving out to Zanesville Country Club were less “I hope that the original green contours of this Donald Ross design are still evident” and more “I hope that the membership is healthy enough to keep this from becoming a subdivision in the next few years.” Therefore I was pleasantly surprised to find that this design, 90 years later, has not had its putting surfaces reduced to pancakes! Quite the opposite! Although I unfortunately played after an aerification, the 3D nature of these greens reflected what I’ve always assumed to be true of a Ross green (see note below). Among my favorites were the consecutive Nos. 8 and 9. The former, a mid-length par three, is guarded at the front by several bunkers. This makes the back inviting and the constructed punchbowl backboard makes it even more so. This requires a downhill putt however, which makes a par less than guaranteed (my up-and-down after laying up short of the green, while cowardly, made me feel like I knew what I was doing). The following par four, rather long, fortunately featured the pin on an altar in the back-left of the green, a demanding target during a match. (A note...Donald Ross archives at Tufts University includes this Zanesville description, verbatim: “Charles ‘Chick’ Evans was the golf course architect and Donald Ross also collaborated on the project.” This order-of-emphasis on the design is not sourced by Tufts online, but shouldn’t be swept aside. Indeed, Ross had slowed his production down quite a bit by 1931. That said, the noted amateur player Evans only participated in the design of a few courses, and the only 18-hole, solo design to his name has recently closed. If he was the prime architect at Zanesville, which would be his only Ohio project, the wisdom of Ross was well-received and his advice well-heeded). The longer fours and the latter par fives are the highlight. “Joe’s Run” serves as a focal point for Nos. 2 and 4. Technically, you shouldn’t really be bothered by it on the beautiful tee shot during the former; the creek is far to the right and the ideal approach angle means contending with the bunker on the left. The waterway hugs the left side of the doglegged No. 4, however, and is very much a concern for those looking to score. It struck me as a less severe version of the current fourth hole at Inverness (which admittedly did not have a creek to its left until reconstructed by Andrew Green in the past decade). No. 13 is a fun and reachable par five (516 yards), with a blind tee shot over an infinity crest that tumbles down into a welcoming fairway. The second shot will be long if one wants to gun for the green, and complicated by the tall backing wall of a bunker that fronts the green. One must make an ambitious, all-carry shot to reach. Admittedly, this ridge also complicates the view into front pine placements on short third shots. No. 15 may be too short (496 yards) but it surely makes a difference during member tournaments. Aggressively downhill, even a tee shot in the rough may tempt the long hitter to play for two. Joe’s Run fronts the green and may admonish the unwise. No. 17 was my favorite hole: a long par four (443), where the primary defense lay right in the middle of the fairway. A small valley moving from away from the player left-to-right offers a shorter approach to those who can get to its other side. Those who come up short will be left with a blind shot from down in the valley. Some may opt to lay up short from the tee and play for the green in three...especially if their opponent is in bad shape after the first shot. This is not to say that Zanesville is a step back into the preserved Golden Age. I located a historic aerial from the ‘40s and my eyes widened at just HOW good No. 17 had been. The fairway has shrunk, with rough now growing at the strategic point where the far right of the fairway once traced the valley. Trees have appeared and bunkers have disappeared (or lost their shapes and personalities, potentially during a Hurdzan/Serafin project many moons ago). The usual Golden-Age-a-century-later rap sheet. The greens, while still fine specimens in 2021, could use some enlargement. It’s probably wishful thinking to hope that a club like Zanesville will find the money to bring in even a “small-name” renovator, a la Kevin Hargrave at Columbus Country Club. For now, it remains an admirable members’ course. There’s a great architectural heartbeat and, unlike the human body, there will always be the opportunity to cut the cholesterol later as long as it we keep it alive today. Ohioans should not overlook it.

Arnold Palmer has a...vibe, shall we say, when considering his vast portfolio of course design work. It’s always dangerous to generalize, especially with someone who has traveled as far as he, but I like to live dangerously so I’ll go ahead and boil the Palmer approach down to one course (which he ironically did not design, but tweaked to no end as his base of operations): Bay Hill. Metaphorically, this is to say that Palmer could create clever golf holes but, often, the visual appeal of water and the threat of splashdown was either what he sold or what club owners were buying. The Club at Tartan Fields epitomizes Palmer’s Janusian approach. The opening two holes offer the opportunity to end in the red, despite their short distances (just 373 and 385, respectively, from the back tees). The first makes all approach shots a trick, as the shot will be slightly uphill while the green runs away; it’s a technique that some will sniff at but that I do not...I appreciate the number of variables I needed to consider, even if only one shot into the round. No. 2 rewarded my play to the inside of the dogleg with a series of mounds that blocked the view to the green; the more risky play would have been to the large bunker at the elbow, which offered a clear view. Very satisfactory holes, both. No. 3 is not a bad hole; it rewards those who keep the ball on the upper plateau right with an even approach to a very wide, shallow green; those who fall off to the left will not be penalized in terms of angle, but the uphill loft across a creek and bunker barrier will be a much tougher shot. Fair enough; I find this green variety almost as shallow as its shape, but a one-off is no knock. Unfortunately, it appears elsewhere throughout Tartan, and by now Palmer’s thirst for water has reared its soggy head. No. 10 is another short par four (400 from the back) where, theoretically, those who can draw like Albrecht Dürer can get in position to take a nice angle into this green, tilting bottom left-to back right while a creek sits in front. The hole repeats itself at No. 12, but this time with a tree positioned along the left so that the optimal line in is now blocked. Most players who find the fairway will be looking at the portrait view of a pancake, fronted by death. This penal tendency peaks at No. 17, a par three that calls for a shot to take the 90-degree angle into another horizontal green, nearly 50 yards wide yet perhaps 15 deep. It could be seen as the less tactical response to No. 12 at Muirfield Village Golf Club, right across the road. And therein lies the problem, I think. Muirfield Village Country Club was not created as a competitor to the Golf Club, but rather a more affordable, playable version of MVGC for other members of the Muirfield Village community. Tartan Fields attempts to balance the need for both a playable course within its separate development and a “championship” challenge akin to The Memorial’s host. Those familiar with the MVGC know that its employ of water hazards is a design strategy aimed at PGA professionals...more soul-crushing for the casual member. The holes mentioned above, plus the island green at No. 8, are indicative of an era and a mindset. This is not to say that water, of itself, is a problem, or that Palmer is incapable of using it in quality ways. My two favorite holes at Tartan feature drink, as well as alternative paths that are subtly just as likely to result in a high score. For example, No. 7 has a pond (and a swan!) left of the green, which is divided in the middle by a ridge. That ridge continues through the shortgrass area right of the green; those who miss to the right for fear of water must make sure to be on the correct side of the ridge, as a pitch across it is no sure thing. The closing hole, a more stout par four (450 yards), offers a clear look at birdie when the flag is on the left, lower tier. That means considering the creek left...and putting the ball on the upper tier to the right will mean a tough two-putt. Likewise, targeting flags on the upper platform require a shot blinded by a hill-full of bunkers on the right of the fairway...while the visible landing area left means another tough two-putt. Tartan Fields is a sum of Palmer’s sensibilities as a golfer: the winner of back-to-back Open Championships and a true lover of the skill and strategy required to win on links golf courses, as well as a perpetual salesman who understood what his customers wanted. My play here was reminiscent of my son eating Chinese food...happily chomping at most holes, while pulling out bits of vegetable here and there.

Defining the top three Donald Ross courses in Ohio is a fairly simple exercise...perhaps Andrew Green’s restoration of Scioto will bring it into contention with Inverness, and Brookline (of Canton) is amply celebrated. Expand that ranking to a top five, and now it gets difficult. It’s somewhat like watching The Bachelor; while there are a few obvious “nopes” / closet psychopaths, the vast majority are quite desirable if not entirely perfect. The trick, and I suppose this applies to spousing off-television as well, is choosing what imperfections bother you least. Springfield will be among the final contestants vying for my heart...er, at least trying to get into the top five of my heart. But, from discussions with fellow GCA enthusiasts in the past 24 hours, I’ll acknowledge that there are reasons to argue for or against. I can think of at least two primary imperfections, with counter arguments for why Springfield is beautiful just the way it is. One is a problem that buggers many an Ohio Ross, and many an Ohio golf course in general: a large swathe of the property is entirely flat (Ohio is often pancake-flat or pancake-covered-in-strawberries-hilly...no in-between). My counter — to a pal who prefers Columbus Country Club — is that Ross was more creative in creating visual challenges to one’s approach shots here. The creek that runs ahead of the No. 6 green? That’s child’s play. Effective, but simple. The cross bunker that rises up 55 yards out from the green on the No. 3 par 3, so that players can’t see the front of the green from the tee, now that’s clever. And No. 5 is a reachable par five for big hitters...but a manmade berm crossing the fairway 50 yards out means you’ll need to carry it, or consider laying up lest you be left with an awkward third. When the course gets into its more glacially-improved areas, there’s no question as to its pedigree. Highlights include the back stretch of the front nine: Nos. 8 and 9 are among the most photographed at the course. First you’ll head uphill during “Heaven Sent,” across an imposing cross bunker, to a punchbowled green. You’ll need the punchbowl’s help; going over this green means a dramatic drop, down several clubs to where the No. 9 greens sits. Surrounded by bunkers and well below the previous hole, it counters No. 8’s “Heaven” with the name “Inferno.” The tee shot at No. 17 was also a treat for me, playing over the crest of a hill to a blind fairway as part of the course’s longest hole. Another fair criticism of Springfield would be the parallel nature of many fairways. Looking at an aerial of the route, the West end of the property does seem to be vertically-oriented, versus the horizontally-oriented East half. I’d counter this, however, by noting both that A) the mighty Inverness is guilty of the same and B) while the lack of 45-degree angles may not speak to Ross’s most creative routing, there are also only two places where consecutive holes play in the same direction (nos. 8 & 9, and nos. 15 & 16). Considering that both these pairs include a par three, I find this more tasteful than had it been two longer holes.The greens are also quite strong among the competition in Ohio, which is a more definitive “plus” for those who consider putting surfaces the most essential element of the course. Many feature ridges that divide the green into multiple “collection” areas, and make two-putts tricky for those on the wrong side. No. 6 stands out, as I can imagine a player landing on the far end, and facing a putt over the ridge and downward to the flag...where an extra ounce of oomph means emulating the infamous Strath of St. Andrews and rolling off into the stream, immediately ahead of the green. Although I’ve alluded to enjoying No. 17, the par fives are the obvious weak point at Springfield. Three reside in the flatlands. Nos. 2 and 12 measure just 512 and 479, respectively (the former is a mere 462 from the “member” tees, which this non-scratch golfer tends to play), with no real armory near the green to entice skilled players to think twice. Although I think there’s nothing more fun for an average golfer than the ability to think realistically about eagle, even I’ve got to play the Mark White card and question whether these holes can be taken seriously as championship-caliber golf (to be fair, they play as par fours during U.S. Open qualifying). (While we’re on the topic of this site’s most reputable rankers, a quick toast from this metalhead to M. Ward for reaching 666 reviews.) There are currently 16 Donald Ross courses listed among the Ohioans on this site (and a few more that should be considered). Is Springfield worthy of a Top 5 placement among them? A fantastic question, which I will dance around rather than provide a definitive answer. Ross was among the most consistent of architects, and I’d reckon there are perhaps four courses — five, if Gil Hanse executes a master plan at Denison — that will vie for spots in the “Top 5 Rosses of Ohio” list. Springfield is one of them, but I’d encourage you to sample them all.

If one is driving along Interstate 70, they will have a number of opportunities to play a Broadmoor by Donald Ross; I, an Ohio native, opted to stay closer to home and try the Indianapolis variant, rather than travel all the way to Denver for the resort of the same name. Although I have heard that Forse/Nagle are carrying out fine work at the latter, I know that Bruce Hepner has recently carried out a master plan he crafted while at Renaissance Golf for the former (the trees mentioned in the bio above significantly diminished, from what I can tell). A quip that I frequently use at Ross courses — and I honestly forget whether I came up with this or not — was that “nobody breaks Ross’s rules more than Ross.” The bunkering at Broadmoor lives up to this mantra on several levels, and I’ll admit that I’m not sure whether the Scot or his American renovators bear responsibility. One one hand is the sheer number; Ross was hardly Sheep Ranch-straightedge in terms of his bunker avoidance, however he rarely pushed the boundaries with regards to the number of traps at his layouts. Broadmoor features many more than the typical...I believe in the 130 range, about 40 more than Inverness, one of Ross’s most championship-calibrated courses. This is not necessarily a complaint; after all, few complain about Aronimink’s barrage. Here is the complaint, however: Many of these traps are all but invisible from the tees, due in part to the property being as flat as John Wayne’s roles. Although clusters of mounds can be read as bunker housing, Ross often avoided relative blindness by “scooping” bunkers toward the tee, so players could see the back face of the hazard. From a strictly aesthetic perspective, I can’t help but imagine how appealing No. 13 — a Cape-style tee shot with two pickets of bunkers along the inside of the dogleg — might be should those bunkers become visible from the tee. It may be well beyond the club’s budget, but one can dream. No. 13 is a solid pivot point to discuss the course’s strongest asset; perhaps recognizing that he had little to work with in terms of topography, Ross instilled Broadmoor with some of the more bold putting surfaces that I’ve played within his bibliography. This hole features a Biarritz-style green, with two higher platforms separated by a significant dip...all in all, much improved upon the template. Challenging the aforementioned bunkers merits a better angle into the tricky green. If forced to choose a series of greens to highlight, it is interestingly the par fives that merit most attention; for their relative lack of distance, they all demand quality second shots for those seeking eagle. No. 9 features a Raynorian “thumbprint” effect at its front, adding character to a green that banks steeply upward from front to back. No. 12 somewhat resembles my cat’s head, where balls landing in one “ear” cannot possibly reach the other in one putt, as a sizable bulge rises from the feline forehead (I should really have my cat looked at), putting a premium on placement. No. 17 features relatively little movement, but includes a bold horn that I can only compare to the tongues from a few greens at MacKenzie’s original Augusta layout. The difference here is that the point pokes from the back of the green; perhaps where No. 12 is a cat, 17 is a unicorn. Finally, No. 18 ends with the ever-celebrated “turtle-back.” Playing on a weekday afternoon, my host and I indulged in attempting absurdist putts...if I were a member, I would drive my son out in the evening regularly for such activity. Ah, I’d forgotten the final “Un-Ross” element of the bunkering, and it’s one I’ve been told is from the hand of Hepner: An interesting number of greens here feature bunkers at the back. It’s rarely a problem; for example, the bunker at the back-left of No. 17 (the unicorn) is fair punishment for those who get overeager on a short long. On the other hand, the bunker between the cat’s ears at No. 12 creates an intense shot, which would have been issue enough from a simple second cut. It’s interesting that, after spending the bulk of this review discussing the bunkering, my feeling at the end of the day comes back to Ross’s 18 greens and not his ( / Hepner’s) 130 bunkers. Truly, they’re the face of the golf course (a Macdonald quote, not Ross) and in Broadmoor’s case, I greatly appreciated the face more than the body.It’s a face I won’t forget, worth the price of admission. (My wife has just read these last few sentences over my shoulder and stormed out...I need to run and convince her I’m just writing about golf again.)

At some point during elementary school, I learned that the Mississippi River originated at Lake Itasca in Minnesota; as it’s unusually hip these days to deny established science, I might offer a counter-theory: There was once a monolithic ice cube east of what is now Davenport, Iowa. It melted. This is the only rational explanation for the topography at Davenport Country Club. I was fortunate enough to play during an event where architect Jim Nagle was in attendance, and he gave the group a generalized overview of what he and partner Ron Forse saw in the club. At the top of his list was the routing, which he praised enthusiastically. It struck me as I listened; having played the course in the morning, the routing seemed so obvious. With land like this, doesn’t the earth declare to Alison where the holes should be, and not the other way around? I reconsidered during my afternoon round, standing at the tee for No. 7, a par four that plays across two huge swells bubbling up from the left; a well-executed drive manages to stay atop the thin platform available, and the rest roll down to another area of shortgrass at the bottom of the hill (but pick up a few extra yards on the way). It’s a daunting look up to the next bubble, but a singular fairway runs all the way, and a well-placed iron will kick right off the slope toward the invisible green. Depending on what tee you play during a match, a bold basher may opt to attempt reaching the second bubble in one go...but the grass is long down in the valley between. If the above word-vomit is any indication, it’s a hole that defies easy explanation (I’ve attached a photo). If I can hardly describe it, how can I claim the ability to route it? It would be easy to declare “ah, such bold movement! Surely a golf hole must go here!” Would I have created what Alison dreamt up? Doubtful. And that is the difference between he and I...the difference between being given a prime cut of steak and the ability to cook it. Alison creates tasteful dishes across Davenport; the tee shot skyward across the dammed pond at No. 3, where the pond isn’t the hazard at all, but rather whether you choose the proper line to avoid gravity pulling the ball back down into a number of micro-valleys along the right side. The play across the Spencer Creek gorge at No. 10, to a green that, while not quite a Reverse Redan, calls for a long shot to feed from left-to-right down to the hole (the trip to the green will cross a Bel-Air-style bridge). No. 13, a par five of reachable length...but placed so that the dropoff to the right constantly imposes itself on the mind of the player, like Tom Petty cleaning his fingernails with a switchblade at contract negotiations...a subtle reminder that everything will be OK if you just do the right thing, man. To place this hole at a common, flat parkland property would be perfectly sufficient. To place it at this exact spot on the Davenport is appreciating your canvas. Sometimes that means being smart enough to not get too smart. The most photographed hole at the club, No. 16, is one of the least interesting from a strictly strategic perspective. This is one where even I could have told ownership that a long tee shot downhill, across Spencer Creek (which flows in from the left), with a sheer rock face showing along the right side, is basic math. Alison didn’t need to do much, so he didn’t. I believe they call that “minimalism” in this day and age. Messrs. Forse and Nagle deserve kudos for their work, as well. Aside from using Hirono as a touchpoint for restoring bunkers around the property (aerials from the era don’t exist), they were also tasked with creating new opening and closing holes (I was told by a member, who caddied at the club during the ‘50s, that the earliest No. 18 was an awkward 90-degree dogleg around the property cesspool). The new model is a par four of modest length, but requiring a forced carry across the creek to reach a tight green. Finding the proper angle means challenging the creek along the left. That said, those who desire distance over angle can attempt to carry the large bunker on the right to receive the reward of a tee shot kicked forward. The course isn’t perfect, but just barely; the short par five that closes the front nine looks dramatic, with the creek flowing all along the right, with a perched green alongside, daring you to go for two. The trees along the left side of this pipeline fairway proves that Golden Age architects could be just as penal...although I didn’t have the guts to bring this up to Nagle, they could be removed. The better golfers might argue it would make this 520-yard five “too easy” but I challenge them to say that while trying to land an approach from 240 out to this lofted green. Coore and Crenshaw have proven time and again that the widest fairways in the world don’t make it any easier to score if the green is tucked in a corner against the hazard. I’m generally pleased to associate myself with Top100GolfCourses, but I am especially pleased today, considering that this is the only site that currently lists Davenport among its Top 100 U.S. courses (GOLF and Digest need to look through their spam boxes for the memo). I think it belongs further up the list; in my personal rankings, I’ve even placed it ahead of one Top 100 World course from this site. This is not to say I’m correct...but to some degree, a golf course is a matter of taste, and Davenport ticks two of my biggest boxes. One of these is a superb routing. Often I celebrate Donald Ross for his many locations where he found ways to fit the optimal holes within tight parcels. Perhaps a greater challenge is to receive a magnificent piece of land and create a splendid answer to an open-ended question. I recently saw Tom Doak’s pitch for the Erin Hills project; it shook me. Alison’s route at Davenport, and the landforms it sits upon, left me equally shook.

I feel like there’s a signature photograph for almost every PGA event, an image that reflects either the spirit of the course or the spirit of the region where the event takes place. The John Deere Classic holds a bit of both. While the mow lines along the side of No. 17’s green go a long way in showcasing the performance capabilities of machinery from course-and-event sponsor John Deere, I see beyond the cosmetics. I appreciate the look but those short grass falloffs and collection areas will be beautiful to me, no matter how artistically mown. TPC Deere Run, even more so than most within its brand, is designed for the purpose of challenging professional golfers, an ever-difficult task during an era of competitive golf I increasingly refer to as “post-architecture.” Technology rollbacks not forthcoming, the elements of course design that an architect can use to make PGA players do that which they hate most — thinking about shots — are limited. You can grow the rough, you can speed up the greens, you can add hundreds of bunkers...but one design element continues to thwart them better: shortgrass runoff areas, like the ones most dramatically seen here at Nos. 13, 14 and 17. The latter two earn extra points for their respective roles as drivable par four and reachable par five; going for the jugular comes with the risk of ending up at knifepoint yourself, at the bottom of such a gathering area. Having failed in my long approach to No. 17, I found myself in the rare situation where both I and Bryson Dechambeau were in equal trouble. Unfortunately, I could not say the same throughout the majority of the round. TPC Deere Run apparently requires other strategies to keep the professionals at bay (if a -4 cutline can be referred to as “at bay”)...strategies less manageable for the average hack. A frequent offender would be the tree-lined fairways. Why am I inclined to challenge the considerable second-cut on a dogleg right if a tree at the elbow hangs over my line to the green? I found myself considering this conundrum several times after having made rare, quality tee shots. The best / saddest example of this phenomena occurred at No. 4, where — as an astute golf course architecture aficionado — I decided that going left of the centerline tree would be optimal over going right. After all, why would anyone try to draw around the trees infringing off the tee to the left to a skinner slice of fairway, if there wasn’t ample reward? Needless to say, I was disappointed to learn that the wide-open right side of the fairway was the correct answer. It made little sense...almost as little sense as having bought a yardage guide at the pro shop and not looking at it before teeing off (dammit). I tend to reflect more kindly upon water hazards than the majority of “woke” golfers. That said, the few ponds at Deere Run are among the most tacked-on that I’ve ever seen. It seemed ironic that I began No. 2 with a spectacular vista of the Rocky River, and ended with a greenside bathtub seemingly dug by the John Deere variant of the Bobcat mini-earthmover. The tractor on an island off the left of green No. 18 seemed almost as natural to the landscape as the pond it was sitting upon. It’s only fair that I recommend a replacement hazard since I’m complaining so vehemently: If Nos. 2, 10 and 18 featured shortgrass falloffs akin to the holes praised a few paragraphs ago, I’d celebrate them accordingly (as a note in case you suspect bias: I didn’t lose any balls to water). I did lose several balls to the dense rough, but I take no issue with the cut. The fairways themselves are plenty wide for a reasonable drive. My playing partner, a local, suggested the dense turf was maintained at similar weight throughout the year. Wearing a Dubsdread shirt, he claimed Deere Run featured the thickest he’d ever played. Its thiccness fell somewhere between Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion and, if I interpret the subtext of Ms. B’s “WAP” verse correctly, it will swallow Titleists in a similarly emphatic fashion. I’m not sure I enjoyed TPC Deere Run as much as previous reviewers, but I certainly won’t write it off. At less than $75 for a Sunday round during the Summer, it’s perhaps the best opportunity for the meager traveler to play a PGA host, or a TPC representative. Is the course actually a cut above (lawnmower joke) other TPC chapters? I’ll report back.

A staff member spoke proudly about Shelter Harbor following my round, touting that Dana Fry considered it his second-best design, behind only Erin Hills. I don’t believe that Fry, as a clearly-biased participant in the creation of both courses, can be relied upon for a fair appraisal. Therefore I, an unprejudiced outsider, will volunteer that Fry is incorrect: Shelter Harbor is the better of the two layouts. I don’t aim to peddle “hot takes,” and I believe other reviewers could make legitimate arguments why Erin Hills tends to rise to the top when discussing Hurdzan and Fry. The terrain itself is better, and it certainly holds a number of superb holes. But the routing occasionally tends toward “freeway school” (odd for such an expansive property) and the hazards upon approach struck me as repetitive. Hosting a U.S. Open, plus Golf Digest’s hyping (speaking of biased reviewers, can’t hurt to have the magazine’s architectural editor serve as consulting architect) has perhaps elevated that course unfairly. But I’m wasting my time downplaying Erin Hills when my purpose is to celebrate Shelter Harbor. These clubs should be seen on a level playing field. It helps that Harbor’s playing field is anything but level, a prime piece of property near the Rhode Island shore that offers an unusual level of elevation change compared to the Golden Age classics along the Narragansett. The club also benefits from significant scope, which allowed Fry to create fairways nearly as epic as those at Erin. As at that club, bogey routes exist for the humbler golfer. Most fairways have trees on both sides, however, like Kevin Na at the 2017 Open, you would deserve ridicule for finding them. Playing courses such as this leads to a lengthy list of noteworthy holes, but occasionally the simple acknowledgment of architectural merit graduates to outright awe. Such was my thought as I made my way uphill to the green at No. 9, a par five that wound through a double dogleg to a final false front and a tiered green. I imagined Bethpage Black and what it could be, were it returned to a Tillinghast from its current Jones presentation. Tillie pioneered the double dogleg after all, and his true fairway widths offered options...either challenge the well-guarded corners and green for a birdie attempt, or travel around them on the way to a satisfying bogey. The hole is — to delve into superlatives — majestic, and I loved it. I’m also subject to my own biases, of course: As a Midwesterner, the centuries-old stone walls that line the New England countryside cause me to salivate and yearn to visit the nearest Yankee Candle retailer. Fry deserves kudos for the strategic incorporation of said walls during at least No. 2; the green on this par four (400 yards from the member tees) features a high-left tier that flows down to a low-right. My preferred strategy is to leave an approach short-left of the green and let it ride down, but shaping this shot means starting your ball over a wall that perpediculates the fairway from the left, landing at a somewhat blind point and trusting the roll. (There’s also a wall right of the fairway that is more penal; it guards a Native American burial area and landing in it brings a curse to your family. I’ve read enough Stephen King to know.)The variety throughout the first 14 holes — three stellar entries for both threes and fives, as well as par fours that aired long or drivable — was impressive, with testing shortgrass short areas throughout. The course hit an unfortunate slowdown for holes nos. 15 - 17 that prevented it from gaining an extra half-ball by my estimation (doubly disappointing, considering how such holes fell along the final stretch). Nos. 16 and 17 suffer for the incorporation of a large man-made pond, which while necessary for irrigation purposes and perhaps to weaponize a less turbulent piece of the property, stuck out like sore knees (hiking and golfing is the crux of my vacations) compared to the rest of the property. No. 15 was less excusable...after three exciting par threes, I turned to my host and asked what the trick was. Just lackluster. Erin Hills, in my opinion, shares a similar story...a few weak holes here and there taking from what is otherwise a worthwhile day out. The difference is that Erin needs no PR help from me. Choose which one you will, but I believe Shelter Harbor deserves at least equal attention for its, and Fry’s, efforts.

I was appalled to find the rodent at the top of the Rhode Island Country Club shield was a muskrat. “That’s no muskrat,” I told my host. With that slight, sleek body? An otter maybe. Muskrats are shaped much more like beavers...pleasantly plump, with a tail to justify their “rat” misclassification. The logo’s designer had Barbie-fied the animal, presenting a physique simply unattainable...body-shaming a proud species. Likewise, those playing Rhode Island Country Club for the first time may claim “that’s no Donald Ross” but, unlike a dozen or so Florida courses, they would be wrong. The bayside course displays a number of unique characteristics that reflect a master designer in the development stage, weighing experimental tactics against concepts he would carry for the rest of his career (RICC was one of Ross’s earliest projects). The result is a course that, for where it occasionally vies away from Ross’s signature strengths, also engages experienced golfers who think they have seen everything in the Scot’s book. The most dramatic example comes right off the first tee. Er, technically “left” off the first tee, where a pulled shot may find its way into a rare “inverted” bunker. Those well-studied in course architecture will recognize these as the signature hazard at Garden City Golf Club, offering players a less predictable lie with sand mounding than conventional pits. This hazard (which also makes an appearance coming back on No. 2) was part of a Bruce Hepner reno/resto project, but the concept is wholly Ross. It’s likely the amateur architect took the page directly from Travis’s book. That may have been a relatively new-world inspiration for the young Ross, but a possible old-world inspiration comes at the par five No. 7, where an enormous bunker lurks deep in a mid-fairway valley, waiting to punish those who attempt to carry it after a poor tee shot. Although it would be easy to cite Tillinghast’s “Great Hazard,” Ross’s edition predates it and may draw inspiration from Prestwick’s Cardinal. That’s not to say you won’t recognize expected Ross-isms throughout the round; the toughest hole on the course comes at No. 3 (my opinion) based strictly on the uphill approach shot to a signature turtle-back green...I’ve dubbed the hole “John of Bohemia” for its combination of blindness and crown (and spunk). Few architects embraced uphill approaches like Ross, and other glorious examples remain. The closing hole politely defies No. 3’s tack, with a punchbowl green welcoming returning golfers back into the fold. No. 14 takes the crown (metaphorical, not literal), as golfers follow their approaches up to an infinity green and see Narragansett Bay for the first time on the other side. There are trip-ups as well from the young architect. Although photos of the waterside hole are seen most often, the stretch from Nos. 15 through 17 are surely the most boring and even problematic of the layout. Part of the problem lies in this being much flatter than the rest of the property, but part also lies in the design, both then and now. “Then,” Ross could have incorporated more thoughtful bunkering (i.e. the inverted, which also pop up — literally — at No. 9, the flattest hole on the front 14). “Now” members would be wise to cut the two trees off the tee at No. 15; in a world where 85% of golfers “fade” (read: slice), leaving no leftward place to aim is an insurance disaster waiting to happen when the immediate right is Nayatt Road (believe it or not, the local population drives nicer cars than I do). It seems that Ross’s pearl-necklace par three at No. 17 was once surrounded, Kittansett-style, by a wide swathe of waste. It wouldn’t hurt to return to this approach, aesthetically if nothing else. Such a change cannot be ruled out, as the club continues to take progressive moves with the intent of improving its distinct chapter from the Book of Ross. Aside from just continued tree removals, a new line of merchandise has appeared in the pro shop, featuring a beautiful, realist, body-positive take on the muskrat...an alternate logo for the club. I purchased a ballcap and shed a tear, recognizing the wave of hope that the 21st Century has brought to both Golden Age golf courses and aquatic rodents.

I cracked open my fourth can of Coke at around the No. 13 tee and downed it summarily, the last of 156 grams of sugar ingested during a walk at Brookline Golf & Country Club amid 35.5℃ temperatures. At this point, I was grateful that — unlike my trip to Bandon last year — I was not paired with a Type II diabetic giving me tips on blood sugar management for my own Type 1 diabetes. Imagine getting swing tips from that stranger on the range, but in this case the stranger plays lacrosse. Two dissimilar beasts that dissatisfactorily share a name. I only bring it up to generalize, perhaps unfairly, that some burdens are more god-given (also known as strictly genetic) where some may be the result of poor maintenance. Brookside was dealing with burdens of both natures when I first played here during 2016. On the god-given side, the terrain is largely flatter than that of Ohio’s world-beaters. Fortunately, the assistance of a strong architect can abate such a problem, and Charlie Lorms proved surprisingly competent during his debut. The professional at Columbus Country Club during 1927, Lorms clearly drew from his time at the Donald Ross club; as with CCC, Brookside overcomes a modest property with its great greens (Nos. 3 and 7 stand out). Typical praise for Brookside in the past few years: “Great greens, but too many trees.” Trees are, despite their natural occurrence, maintenance issues. In many cases, they simply grow when we grow too lax to cut them. In other cases, trees were historically planted to allegedly “improve” golf courses. I don’t know which occurred at Brookside but, based on the number of memorial plaques, I’d hazard at least a bit of both. Brian Silva has recently served as an endocrinologist of sorts, undertaking a significant masterplan. Two of the best holes at Brookside during my 2021 visit reflect where Silva either reinvigorated or totally reinvented the course to great effect. The reinvention comes in the creation of a new No. 11, a par three that takes a Redan approach, feeding draws down a long green that’s fronted by a creek to punish those who would challenge the flag directly. A splendid addition. The “reinvigoration” at No. 13 involved clearing a hillside of trees along the inside of a dogleg right, opening views to a pond that has always existed, but was previously hidden. Requiring an uphill shot that obviously can’t cut too far in, yet can’t run too far lest it finds bunkers (also new) at the outside of the dogleg, the view from the teebox is now the most daunting I’ve yet experienced in Ohio. The transformation is deft and total. It’s a fine opening to the “ravine” portion of the property, which features both the best land and best opportunities moving forward. At No. 17, players will see just how far the club has yet to go. A short par four, doglegging left along a very steep drop down to the No. 16 fairway, which by itself should serve as ample defense for the daring driver. It should, that is, if the large tree just more than 100 yards out from the member tees had come down. Why it remains when Silva removed so many others is puzzling, as are the number of trees that umbrella into the fairway, preventing a bold second shot who struck what should be great shots at a number of par fives and doglegs (Nos. 4 and 12 come immediately to mind). Granted, Silva’s work is not done. I’ve been told more trees will be felled, and some bunker work done as well (also an improvement on the current hazards, which have lost personality over the years). Where CCC might surpass Brookside, a very similar club, would be in the refurbished short areas around the greens at Columbus. Perhaps Silva’s bunker work will address this? Lorms did great work to adjust to the “god-given” problem of terrain at Brookside. Can the club do diligence and continue a healthy lifestyle once Silva has left by maintaining, and even continuing, his tree maintenance? Courses must actively work to keep tree-counts down, as diabetics of all stripes must work to keep the ol’ A1C down. Admittedly, servicing trees is a much less sweet task than chugging four cans of Coke...so perhaps a certain golfer should choke on his diabitterness and acknowledge a few cans of soda is no real tax for a fine round of weekday golf. Apologies.

I reached down and pulled my birdie putt from the cup on No. 7, and found a clumsy insect struggling to claw its way up the vertical surface, despite having wings. Yes, I chose this anecdote to highlight my excellent approach shot (more on that later) but also to acknowledge the full-fledged efforts of the cicada hordes flying awkwardly across Ohio. For those unfamiliar, the massive “Brood X” emerges, breeds and dies across the span of a month, once every 17 years. You can tell that CBS piped in bird calls for this year’s Memorial Tournament because, on the ground at Muirfield Village, one could hardly hear themselves yell “Brooksy” at Bryson over the high-pitched wail of millions of cicadas. They’re an innocuous species that many question whether it has any real biological purpose. I bring it up in tribute to Tom Bendelow, the oft-ignored founding father of American golf, who laid out more than 400 of the nation’s oldest tracks, with much less finesse than his Golden Age followers. Maketewah is one such example, among numerous Ohio routes where Donald Ross led total redesigns, plowing over Bendelow’s work to create more compelling tests of golf. No. 7 is one such example. Having played enough Bendelow in my life, I seriously doubt whether he would have originated a green as fun as this one. Prior to executing the simply spectacular 110-yard approach that led to my birdie, I considered how tricky my shot would be, based on the “muffin” placed front and center at the front of the putting surface...the front-right pin meant that, regardless of ground attack or air attack, I would need to deftly maneuver the mound. No. 5, a short par five, is also a standout green, with an even larger mound to pair dangerously with a pair of platforms at the back. I’ve been told that Brian Silva will be undertaking a project to restore Ross’s lost fairway bunkering, and — while I’m naturally eager to see Ross’s touches to these fairways — I also couldn’t help but wonder how necessary they were. The consistent terrain movement at Maketewah, with moments of bold swoops and rare evenness, does a great job by itself in preventing hacks like myself from finding greens. Having played a great tee shot to the inside corner of No. 13 — a long dogleg right, heading uphill — I found myself with an instance of the “reverse camber” so en vogue following the U.S. Women’s Open at Olympic: a lie leaning left but requiring a long iron to a green on the right. Such defense can only be found, not built. I may have preferred to be in a level bunker! I have many an Ohio Ross to play before I rest, but the terrain at Maketewah has elevated its status among those that I have...a “very good” among many “goods,” perhaps even approaching “great.” But is it fair to give Ross all the credit? I doubt it. The Scot is well-regarded as a router, perhaps even the greatest of all time. But Maketewah has used the same routing for its entire history. Which is to say that Tom Bendelow deserves ample credit for setting out a course at Maketewah in the way that he did. So often we, like Ross, plow over Bendelow’s contributions. Just as the allegedly worthless cicadas will provide valuable pruning to mature trees, soil aeration, and a colossal baby bump for Ohio’s fauna (thanks to its role as a food source), Tom Bendelow’s 101-level efforts played a major role in making Ohio one of the most Ross-rich states in the Union. Cheers to Tom, and cheers to Brood X. Long may the buzz continue for both.

“As we were driving in, Dad mentioned that they had a lot fewer trees than we do.” I present this quote from my mother — not to draw attention to the fact that the parents of this thirtysomething dropped his wife and child off at Kenwood rather than he go back to the west side of the city to get them — but to indicate the scale of the work done by Jason Straka as part of the club’s restoration project. These parents are only social members at their own club (thanks for nothing guys) because they have little interest in golf (outside of their favorite child occasionally contributing to various golf publications) but even they could recognize what had happened here. Those actually playing the course that day, and those who had taken the time to examine the outdated aerials currently available via Google Maps, spent more time focused on what Straka did with the bunkering. Lord knows the members of my party did...both admiring their aesthetics from outside the sand and accepting their challenge from within. The case in point — sure to be the main attraction when Kenwood rolls out new promotional materials — is No. 4, a par five and the number one handicap hole. A series of hurdle-like bunkers cut in along the left, deepening the closer they get to the green. Players will eventually approach from the left, at least if they want to avoid the deepest hazard yet. The trouble is obvious across all 580 yards of the hole...any player can map their strategy from the onset, but committing to the lines required of the second and third shots to secure a precious GIR...that requires backbone simply not demanded from the previous iteration of the Kendale. Although this early hole is a beefy specimen, Kendale doesn’t excel in brawn. Playing right about 7,000 yards, only four par fours crack 400 yards from the “Championship” tees, and only the closer (465 yards) merits the “long” descriptor. The restoration of William Diddel’s original bunkers are all the more important for deferending to the short holes, visually and otherwise. No. 7 caught my eye, a mere 320 but with fairway bunkers and a blinded landing area to make driver seem dangerous from the tee, green-front bunkers to spook a long approach, and a steep drop-off behind the green to punish those spooked. Similarly, I found the most wee of the threes to be the trickiest. No. 14 (147 yards) allows missing right rather than messing with the fronting pond. That leaves a chip or putt slightly uphill to a green that runs downhill to a lower plateau, leaving me with a second putt longer than the first. No easy way to par here, which is fine by me (in retrospect...would have preferred an easy par in the moment). Such execution would not have been possible under the previous slopes, which Straka eased for modern green speeds. The aforementioned parents live near Neumann Golf Course, one of several Diddel municipal designs in the Cincinnati area, where the original old-world green slopes are on full display...usually with comical results. The few ponds scattered about the property seem a tad tacked on...I’m curious if Diddel indeed tacked them on during his second visit to the property (the original design opened during 1930...he returned during 1966). They generally serve strategic purpose but certainly don’t fit the landscape as the course’s sand hazards do. Playing my third from ahead of No. 12’s pond, it seemed as if the water was at surface level with the rough...looking more like the aforementioned three-year-old left the hose running on the shallow spot on the lawn (again), rather than a planned pond. Perhaps Straka can prettify those as well across the next few years? Indeed, his next project will be Kenwood’s Kenview course, the shorter and much more vertiginous 18 located along the property’s backside. It will be interesting to see how the club approaches the project...there certainly seems to be potential for some “cult classic” appeal to complement the “Championship” qualifications of the Kendale. In terms of overall terrain, there are more dramatic pieces of land in the area, which I prefer, but some will favor this level of movement. That said, the forthcoming work at Kenview promises to make Kenwood a regional highlight in terms of “members’ clubs.” Aside from the day-to-day variety in golfing opportunities, the pool also looked nice. Or at least that’s what my parents told me.

By pleasant coincidence, Will Gwaltney has also posted about his round at Moraine Country Club on this fine day. I, known for overwriting, will now perform the role of a cuckoo by taking the eggs he has laid in his review (“outstanding piece of property” and “firm and fast”) and place a much larger, overblown bird atop them (only in terms of webpage structure, of course). In truth, I’ll be concise regarding the firm-and-fast nature of the course: splendid conditioning. Let’s discuss the outstanding nature of the property at length instead. The club, and the neighborhood that hosts it, is named for glacial moraine, a terrain type where the frozen trains of yesteryear deposited significant amounts of debris. In fortunate cases, that debris is more sand than gravel, creating both ideal golfing platforms and an inspiring landscape that seems to swoop rather than just fall. The aesthetic nature of these glacier-carved hills match Erin Hills (another moraine gift), where the rest of Ohio must make do with simple ol’ hills (also crafted by glaciation, albeit less artfully). The same moraine ridge that serves as the focal point at Moraine runs for miles through the area. This is largely golf gold, but it also creates one of the inherent problems at the club (I’ll get the bad news out of the way first): routing. The course opens with five holes in the same direction, followed by four in the opposite, and concludes with a stretch of three-and-three, heading in their respective directions. This is not to say I have an alternative; I doubt that the height of the ridge and the relative lack-of-width (it’s a rather thin property) would allow much better than what Campbell found here. Unfortunately, lacking for additional moraine-land to work with, he also settled somewhat with holes Nos. 10 through 12, which play across the uncharacteristic flat patch near the clubhouse. But even these holes feature brilliant greens, which in my experience are the best in Ohio (I wracked my memory and frantically flipped back and forth between the pages of this yardage book and that of Inverness...Camargo may be the last true competitor that Moraine faces in my state rolodex, and I suppose I should see what Jack has done with his most recent fixes at Muirfield...but I have doubts in the latter case). These putting surfaces are full of both dramatic drops and nuanced nudges, like Keith Baxter — er, Keith Jarrett, sorry — playing the piano. There is nothing subtle to be said for the landscape in the hills, and there is nothing to be sorry for in it. The ripples and outright waves of these fairways leave the player with unpredictable runs and blocked views...joyously reminiscent of faraway coastal golf. The most majestic — and intimidating — view at the course comes at the No. 14 tee, where players gaze up a fairway that crests twice on its way to a green perched atop the second peak, like a Greek temple. Research has shown Campbell to be involved in designing the best holes at Brookline, so I took special pleasure in comparing the shape of No. 7 to No. 4 “Hospital” at The Country Club; although almost exactly the same length and difficult to distinguish from Google Maps, Moraine’s plays downward, daring a carry of the high bunker for those wanting a kick toward this reachable green (Brookline’s rendition plays up and then back down, offering a blind tee shot toward similarly-placed hazards). I, to steal another sentiment from Mr. Gwaltney, could certainly play this club everyday. In fact, I’d need to in order to gather the knowledge required to manage two-putts on these greens. I’m stealing many a commenter’s sentiments by suggesting Keith Foster’s work restoring Moraine was superb. I’ve heard it mentioned as potentially the best in Ohio, but I’m not prepared to go that far. In my perfect world, the best parts of the two aforementioned moraine courses would come together to create a masterpiece: If only Campbell could have applied the apt abilities shown here onto the more wandering canvas of Erin Hills, and we would be better for it. As I live in an imperfect world, the existing Moraine Country Club will do nicely.

Every magic trick consists of three parts, or acts. The first part is called the “pledge.” A magician shows you something ordinary. A deck of cards, a bird, or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it, to see if it’s real, ordinary. But of course it probably isn’t. Discussing The Golf Club with fellow architecture enthusiasts elicits one word, in my experience, more than any other: “subtle.” This word has long been distasteful to me — a former music publication editor, reviewer, and acknowledged writing prig. “Subtle” is a word I frequently saw used as a crutch, translating the realization that one enjoyed what they had just listened to or seen...but were not sure why. It is easier to describe the flavor behind a Coke because it’s packed full of sugar...a Burgundy wine, on the other hand, well...that’s “subtle” (“robust” is another word I distrust). There’s no need to scrape it from your vocabulary, as there is certainly subtlety to be had in golf course architecture. I have played many fine putting surfaces that are subtle in relation to Walter Travis’s baroque greens. That said, the cynic in me is often on guard when reviewing reviews for The Golf Club; is its status as a World Top 100 truly defined by subtlety? Or do many of us dodge the question of what merits this status, only because we’re not really sure? Is there a chance that many acclaim The Golf Club simply so that they don’t look like fools by taking a risk and going against the grain? You may recognize my opening paragraph from the film ‘The Prestige.’ If The Golf Club’s greatness was indeed a trick, calling its bluff would require identifying the blind, a distraction that allows a magician to lead rational people into buying irrational results. Many swanky country clubs employ this tactic to distract from ordinary golf via doting staff and delicious dining. Indeed, as a diabetic, the waiter’s offer to provide me “sterilization” supplies following an insulin shot was customer service on a level I’d never experienced anywhere. But I kept my eye on the prize. And keeping your eye on the prize is exactly where Pete Dye gets you, once you’re finally on the golf course. “Subtlety” is not the word for The Golf Club. The word is “trickery.” The Golf Club operates as a magic trick, and Pete Dye is the magician. I won’t make you wait for the verdict: The Golf Club is an incredible golfing experience because of this trickery. A common complaint against The Golf Club is its relatively flat property. It’s an overstated issue. I had planned on a pancake property but ended up getting bacon; maybe not as uneven as a pile of scrambled eggs, but certainly enough roll to satisfy my morning urges. Many holes playing flat are accompanied by Blacklick Creek or other engaging features, such as the top handicapper at No. 6, a pièce de résistance for the switchback strategy Dye adopted from his idol, Donald Ross. But what to do with No. 10, Dye surely thought to himself. A slight grade down from the tee, through a relatively well-treed portion of property next to the clubhouse. A simple dogleg left could have sufficed...but it also would have been painfully similar to the previous hole (which itself is perhaps the weakest on the property). And so Dye waved his wand. Tee off to a wide fairway and you’ll see an approach to a wide green, clearly raised atop a berm...the twin staircases at either end indicate there must be a rise. Leaving it short is not an option, I told myself. There is a bunker running along the front. But there is not. I had looked at the yardage guide. I had looked at the course on Google Maps. All rational thought pointed to it being a safe layup. I could not convince myself otherwise...the steps mirrored those coming out of The Golf Club’s signature par three — and one of Dye’s signature holes — an intimidating mess of stacked bunkering and railway ties. But once you’ve come to terms with the lack of bunker, you can consider approaching the very wide green, which stretches from the far-left staircase to the far-right, nearly 35 yards. But again, it does not. The green, perhaps 15 yards wide, is angled so that the kidney bean resembles a Raynorian cube from where you stand, considering the next shot. Like Penn and Teller, Pete and Alice Dye know the numbers you are thinking, and they have programmed the course to defy what you know should be. I could run through a bulleted list, but I’ll stick to two more examples, both water-based. No. 8 is a Dye pseudo-Redan, playing to a green higher at the front, down to a lower platform at the back. Fair enough. But, there are also a series of three dammed pools, flowing downward from left to right. Gravity insists that the highest pool must be at the left, if the waterfalls continue to the right. And yet the lower level of the green appears even with the highest pool, while the higher area of the putting surface seems to sit flat with the right-most pool. Perturbing, especially to those trying to pick a club at the tee. Take a close look at the leftward pond as you approach the green at No. 13 as well. It’s not the fine cocktail from the clubhouse doing this to you, my friend. Perhaps the “subtlety” everyone sees is a contrast to the Dye they have played before. Like the character played by Hugh Jackman in 'The Prestige,' Dye progressed from these sleight-of-hand tricks to giant, buzzing electro-balls...his visual intimidation defined more by monolithic landscapes than minimalist trickery. Assessing course design is a cumulative summary of what the architect finds in the landscape and what they conceive by sheer creativity. Some courses, like Riviera, are hailed as masterpieces for the sheer strength of the latter force, weighted down by the former. I would be so bold as to suggest The Golf Club receive similar consideration. Dye shows you a hole, asks you to inspect it, to make sure its ordinary. But it probably isn't.

I’ve never heard the term “pedestrian” used as an adjective in a friendly context. Indeed, the dictionary suggests the term refers to “lacking inspiration or excitement; dull.” Well! As someone who spends a significant amount of time as a pedestrian (noun), I take some offense.“Pedestrian” came to mind when thinking on how to describe the Country Club of Muirfield Village, and it was not intended to demean. CCMV is frequently compared to MVGC, the Muirfield Village Golf Club, where Jack Nicklaus hosts his annual Memorial Invitational. It’s logical, based on name alone, but the comparison and contrast of the two provides a valuable understanding of CCMV’s purpose, as well as its strengths and weaknesses. Let’s get the bad news out of the way first: MVGC surpasses its neighbor in several areas. For one, it possesses considerably better land than CCMV. One might be shocked to consider the relative turbulence of the PGA venue versus the more pedestrian (dammit, seems I’m as guilty as the next) offerings at CCMV. Secondly, MVGC attracts significantly more money than the club across the street, both from its tournament earnings as well as its international clientele, while the country club caters to the local commune. Anyone expecting a review to suggest, in some underhanded way, that the underdog is superior to the neighborhood bully, will be disappointed. But there’s something to be celebrated in that, especially from an architect like Nicklaus. MVGC is a bad mother, and I’ve played enough Nicklaus signature designs to discern that the Golden Bear has designed many bears in his lifetime. CCMV is not one of them, and Nicklaus’s ability to separate the “Muirfield”-brand intensity from a course intended for more common golfers is admirable. The course is eminently more walkable, the greens run slower than the glass tabletops across the street and, most importantly, heroic plays will be called for much less frequently. This does not equate to a total lack of challenge, but rather a strategic round where one is allowed to breathe (note: rumors that guests at MVGC are encouraged not to breathe in bunkers so that they don’t disrupt the manicured sand are untrue). Consider No. 6, the number one handicap hole. An uphill par four, where the right side of the green is guarded by a short-grass collection area for those who miss right. These concepts are all the rage on the PGA tour at the moment, providing awkward shots for a class of player all too comfortable in sand. This brilliant touch, for whatever reason, does not exist at any of the greens next door. A shot that presents itself easier for the common golfer happy to make five while intimidating the professional trying to make four. Nicklaus would do well to learn from himself! Moving back toward the tee, players will need to wrap a fade between left bunkers long and right bunkers near. I nearly did it, but ended up in the rightward bunkers. The consistency of the sand was...challenging and fair, as it should be. I have not had the privilege to hit out of a MVGC bunker, but the white powder appears so fine as to seem Nicklaus imported it from Colombia (I do admire his attempt to introduce furrowed rakes, however). Yes, there are certainly opportunities to add more strategic intrigue at CCMV, and not just by adding more ponds near the greens on long holes. Bunkers could be made more welcoming to incoming shots, which would have made my round of misplayed tee shots more interesting, for sure. The reported next round of edits will involve new, angled teeboxes. But I would not ramp the challenge up significantly. CCMV is a member’s course, perhaps not offering sufficient challenge to land it in the Top 30 in Ohio, but sufficient engagement for an enjoyable round with less need for profanity than found at other Nicklaus designs in my experience. I would describe the Country Club of Muirfield as “pedestrian,” and would mean nothing but the best by it.

My playing partner at Westbrook Country Club frequently hinted that I should mind the “steel mill effect” and the ball’s tendency to break toward the industrial facility to the east. Perhaps he meant “effect” in the most literal of scientific senses, some sort of magnetism pulling the ball against what the putting surface would read, or perhaps he and the membership were just so in rapture of this cult belief that they managed to convince I, a skeptical visitor, into putting against the physics my eyes perceived. A more likely conclusion, based on any number of rounds at well-maintained Ross courses: The architect preferred frustrating subtlety to his designs over overblown curvature. A more interesting observation, based on any number of rounds at less-maintained Ross courses: What greens they were! Unlike larger cities around Ohio, this club had little competition for the money of the industrial age. Mansfield, however, did not recover when that money disappeared. The AK Steel mill remains the bastion of its glory days, as its neighbors in lighting, appliance manufacturing, and other fields moved away or shut down. I have played many Ross courses that have frayed as the money moved. Westbrook seems to have defied this trend through a generous national member program, drawing young blood interested in playing a classic course at affordable rates from Columbus and Cleveland. No one will mistake Westbrook for Ross restorations at Inverness, Brookside, or Scioto-soon-to-be. At first glance, even the recently restored Columbus Country Club looks much more upper crust than this course. But the pieces are there. The club’s ability and willingness to maintain the bunkers and greens — which ran at, and felt like, a reported 12 Stimp — is music to the ears of those who fear for the future of off-the-path routes such as Westbrook. I say “maintain” in the sense that the turf is well-groomed and the bunkers did not pool up water during recent rainfall. Are the greens as large as Ross left them? Do the bunkers present as naturally as they once did? Are the fairways as wide? I would hazard to guess no...they are not. But, having just played Kevin Hargrave’s touched-up Columbus Country Club, I believe that if he were to give Westbrook the same attention, the results would pack a far bigger payout at this upstate club. I won’t try to say it poetically: This land is better. The routing? Perhaps not.Golf Course Architecture 101 presentations will feature Ross as one of the foremost routers in the game’s history. Westbrook will not be one of the examples featured during that seminar’s slideshow. A full 14 holes play north or south. Of those, every par five plays southbound, uphill (and, in this case, into the wind). Add the awkward, final par four — a 400-yarder that ascends some 75 feet (an estimate) — that travels in this same direction, and you’ve got four longs playing with zero variation in terms of gravity or wind. Disappointing, Donald! An interesting quirk to the routing is that it features just three par fives and three par threes. Although I appreciate its place among Ross’s more curious scorecards, a few more shorts may have spruced the round up, as the ones presented here are top-notch. No. 6 features a long grass cross bunker perhaps 30 yards out, and a green sloping down from front to back. It seems the best strategy (were the back of the bunker mound cut to fairway height) would be to challenge the bunker and roll a ball down to the green, rather than attack the flag. No. 9 is a classic uphill Ross par three, playing to a lengthy green below the clubhouse, asking you to trust your yardage to the flagstick. Westbrook brought warm feelings on multiple fronts. The golf, obviously, but also what this modest success could symbolize for areas like Mansfield. The bulk of my in-laws remains in Mansfield, even commuting an hour to work in larger cities. I’ve always reckoned them foolish for not following my father-in-law to verdant Columbus. The cost of this reckoning is that I reflect a callousness toward the collapse of “Rust Belt” cities and the cultures they fostered. Maybe there’s a future yet to be had. Wish I knew. Chock full of ideas on how to redeem classic golf courses, but empty on meaningful societal reinvention. So on the former front: Booking Hargrave or a similar name for meaningful restoration would take the already engaging Westbrook at least half-a-ball higher. The new pool being installed as we speak, and the money that funded it, suggests this is more than a pipe dream.

Amid the current rethink on Christopher Columbus’s legacy, the prospect for renaming America’s No. 14 city by population has livened up. The most popular candidate (at least in the social media universe) is “Flavortown,” a reference to Food Network personality Guy Fieri, a hometown hero. It’s an ironic thought, however, as Columbus is rather vanilla compared to Ohio’s other population hubs, Cleveland and Cincinnati, in terms of both personality and food (the latter puts chili on spaghetti, after all). Likewise, the terrain at Donald Ross’s Inverness packs much more bam-boom-in-your-face punch, in the vein of Fieri’s infamous “Donkey Sauce,” than does Columbus Country Club. True culinary connoisseurs will tell you, however, that the art in cooking comes with subtle touches. And so Ross (and more recently Kevin Hargrave) set about his work. Columbus holds some hills, and players will begin with a dive down from the first tee with an approach back up to the first putting surface. The approach to uphill No. 3’s green is the most photogenic point on the course. From there, most of the holes exist on one plane or another: either the “highland” of the clubhouse or the “lowland” holes that fill the valley down on Blacklick Creek, which edges the property. Looking out from the teeboxes of Nos. 5 and 11, respectively, one can admire the placement of the fairway bunkers as solid strategic golf and, the more animalistic pleasure in driving a ball a great distance downward. One will also notice, however, the fairway stretched like mother’s table linen, with hardly an askance lie to be found. Ross’s task then was to accentuate his dish with zest that the meat of the land did not provide. He focused on the greens and their immediate surrounds...and especially their immediate surrounds. Great greens do not make a great golf course. They are necessary for a golf course to be great but an architect cannot make a career on designing putting surfaces alone. The chemistry between these greens and their surrounding shorts areas are paramount, akin to that of brown sugar and paprika...two different flavors that must work in tandem to reach a higher purpose...either on a golf course or in your correspondent’s world*-famous (* = I am the world, after all, in my own ego) Kansas City BBQ rub. Ross will allow you to have your flat lie but, like ingredients, a tee shot must be coupled with an approach to score. I received a taste early at No. 2, when my approach caught a hiccup short and bounced right into a downward-angled chip. No. 10 is one of several long holes that appear like your eagle approach is gold...until it’s diverted into one of Ross’s noted short-grass gathering areas below the hole. No. 11’s aforementioned tee shot is mac-and-cheese but its approach is spaghettini cetarese. Indeed I am grateful that there was just a slight inhale of turf ahead of the No. 9 par three, otherwise I am convinced my perfectly-executed shot would have found the cup, which would have been an existential nightmare...an ace with no playing partners. Thank you for sparing me, Mr. Ross! Hargrave’s recent work restoring the course merits major recognition. His work with Keith Foster, a master restorer, reflects in the current course, and the swathes of native area add further flavor to land that, alone, can be quite tepid. Still, Columbus Country Club can only excel to the extent of its land’s potential and some stretches, particularly the final three holes, display these limits. It’s a fine meal worth a look forward to, assuming you won’t be eating at Ross’s several Michelin-starred locations around Ohio. As a side note, I have inquired whether the club will change its name to “Flavortown Country Club” if the city itself rebrands. No answer yet but will keep you in the loop.

The Centerville Relays Invitational was the bane of this golf rater’s high school track career. Usually held during March at a point when we distance runners, wearing the same scanty apparel as we would during the scalding June events, would shed three layers and run whatever distance during an ill-timed snow or Winter rain shower. I was relatively lucky; as a middle distance specialist, I only ever participated in the 400 or 800. The damned were those who excelled at much longer distances, such as my brother, as they were drafted to participate in the Steeplechase. Only Centerville hosted such a barbaric event, as only Centerville had seen fit to build the water-filled pit necessary. Runners would complete eight laps (2 miles) and, at the far turn, jump atop the wooden steeple and attempt to launch over the chilly pool, usually failing to cross. I’ve never, until this point, wondered how they enforced the water jump. The pit only takes up the inner four lanes, yet no one ever got sassy and ran around lane five without jumping. Gene Bates would have addressed the issue by building the pit out across six or seven lanes, leaving only the barest semblance of an approach around the hazard. Or at least that’s the theme at the par fives as part of Yankee Trace’s championship course (located in Centerville). At No. 6, the player shuffles straight for 565 yards in between heavy-handed fairway bunkering, until they arrive at a third shot that — no matter how intelligently one places themselves along the right fairway — realistically cannot avoid a forced carry into a perpendicularly-placed green. No. 12 follows very much the same formula, as does No. 18 (albeit the final hole does spice up the strategy by incorporating a wide, dogleg turn along a pond). This review thus far makes it seem Yankee Trace and its progenitor, Bates, are a 1:1 correlation with the worst track and field meet in history. They are not. Yankee Trace is much better than that. For the clunky ‘90s-era mechanics of its long holes, Bates takes a more sensitive approach during the shorts, offering a range of manageable challenges. He uses the same perpendicular putting surface trick described above at No. 3, which performs better as a one-off one-shot hole. No. 8 features a long-ish tee shot down to a green bending left around a deep bunker, while the shorter No. 13 has a deep green where front pins summon suckers. Finally, No. 16 is a haul at 225 yards; players must work the ball around a small bunker at the front-inside to get to back tees, or consider laying up as the more prudent play. And the holes in the middle of long and short? They accordingly fall somewhere in the middle. On the best of them, Bates hardly needs sand hazards at all, using small terrain fluctuations to guard against approach shots (No. 10) or the gentle right-to-left slope of the land to play into a semi-drivable par four temptation. On the worst, trees sit in position to block even shots that land in the fairway (No. 2 and ironically, No. 10, which showcases both Bates’s best and worst).Yankee Trace isn’t the most inspiring course but, in a region suffering for inspirational public golf (Dayton closed 66% of its municipal facilities during 2020), Yankee Trace should be appreciated as a local offering, perhaps even the best local offering. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend traveling a great distance for it, however. Still...much better than the local track and field fare.

The history at Lac La Belle is quite remarkable; a mini-museum in the clubhouse pays tribute to what it calls one of the original majors — the Oconomowoc Open — which at one time offered the highest prize pool in golf. Even if you don’t buy into that claim, the combined six U.S. Open victories of its golf professionals — Willie Anderson and Alex Smith — are notable history. One thing not so remarkable about the Lac La Belle property is the land itself, which forced Craig Haltom to get creative when redesigning the course for its grand reopening during 2020. Ownership contributed by gathering property across the street, versus cramming all 18 on the existing parcel. Haltom, for his part, decided like many architects before him that the best way to bring good golf to a property of lackluster elevation change was to install superb putting surfaces. Part of the superb nature, in this case, is the sheer scope of these greens. I am going to cop out on coming up with my own descriptions of these greens, and rely instead upon the words of the handsomest, if least talented at golf, contributor to The Fried Egg: (note: Please link "The Fried Egg" to https://thefriedegg.com/history-and-memory-renovating-the-club-at-lac-la-belle/)“No. 4 is one of four holes built on a new piece of property that Morse purchased. This par 3 has already gotten a lot of social media attention, thanks to its turbulent, 50-yard deep putting surface. On most days you need to stay below the pin here. There is, however, a back-corner “hole-in-one” location that sits in a bowl. Those on target from 210 have a chance at an 1896 British one-penny, the promised reward for an ace at the club…”“No. 18 should also make for fun Google Maps viewing. The pinnable region of the half-pipe green stretches for more than 60 yards, and then connects up a hill to the club’s putting course…”“The sleeper of the new Lac La Belle is No. 15, a shorter par 4. A leftward strip of fairway has little strategic appeal when the flag is dead center, but more when it’s in the upper-right corner. For the latter pin, a lay-up to the left provides the best angle around a problematic pot, which is stuck in the green’s skin like a misfired BB pellet.” All fun holes...No. 16 deserves so credit as well, offering a split fairway off the tee, divided by a tree. The leftward route on this par five will require a shot up over some of the rare raised land at Lac La Belle, the front of which Haltom embedded bunkers within. My rating for this course should be considered within the normal “growing-in” period for a golf course, as Lac La Belle has a few. One is the native area, which will of course fill out in the years to come. Management still seemed on the fence on some quicker fixes, however, such as the bunker lining. Some fairway hazards had old-fashioned bushy eyebrows, and others, even on the same hole, had been to a barber just the day before, apparently. It’s possible a style has been conformed to by now. As of June 2020, this course measured at a 3.5 in my book, but it can become a 4 quite easily. I hope your future reviews, my dear reader, will indicate such progress.

Clovernook is a charming course from the pen of William Langford and the bulldozer of Theodore Moreau; To the club’s credit, the steep-sided greens preferred by the pair are evident across the course, making its putting surfaces unique to almost everything in the Cincinnati area (short of Seth Raynor’s work at Camargo). Charming is a loaded word—or so I’ve learned when my mother comments on my attempts at baking—and indeed I will get the bad news out of the way first: Clovernook, like so many of its era, is in need of some renovating. Trees are an obvious starting point; what could be a righteous challenge on its own, the 230-yard par three at No. 4 borders on requiring a low-links-style shot due to trees on the right. The mutually doglegging Nos. 13 and 16 could also benefit from removing the foliage that hampers what would otherwise be the preferred landing spot for a strong player. Worst of all is No. 17: The pond on the hole is located to serve a similar purpose to Tillie’s Great Hazard; if you strike a poor tee shot, you’ll be forced to get back in position with a short wedge shot before crossing. Two trees (one on the right fairway, fronting the pond, and one on the left fairway, opposite side of the pond) create the damndest alley so that even a ball in the fairway does not guarantee an open second shot across the pond. Therefore the mid-handicapper, otherwise happy to be on shortgrass, must pull some Phil Mickelson wizardry to find their way around (note: Phil Mickelson is not a mid-handicapper). Although that forced carry would be fair minus the two trees, the gaps between fairways on other holes have gotten extreme. There are several valleys with creeks on the property, which is typical in Ohio. An original sketch of the routing shows that fairways often rolled right down to the stream; a justified defense against big hitters, and safeguard of sorts for lesser players. Now holes such as No. 1, 3, 5, and 10 feature significant forced carries. Again, it is typically the weaker golfer who ends up at the bottom...the difference between fairway and rough is a greater divide for them than the skilled player. I’ve dwelled significantly on the negative so, as I tell my baking virtuoso mother, it’s important to remind critics that an ugly cupcake is still delicious. The putting surfaces could perhaps use expansion in places, but they are fun as they stand. The collection of par threes lives up to L&M’s standards for short holes. The highlight of the property, however, is No. 9...a long (467 yards) par four featuring a tee shot to a somewhat blind landing area, followed by a risk/reward approach that must thread a bunker perhaps 40 yards out, before settling on what is the finest putting surface at the property. Clovernook is far from being written off, and I hold it highly among courses in Ohio that I would love to get a knowledgable renovation.

There are typically two opinions when discussing Ohio State University’s Scarlet Course: one, that Jack Nicklaus did a fine job restoring the course to championship-caliber glory from the bones of the Alister MacKenzie that sat there, or two, that Nicklaus is a heathen who ruined a perfectly good MacKenzie. The trick is that MacKenzie had died before Scarlet was constructed, and therefore the greens presented are actually a mix of those designed by the man himself, and the rest by the team of Professor George McClure and original superintendent John McCoy. In fact, the original Scarlet course featured no fairway bunkering (due to lingering budget effects of the Great Depression), and McCoy handled all fairway bunker design and placement years after the club opened. Why is your correspondent blathering so much about the Scarlet course in an alleged review of the Gray course? The point is that MacKenzie is sacred to believers, and messing with any of his original work will create a tizzy, even if it wasn’t actually his original work. Perhaps this is why Gray sits largely untouched at one of the nation’s most well-funded universities, even after management splurged millions on a marquee renovation of its Scarlet Course. Granted, another reason is simply that Gray was always intended to provide a more casual round of 18 than its muscular brother (and it plays this role well). But perhaps if those near the top accepted McCoy’s oversized role in Gray (nine of the holes were completed to his specifications after the opening of the other 27), they might be willing to sink a few quid into adding a bit more excitement? The Gray opened with zero fairway bunkers and has since escalated to six, two of which have real strategic impact on the course. In terms of geographic interest, much is withheld until No. 16, where the previously pancaked property (there’s slope, but barely enough to merit a sleigh ride, and no wrinkles for odd lies) folds up into a blanket of moraine, which it rides for the final three holes. These three need no help from man, but the other 15 holes (excluding the four par threes) could use some help. The fairways are wide and accepting...and boring. A tasteful touch of challenge would do the course well, both by our standards and MacKenzie’s. After all, it seems unlikely that his original drawings featured no fairway bunkers—the understaffed university just never got around to placing them! One area of Gray that needs little touching up is the greens. They are small, and McClure notably preferred them this way, but they work well for a course that maxes out at 6,200 yards. McCoy, although not a Hall of Famer like MacKenzie, created devious little curiosities among his half of the greens. Among my favorite are No. 4, a short par three with a long movement...No. 14, a short par four with a funnel out the back (to stump those putting to long pins from the wrong side of the green), and No. 15, a reachable par five that wraps up and around two fronting bunkers, ever tempting to those who have struck a long drive to its toothless fairway. Ah but if that fairway had teeth, I would presumably have fewer career eagles to my name, and such is the problem across much of Gray. The course is maintained to the same high standard as the Scarlet, and its position as the more relaxing of the pair is appreciated. But I would not mind if someone added more intrigue from the tee. As C.B. Macdonald noted, if a golf hole is a portrait, the green is the face. I am awfully fond of my wife’s face, to be sure, but I do not mind other, ahem, hazards. It would do Gray well if the MacKenzie MacKult put down its pitchforks, and somebody encouraged some sacrilege to “his” design. The architect himself may appreciate if his final route brought on a touch more challenge.

I’m hardly an urban planner, and the market certainly seems to suggest that as many homes should be crammed in as little space as possible (note: This opinion was expressed during the COVID low-interest-rate housing boom). As a reader of both The Economist and The Golfer’s Journal, I like to think that some middle ground exists where well-designed golf courses can exist alongside subdivisions. Columbus, Ohio—your correspondent’s base—has not readily supplied such opportunities. Although I try to avoid critiquing such residential hybrids just for existing, I can’t deny that there is something lacking. I’ve formulated a list of problems: One is simple upkeep. I’ll preface this by saying that many of the subdivision courses in Columbus are operated by the same company, and the waste-quality of the bunkers or the sogginess of the fairways are similar between them. Basically, if a manager with some interest were to step up, the issues could be addressed. Second is playing corridors. This complaint is mostly heard regarding trees, but opportunistic development plans often mean lining both sides of a fairway with housing, which is a nightmare for players who go wide of the mark. Sometimes ponds are added as a barrier, but let’s be honest: If a slicer is being forced to aim to avoid a pond on the right, he’s now aiming at the houses on the left. The more affordable the housing, the more likely it is to take mortars from next door. My sympathy to the latter parties only goes so far; I don’t know what Brezhnev sold you when you bought the condo at Chernobyl, but you should have seen the radiation poisoning coming. The answer then? Simply limit yourself to homes along one side of the fairway (and ideally the left). If holes are able to run parallel to each other, the lack of a barrier between them allows the course to breathe, and for lackluster players to breathe easier when looking for their ball. An unpenalized shot from deep rough is still better than losing a stroke and a ball to a dog that looked much smaller 200 yards ago. Finally, creativity just seems to slip among residential courses. The mass-production concept of “freeway” golf has been resurrected in the form of subdivision golf, and there are multiple reasons. One is a lack of budget; Michael Hurdzan puts more work into blank-check properties like Erin Hills than he does the neighborhood accompaniments in my neck of the woods (that’s not completely removing the yoke of blame from the architect). When a creative architect can combine intriguing sand hazards with strategic foresight (for example, making players choose between distance and angle; leaving a longer, straighter shot for those who leave the driver in the bag and vice-versa), you get a much more satisfactory residential golf experience. If the designer can even use dirt from the construction process to place a tabletop green atop the shortest par three on the course, perched above deep bunkers in tribute to the Ross “volcano” concept…OK, the last “theoretical” example was a bit too specific. You’ve probably caught on that I had somewhere in mind while writing up this review. Take the pleasant alternative I offered for each critical complaint, and you’ve got an idea what you can expect at Stone Ridge. It’s not going to top any lists soon, but it’s a stated improvement on the typical Saturday morning experience I described in my negative Columbus examples. I was pleasantly surprised at what Arthur Hills and Stone Ridge accomplished here, and would certainly recommend it to those in the area.

In memory of the recently departed Alex Trebek, I’ll open this writeup with a bit of trivia: five major winners who have designed golf courses in the greater Columbus, Ohio area. “Who are Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Tom Weiskopf” are easy, “Fuzzy Zoeller” may catch a few off guard, but many will be quite sincere — and not just using ‘Jeopardy’s trademark verbiage — when they say “who is Lanny Wadkins?” The answer is both the winner of the 1977 PGA Championship at Pebble Beach, and the designer of Pinnacle Golf Club. One could be forgiven for thinking one of those other names was involved, however...much of the back nine revolves around the property’s central creek, leading to forced carries and watery run-ins that hearken to designs by both Nicklaus and Palmer on the city’s north side (Nicklaus is rumored to have been scouted for the job, before ownership took the offer to Wadkins). Although numerous forced carries can become tiresome, such is not the problem at Pinnacle. In fact, the creek provides the meat behind one of the club’s best holes. At No. 9, the position of the stream is quite ideal, allowing players of any strength to have an attempt at getting home in two when playing from the correct tee. That the stylistic clubhouse is perched on the hill behind the green makes it all the more pleasing. Issues appear, however, due to the trees that appreciate such sources of hydration. Rarely does this result in fairways-too-thin (the typical tree complaint) but the second nine, which houses most of the creek, is notably cramped compared to the more expansive front. Although the yardages are almost equal, the holes on the back are jigsaw-puzzled together to fit, which can be just fine if the strategy remains varied, but the doglegs at Nos. 12, 14, and 17 essentially become the same hole. That said, of the three, I’d suggest two of those aforementioned three are in fact good holes (too many trees at the corner of the dogleg at No. 14). Many before me have lamented that No. 9 is not the closing hole, however the long that officially ends the round is a prize of a hole, with a false front to match some of the nastiest rejection letters I have received. On the front nine, No. 4 also stands out for its downhill approach, the final 150 yards along ponds connected by a series of waterfalls. On the whole, Pinnacle is not a disappointing course...well-maintained and visually-stimulating. It requires a few more standout holes to take Wadkins the designer from pub trivia to a household name, however.

I picked up on some advice regarding golf photography from Tom Doak a few years back as I was considering potentially pricey equipment to supplement my rather basic setup. I found a quote from Doak praising the standard DSLR setup that can be had at a relatively low price at most electronics stores. He offered some other tidbits about angles to the sun and such, but the crux of his argument was that if you understand framing, you can do much without doing excess. The same could be said for Pacific Dunes. In fact, Doak has said about as much regarding the course, noting that the average golfer could easily find the incredible green sites at Pacific, whether that’s the descent toward the Pacific at No. 10, the following Par 3 into the wind along the coast, or the green parked against a significant dunescape at No. 13. Observing the black streaks and pebbles in the bunkers suggests just how natural this course is.Is it possible that you or I is equally capable of creating a Pacific Dunes, should Mike Keiser call us tomorrow with a similar piece of property? Tom may suggest so, but he’s incorrect. I’ll prove this point by highlighting my least favorite hole, No. 4. This long Par 4 covers 463 yards of shoreline, which — if we take liberty with Doak’s words a tad — implies it should be the most obvious hole on Bandon’s property, considering it has the longest chunk of cliffs at its disposal. It’s a tough hole, even with the wind at your back, as you’ll need to hug those cliffs with consecutive shots to arrive in regulation, and a relative lack of rolling turf doesn’t add much to that formula. It is a beautiful hole...one that you or I might have actually been able to dream up. That the majority of Pacific’s most strategically interesting holes are inland is testament that Doak is my superior. There are any number of holes to cite, most of which have probably been included in previous reviews, so I won’t dwell. My favorites include the fall-away fairway and grassy mounds that maker No. 7 a Par 4.5 during matchplay. Or the Road-style green at No. 8 that, despite its 400-yard length, proves any hole with a Road-style green is a think-piece upon approach. The downhill Redan at No. 17, which ups the template’s challenge thanks to the gorse-covered dune at the rear (which distracts nubile American eyes like mine, who has never experienced such a sight). Finally, the largest bunker on the course off the tee at No. 18: You have the wind at your back for the final hole and are sensing the opportunity for glory...so of course there must be a monster for the hero to evade. Apologies to No. 4; it’s not a weak hole by any means. Just the least successful child in a successful family (I know the feeling, No. 4). But I don’t generally give six-ball ratings to courses that have weak holes. Looking back...it doesn’t look like I’ve ever given a six-ball rating. Let’s break that streak today.

Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw faced a tall order in developing the Bandon Trails, the piece of property furthest from the sea at the Bandon Resort. I break no new ground when I tell you the forested route features winds less buffeting than its more coastal cousins, and of course the greens also tend to offer more wobble. But the design duo offered something at Trails special to the links tradition...a factor that generations of Americans (and don’t let me leave out international moderners) have come to ignore, and even despise. Chance. We are control freaks. We demand rewards for doing everything the right way, and punishment for those who do it the wrong way. Simple things, like a bad bounce, are ill-received. This does not apply to the wind at links courses; the wind may impact difficulty, but it is predictable. It is blowing at a speed, and in a direction. Better players can overcome defined challenges. Better players (and lesser ones, like your correspondent), cannot overcome chance. They can only embrace the unexpected. Blind shots, for example. The Dell concept has never really caught on over here. I doubt even Coore & Crenshaw had quite free reign at Trails — opening with a replica of Tobacco Road’s wall of sand probably would not have sat well with Mike Keiser — but the semi-blind opening draw at Trails is an opening to a message that culminates at the totally blind tee shot at tee No. 18: You will be hit balls to places you cannot see right now, and some of those balls will settle in places you didn’t imagine. Will you respond well? Will you have fun? To be fair, I have only had the opportunity to play Trails and Pacific Dunes, but while the latter was certainly more of a challenge, I could more easily see the writing on the wall as well. Bumps and blind landings turned my Callaways into tumbling dice more often at Trails. A unique take on the concept comes during many of the bunkers, which frequently feature mounds of sand topped with grass, or even small trees. Consider the rightward fairway bunker at No. 11, which is peppered with obstacles. Rolling into the hazard while challenging the corner of the dogleg does not guarantee any particular result. Some may still see fit to lay up 125, and others may need to hit backwards because their drive drew the shortest straw. “Patently unfair!” the modern golfer quacks. Perhaps it’s a warning we shouldn’t play with dangerous things. The losers at Russian roulette never complain, after all. There are exceptions, of course. No. 14 is typically the “controversial” hole at Trails, and I’m inclined to lean against. Although perhaps more spontaneous than any other hole at the course, there is very little room for success off of the tee (this was my only birdie hole of the day, so I’m speaking for the observed travails of my playing partners). I had heard frequently coming into the round that Trails, among all the entries at Bandon, was the one that needed the most plays to truly appreciate. Knowing that I didn’t necessarily have the means for requisite multiple plays, I tried to pay more attention this time around. I think I see you, Coore & Crenshaw, even if I didn’t see where my final tee shot landed. As I crossed the crest, first seeing the green in the distance and then my landing spot, I saw that my luck had been good...both on that drive and in getting to experience something like Bandon Trails on my own continent.

Rex Smith played his hand honestly; he didn’t own any property on the Oregon coast, but he didn’t pretend to build links golf. Instead, he sells Bandon Crossings as a heathland tribute. Centerline bunkers and fast-moving fairways live up, placing emphasis on finesse and know-how more than distance (much appreciated by your scrawny correspondent). Hole nos. 3, 10 and 16 are prime examples. On the foremost, the better player can opt to get closer on this 420-yard Par 4 by taking a drive through a gap on the right of a fairway hazard left, about 255 yards out. The wiser player (feels good to call myself “wise”) can lay up short of the bunker for a better angle. A similar thought process occurs during No. 10, but with a large centerline hazard. No. 16 adds a bit of American red meat to the equation, offering a green drivable for big hitters who want to weave two sets of bunkers on their way to glory, but less muscular individuals will also need to place a deft tee shot to see a scoring angle to this green. Several Par 3s also feature winning features, like the bunker on No. 9, ten yards out from the green, which stands to intimidate during right pin placements. No. 11 is a gentler take on the heathland Redan (Smith no doubt swung by Swinley during his time abroad). Sunningdale Old is noted for having the first man-made water hazard in golf history, but it is not noted for forced carries, which represent a more new-world line of thinking. This is by no means an edict against forced carry, but the property at Bandon Crossings — namely the South and Lower Twomile Creeks, which run approximately 150 yards apart — creates inconsistent, uncomfortable ones during its Par 5s. The length at No. 4 (495) definitively suggests a risk-reward shot at two, but the uphill nature of the second shot, to a small green perched just on the other side of the creek, removes much eagerness. The very next hole features a longer approach downhill to a blind green hidden under the creek’s bluff. It’s both an unlikely target for risk-takers, and a risky hole unto itself; management should consider a bell on the green. The final hole features a canyon located at an awkward distance; strong hitters can get over in two, but even a 275-yard drive will require an 150-yard second to carry. It’s a hole that will force many small hitters to lay up (leaving a 220-yard third) despite a quality drive. Moving the tees up would make the hole more fair. The rates are quite reasonable and the conditions will be fun for those who play parkland courses on a regular basis. The staff is helpful; the young woman at the desk suggested there was another decent golf course or two up the road. Hadn’t realized the region was so interested in golf. May swing by tomorrow to see if her claims hold water.

Your correspondent mistakenly believed for years that the Inverness logo featured an elephant and an elk, confusing the flourish of the knight’s helmet to be antler’s on the stag’s head. It seemed odd, at first, to learn the beast’s true identity was a camel. After all, one’s nobility is typically held in higher regard than the other’s. Having played the course, I now fully endorse the decision. Glaciation’s role in forming Ohio golfland is well-established, generally for the better. The bubbling slopes of fairway seen looking back at holes such as No. 13 or No. 7 are blessings left in the form of glacial moraine (the namesake for another fine Ohio golf club). Glaciers, being non-sentient beings, did not necessarily do everything correct when shaping land for golf, however (better luck next time, guys). At countless clubs across Ohio, the result is a singular valley surrounding a creek that was at one point much larger, and much more frozen. Unfortunately, such a feature stumps lesser-level architects into making repetitive holes back and forth across the property. Donald Ross is no lesser-level architect. The shape of the Inverness property was going to inevitably force many north/south holes, and indeed eight holes cross the Deline Ditch (actual name) and its burn. Ross’s ability to avoid boredom with a variety of challenges and approach types — holes where running down the hill’s fairway is ideal and holes where it is not; holes requiring carries to greens perched on the rim, and holes requiring (forced) carries over the burn to greens down in the valley; approaches with blind bunkers lurking upon approach, and greens making the challenge of their well known. And again, this is just eight holes, playing over an identical landform. I imagined the camel as I struck from one hump, hoping my ball reached the green atop the next. (The elephant is perhaps represented in the championship-level strength this club intends, personified best by the daunting “Sunken Pits with Raised Faces," as Ross described the bunker style in his ‘Golf Has Never Failed Me.’ They are not casual hazards for those of poor approach). The camel’s humps become a less fortunate symbol with regards to Inverness’s history as a course, however. I’ve seen maps of the Fazio holes, compared to Andrew Green’s reimagined/restored Ross holes and shaken my head. Worse yet, I’ve seen comments like poor John Sabino’s, who summed up the course as “small greens” circa 2016. I hope he has the opportunity to return soon, as Green’s restoration will surely be invigorating. Placement of one’s approach is still essential, but now it is not enough to simply find the green, but to find the correct place on the green...one of the core tenets of strategic golf. Inverness began high on the back of Ross’s splendid work, descended into the valley of architecture’s dark ages, and has risen again atop the camel’s next hump. (As a side note, after my misunderstanding on Inverness’s logo, now I’m concerned The Golf Club’s logo may also be some hoofed animal aside from a stag! If anyone cares to give me a closer look…)

The Elyria Country Club marks one of the great missed opportunities in golf course names, as the founders of said club opted to adopt the name of this Ohio town rather than the river that lines the course. “The Black River Club” carries an incomparable magnificence, at least in this reviewer’s mind. The club does not seem interested in adopting a new moniker at this point, but it does seem interested in maintaining and, in some instances, invigorating the William Flynn features that make it noteworthy among Cleveland clubs. Elyria has done work in recent years to reestablish Flynn’s original bunker style, and problem trees have begun to disappear. Those using Google Maps as a reference point will notice the course’s most photogenic green, the Par 3 No. 13 — where one must carry the merging point of the Black River and a tributary — seems to be quite congested by overhanging trees. No longer, as of my playing. The overarching quality of this round is strong, and you should enjoy it. I state this summary early, as I’ll be committing the next paragraph to three potential tree removals that stand to take the round from “strong” to — my mother will appreciate how much my writing degrees contributed to this next word choice — “very strong.” I bring it up, because a touchpoint throughout the round was a man-by-man ranking of which trees had most cause to go. It was generally agreed that removing trees and widening the left fairway along No. 15 would make the Black River a hazard worth its name...and make a fine view as well. No. 11 is one of two Par 5s that require a blind, uphill tee shot, where position off the tee makes all the difference on whether the strongest players can reach (reminiscent, I’ve heard, of Flynn’s work at Philadelphia Country Club). A large tree sits at the top of the hill, and makes reaching the ideal landing area near-luck for the strong player, and provides a headache for the duffer, who only knows they can’t aim left, because of doglegging fairway atop the hill. Finally, the green at No. 17 falls off steeply at the right, which itself (there are no bunkers) is the core defense factor for this side of the green. The foliage of two large Ash Trees (don’t quote me on species), almost nullifies the need for skillful distance management, however. If a tree swats lofts from the inside of the dogleg, the ability to control the distance of said loft and maintain a tricky green is irrelevant. According to my playing partners, the club is interested in attacking such tree edits, which is a great sign. But I’ve spent too much time complaining about trees to reflect how much I enjoyed the round. The greens at Elyria are surely the highlight, emphasizing controlled approaches to avoid rolling off of steep banks. Although Ohio borders Pennsylvania, the true distance between it and Philadelphia is evident in the dearth of Philadelphia School courses in the state. Flynn designed three, and Tillinghast only one. Greens such as that at No. 17 and No. 10 especially show what we’re missing. Three of the Par 3s at Elyria are great fun, and No. 9 (the outlier) looks like it may have some Tillinghast “Reef” bones to it, if Flynn hobnobbed with his Philadelphia compatriot. Assuming that The Country Club and Pepper Pike live up to their reputations, Elyria can rest knowing it’s a very shiny bronze medal for Flynns in Ohio. It has one leg up on Flynn’s most prominent Ohio design, however: Even if “Elyria” isn’t quite as glorious as “The Black River Club,” it’s a much better name than “The Country Club.”

At the risk of insulting Top100’s semi-decent template series writer, I occasionally look elsewhere for insights on architecture. A recent post on “Tie-Ins,” or working to make a course fit within its environment, was greatly helpful in appreciating Pete Dye Golf Club. Most modern minimalists move much more than we care to believe, so creating the impression that they hadn’t is among their greatest feats. The tie-ins at PVGC run deeper, as evidenced by the No. 6 hole. The green is backed by an entryway into the coal mine that formerly occupied the property, and an orange phosphate creek pours down the left fairway from therein. The mining heritage of the club’s property and past ownership is celebrated throughout. Ah, but yes: the title Pete also moved a hell of a lot of land to make this course look like a natural mountainside. Laidlaw Purves deserves full credit for his placement of greens for blind approaches at Sandwich, but those dunes were there already. Dye had the freedom to create his own geologic features to fuel his famous fear-based strategies. Three of my favorite shots on the course—the approaches at Nos. 5, 8 and 18—feature breaking points in the elevation, where the flag can be seen past the obstacle, but the landing area cannot, with Simpson’s Creek or trenches lurking for missed shots. There is good fishing to be had on the property’s ponds...but in this case it is Dye baiting the hook for you. Many blanch at blind shots so I shouldn’t linger, lest I lead you astray (been hanging around with Pete too long...he’s wearing off). The blind shots are few, if magnificent. Dye seemingly did little work for the creek-crossing holes at No. 2 and 18 (but he did need to build up the base of the slopes to prevent sliding)...bite off as much as you dare to chew. Enjoy the Par 3s and their varying relationships with the mountainside, running away from you along a lengthy putting surface (No. 16), or descending down from the roof of the mine (No. 7), and remember that this was once a relatively flat site, and Pete built it otherwise. Less impressive from an earthmoving perspective and more so from a golf historian’s perspective is No. 9; I’m not sure if Top100 will ever publish a “Channel” entry in its template series but if it does, this hole makes a splendid Par 4.5 version.It’s not all too surprising that Dye occasionally gets carried away in shaping land to his liking. No. 17 is the most notorious hole on the course, an elephant graveyard of a green frustrating putters. It’s not a bad hole by itself, but it doesn’t fit well within the context of PDGC, a club whose strengths lie to its honest flow, from hole to hole and from hole to mountain. Similarly, the waterfall besides the No. 10 green has a somewhat fake, Faz-at-the-Wynn, feel. Why have such a contrived distraction at a course Dye masterfully contrived to be so natural? Pete Dye (the club) is a visual feast, and quite a golf course to boot.

Many know Tillinghast’s final resting place, ashes poured into his beloved Wissahickon. Very few, however, know where he died. That answer is Toledo, Ohio, a state over from Pennsylvania, the state that perhaps benefitted most from his genius and his allegiance as a resident. Lakewood Country Club, Tillie’s only design in the next state West, has often been ignored as trivia, much like the opening bits of this review. A recent visit from the Web.com’s Rust-Oleum Championship did little to energize those outside the region. The sponsor product of that last event could have some metaphorical meaning for the course, which—like many of that era—would benefit from having a bit of rust scrubbed off. It will not take the architecturally-astute eye too much time to spot where Tillinghast’s famous greens once extended to, based on the bunkers circling the putting surfaces, and the nails on the designer’s signature talon bunkers have receded as well. There has been some effort to restore some Tillie personality; unfortunately, Stephen Kay chose to push the “restored” Great Hazard closer to the green rather than the middle of the hole on No. 6, convoluting the great bunker’s great purpose. This has been a dismal writeup thus far, but your correspondent holds the architect closer to his heart than many, and yearns to see better days for such a design. But perhaps I should spray some other household solvent on myself to provoke shinier thoughts, as there’s quality to be had (and much hope furthermore). At the fore, Lakewood is a rare case that features all four of Tillie’s templates; although the architect claimed to eschew MacRaynor’s template-based philosophy, he frequently repeated a pair of both Par 3 and Par 5 concepts, albeit infrequently at a single layout. My host pointed out how and where renovations could sharper the teeth of the course's respective Reef, Great Hazard, Double Dogleg and Tiny Tim holes. Although—largely because of Bethpage Black—Tillinghast has been associated with longer Par 4s, two of the shorter middle-length holes deserve recognition here. No. 7 begins in the corner of the property and, despite considerably less flash than the preceding Great Hazard hole, makes a more compelling architectural case, with a dogleg right that pinches at the hinge, followed by a shot to a (intentionally) small green surrounded by sand. No. 18 brings the player home by diving into a shallow valley, where a capillary of a creek suggests players consider staying left; that safe play is “rewarded” when the uphill shot to the green is blind, and the player can only guess at how much landing area they have to work with. My host elaborated on hopes to contract a prominent restorer with Tillinghast experience to restore the greens and hazards at Lakewood Country Club once this COVID nonsense has passed. I hope that day comes soon, and I have a chance to register a more lofty score, which the bones here are strong enough to bear. Tillinghast’s memory has certainly never died next door in Pennsylvania, and we Ohioans should do well to keep him alive within our borders…even if he did, indeed, die here.

The two gems of Cleveland Municipal golf—Manakiki and Sleepy Hollow—were essentially won for the general public during the late ‘50s when a lawsuit from two non-golfing, concerned taxpayers questioned whether the city’s park system could rent land to private enterprises. I take my hat off to these observant watchdogs...not because of any threat to my tax dollars (I live in Columbus) but rather because now I can drive north on occasion and publicly enjoy a Donald Ross that remains so true to the Scot’s tenets. Chief among those tenets are the greens, whose signature features remain intact. Two immediately come to mind, although each putting surface here comes with a touch of Ross charm. No. 7 is a splendid short Par 3, where a vertical spine extends from the back, to enforce the importance of finding the correct half of the putting surface upon approach, and deep bunkers enforce the importance of finding EITHER half of the putting surface (as a side note, the depth of these bunkers simply would not be possible in Columbus, where municipal sand bakes to the point of waste...wrecking the life of the hapless high-handicapper who falls in. If Cleveland’s care of Manakiki’s hazards were to be so lackluster, they would quickly convert from strategic sandpits to unrealistic hellholes). No. 3 also deserves some attention; at just 471 yards, it is a very reachable Par 5. Therefore the placement of a flag in the front thumbprint makes the foremost pin the stickiest proposition; anything above the flag in the green’s bowl makes eagle putts quickly (both temporally and in terms of green speed) become pars. But who lays up in a situation like this, really? Although none of the putting surfaces are truly crowned in the Pinehurst sense, many still offer opportunity to find the fairway (again) with an over-strong putt. Many of the fairways behave in a similar manner; although the course’s signature holes (nos. 10 and 18) play down through valleys between rolling hills, the majority of these fairways run atop them. This displays Ross’s knack for routing, and also creates a great opportunity to win a skin off of a first-timer; many drives that look like gold from the tee prove otherwise when they feed left or right into the second-cut. The biggest complaint against both Manakiki and Sleepy Hollow will be the length of a round. No one expects a municipal 18 to fly as quickly as a private club, but sme lack in variety compounds the problem here. Three of the four Par 5s are less than 500 yards from the tips. Unto itself, it’s a concerning bit of sameness, but it also means a 280-yard drive (quite frequent on these fast fairways) results in waiting for the group ahead to move off the green. The trickle-down schedule wreckenomics flows backward from there.Nonetheless, I would hardly encourage Cleveland to raise prices ($38 to walk during the weekend), or even cut back tee times. The people of Cleveland fought for access to this course (or at least one litigious couple did), and they should continue to exercise that right. Manakiki remains a bright light for municipal operations, in Ohio and otherwise.

It’s appropriate Blue Mound Golf Club will (theoretically) host the Jr. Ryder Cup as part of the greater event’s Wisconsin location during 2020. Although participants in the Junior are probably more capable golfers than your correspondent, there is something in the architectural approach of C.B. Macdonald and Seth Raynor that implies an education, providing formulas for overcoming a range of factors golfers will see in the less-predictable, bigger, badder world of Whistling Straits et al. Those templates are, of course, on display at Raynor’s Blue Mound. Recently I spoke with an avid golf course architecture-phile on whether the MacRaynor formula could be perceived as lacking in creativity compared to other Golden Age designers. My reply hinged on the skill of those architects in adapting those to templates to the property presented. Blue Mound’s land is not ideal for a golf club, frequently flatlining at a geographic level. It is engaging, therefore, to consider what Raynor was able to do in tweaking his formulas to create successful renditions of his classic holes. No. 8 is a great start; Raynor faced the longest uphill climb on the property, following the drop down to his Short green. He surely understood that even a Par 5 that spends its first 400 yards slogging uphill offers little fun or strategic options, and so he built the hole around a blind approach shot into his “Punchbowl” green so players feel less anxiety launching such a long approach into the “Blue,” and also feel the old-world suspense such shots create in their Scottish Links roots. The green is a (nervous) joy to approach on foot following such a shot. Similarly, the only valley on the property is filled with a creek, however—as this publication suggested in its template series—No. 6 (titled “Strategy”) is actually a rather clever “Valley” hole, modeled after No. 1 at NGLA. The natural flow of the land didn’t offer the opportunity for quite the same uphill approach as Macdonald’s precedent, but Raynor adjusts brilliantly by strengthening his greenside bunker placement; the hazard at the front-right spooks players approaching from that side into hitting too high onto an undulating green...and the bunker greenside-right only gets deeper the farther back you miss (it should be noted Blue Mound has a hole named “Valley” at No. 14, which is not actually a “Valley” template). Raynor doubled down on the proven classic Redan, offering both a traditional short and a Par 4 rendition opening the course. It’s only fair, of course to acknowledge where such terrain doesn’t work to Raynor’s advantage. The most glaring example is the Alps, where he planted the green atop a manufactured hill, rather than “hiding” it behind the man-made mound. The Eden, to be fair, would be a standout standalone Par 3 at most clubs. Raynor didn’t quite have the soil to create the extreme slope of other versions, however, so putting down into the Strath is unrealistic (many will perceive this as a “plus”...perhaps your correspondent is just a snob).Fortunately, in some instances of lackluster elevation change, Raynor relied heavily on a safe tenet of great golf design: When all else fails, a fine green offers glorious redemption. His Double Plateau and Prize Dogleg (a rarity among his template portfolio) feature the best putting surfaces on the course, to contrast their shuffleboard fairways. Ben Crenshaw reportedly spent 40 minutes examining the triple-plateaued green at No. 10. Blue Mound is a splendid case study for those entering the world of strategic course architecture in its consideration of both templates and terrain...just as it’s a splendid entry point for playing more strategic competitive golf, as some junior Ryder Cuppers—and Top100 reviewers—will hopefully agree.

Erin Hills was always going to be made or broken by its scope; “made” in the sense that glaciers sculpted a wondrous Midwestern landscape. It seems unfit to rely upon the go-to adjective of “rolling” to describe the fairways here; “rolling” waves make for a fun day at the beach with a boogie board. No, the fairways at Erin Hills “crest,” the type of stuff that big-boy surfers ride to glory. Epic stuff. On the other hand, the scope of the course’s design could also work to break it; is it truly a masterful piece of design worthy of the U.S. Open, or is it an unfortunate testament to the current brawn of the PGA Tour? Simply put, it is not the latter. I see this complaint frequently associated with this Erin, but am unable to confirm. Your correspondent played in winds crossing 30 mph, and managed to make it to near green-level on every hole. This isn’t a testament to my strength, but simply some light wisdom in choosing tees. My caddie confirmed that many scratch golfers (of which I am not) opt for the 7,800-yard tips when a happy 7,200-yard option exists. Playing such a monstrous distance does in fact derail the course’s intentions (again, unless you’re a pro). Three of the four long holes here should be considered matchplay eagle options for those who have struck a good tee shot from the appropriate tee; playing from the tips takes three over 600 yards. Consider No. 14, a risk-reward gem at 508 yards from the blue tees...but extended 106 yards from Blue to Black, eliminating both its purpose and potential for you or I. The moral: Don’t buy into arguments that this course is a monster. Check your ego along with your clubs when you drive up, and enjoy the round. Hurdzan and associates have provided areas to miss on nearly every hole (the exception is the course’s finest short hole, the pearl-necklaced No. 9). I would counter that Bethpage Black—another course that emphasizes carried approaches rather than run-ups—could merit some lessons from Erin Hills; muscular courses play better when wide fairways create options of attack. There are some foibles; obviously Erin was never going to be “true” links golf, but some room for ground attack would be nice. So holes play uphill or have here raised greens...partially decided by the landscape, but likely based upon founder Bob May’s hellbent desire to host an Open. Similarly, the emphasis on aerial attack occasionally results in repeated tactics; consider, for example, Nos. 3 through 5, all Par 4s featuring similar centerline bunkers ahead of the green. The distance from the green varies between these hazards, but not enough to allow the mental differentiation such large installations deserve. I came away from the stretch with only a lucid memory of No. 4, where the final bunker is used in true “Lion’s Mouth” fashion...a great hole diminishing its less-great (but not poor) neighbors. For what it lacks in links-style run-ups, it has a healthy number of blind tee shots—a flavor appreciated by this reviewer if not others—highlighted in particular at No. 12; it’s only too bad the one-time Dell hole has been replaced. Erin Hills was always going to made or broken by its scope; in this review, the magnitude of the property itself tipped the final decision from 4.5 to 5; those 30-plus mph winds created rolling waves in the sea of fescue, a sight unmatched to my knowledge in American golf. There are a few hackles to be had, but Erin Hills lacks many comparison points on this end of the Atlantic.

Michael Hurdzan is based out of Columbus, Ohio and, as a resident of this capital city, your correspondent can attest that much of his work in the area involves courses routed around subdivisions. I recently commented upon another reviewer’s post regarding housing complaints when reviewing golf courses themselves, and the need to justify one’s complaint in regards to the course. Little Mountain Country Club is a testament to an architect’s battle against real estate interests, and the unfortunate, realistic limits within such a battle. The first major question to ask when considering housing on a golf course is whether a poor shot has any likelihood of breaking a window and/or killing the wealthy resident therein. This answer is certainly “no” at Little Mountain; all homes are tucked well enough from the holes that not even your correspondent could damage them. Unfortunately, this bit of “smart” urban planning means sacrifices elsewhere, and Hurdzan was forced to make them. He remained admirably steadfast that wider fairways are better: Nos. 5, 8, 11, 13, and 16 are examples where players have more strategic options from the tee (than at my local subdivision clubs, for example). This commitment requires many parallel fairways stand closer together than current COVID-19 regulations allow. We found the fairways peppered with balls that were abandoned following a tee shot from relatively nearby. In one instance, an elderly gentleman played my partner’s ball rather than his own, which was lying maybe 10 feet away (that my partner’s ball had a better line to the nearby Par 3’s green was not suspicious at all). Some complain about trees between fairways, but the ones at Little Mountain clearly serve as a modest shield for patrons. The Par 3s punctuate routing issues in a tight property. Gil Hanse recommends waiting until No. 4 for a Par 3, as nothing kills pace-of-play like high-handicappers on early shorts. Little Mountain features shorts at Nos. 2, 4, and 6. Their locations seem the opposite of the Stanley Thompson method, as if Hurdzan waited until he had 13 holes drawn up and was looking to fill gaps on what little property he had left. In his defense, these holes feature some of the best greens on the course. No. 12 looks like a throwaway from an aerial perspective, but its green bubbles to punish those who miss the short tee shot (a mere 90 yards the day we played). All these spatial issues stem from the subdivision that stabs awkwardly from the South into the heart of the course, to the point where the walk from the No. 14 green to the No. 15 tee requires exiting the course and walking along “Augusta Lane” (I acknowledge that this walk would be less bitter had the street been named something not quite so overwhelmingly cliched). Had Hurdzan the opportunity to access the full breadth of this property, I don’t doubt the Little Mountain experience would have been less constrained, and lived up to a more full potential.

Your correspondent had enough on his mind in terms of real mountains, namely the Blue Ridge mountains of North Georgia, and the impact they were having on both his ball and his cart. On the latter note, obey all the warning signs posted along the path. On the former note, I was basking in the warmth of having found the fairway maybe 80 yards short of the green, albeit a green blind upon approach due to a sudden and steep tilt in the slope of this particular mountain. A well-placed wedge would mean a well-earned look at the first score of the day. That well-placed wedge, however, found an all-too-conveniently placed hump at the last patch of fairway prior to the green, which sent my approach to the far end of the putting surface. The moral of this memoir on mounds: Mountain golf has been, in my experience, a question of gravity and extended yardages to counteract those forces of physics. Old Toccoa Farm has no lack of gravity, and yet it maxes out at 6,700 yards. This relative lack of distance means something is needed to challenge the skilled golfer. This mound was just one example discovered during my day at Old Toccoa. I noted that my playing partner, a member (it’s open to all, just call in advance for tee times) kept a notebook for jotting notes. He had been playing the new route for months and continued to find new facets (during our round, for example, the speed slot your correspondent found over the left fairway hill on No. 6’s downhill tee shot. You’re welcome, sir). This is a testament to the groundwork and shaping handled by Dave Axland (somewhat the face of the Coore & Crenshaw bunker experience), Dan Procter, and lead shaper Jack Dredla. Although this appears to be another case of the modern minimalist trend, I learned that many tons of dirt were moved to create that impression/experience. And, as if to make up for the bitter mound at No. 2, many greens were created with punchbowl characteristics and many bunkers strategically placed so that fewer balls are lost because of the gravitational elements at play. Scores may be high, but at least expensive balls remain in play, and not in the woods. As for standout holes, there are a few. The aforementioned No. 6 dives down to the idyllic Toccoa River, and the range of bumps and dips in the fairway somewhat simulate a more whitewater experience. What mountain courses often lack in strategy, they almost assuredly deliver in scenery. Old Toccoa has ample replay value in the knowledge accumulated during a round, but it does not cast the player’s more shallow desire for scenic vistas aside. The Par 3 at No. 12 is the highlight of them, with the Blue Ridges continuing in the background. The highlight comes early for the bold match player however, as No. 4 is a very drivable Par 4. Downhill and 313 from the tips, the player must carry a centerline bunker and ride a rightward groove down to the green; short or poorly struck efforts at heroism may ride that slope into a pond, which will encourage the wiser among us to lay up short of the centerline and pitch down to the green. Let us just say, from my round, that I consider wisdom to be code for “lame” (my tip for your little notebook: The mound at the crest of the downslope is an obvious target from the tee, but it’s a trap. Or at least ends with your drive in a deep one, greenside). The river, while scenic, leads to the only ho-hum holes on the course. The transition from the tumbling terrain that leads down to the plane is simply too dramatic, and—even with friendly quirks like the double green shared between Nos. 14 and 16—the plainness of these four holes is a break in the action. They are not especially poor holes, but rather a break in character from their compatriots. I hate to admit it but...maybe a few more irritating mounds to break my birdie chances would spruce these holes up a bit.

M. James Ward's review takes care of a good chunk of what I would contribute; namely that the Par 5s at this course are its highlight (the exception being the opener). No. 8 is short enough to tempt almost all solid drives, with an uphill approach and a centerline bunker asking for at least a second-glance before the player lets a fairway wood rip. No. 10 operates on similar principles to ANGC's Azalea, with a small creek flowing along the left side. A powerful player can attempt to carry a large bunker on the left and set up a carry of the creek into a wide green, or they can play it safe on the approach and lay up to a large collection area to prepare a more targeted birdie campaign. No. 16 tumbles back down to the entrance road, ducking through more bunkers than any other hole on the property, and again providing a good risk/reward opportunity. The course's Par 4s, as Ward alludes, are occasionally interesting, but uninteresting geography often leads to uninteresting holes. No. 17 appears to be an Old Course approach to strategy, with a humongous fairway theoretically offering bountiful options based on pin placement. The lack of any significant undulations hampers the notion, however. One area where I would like to expand on Ward's review however is playability, or even availability. To this point I had not bothered reviewing Cook's despite many visits because in the late Summer the fairways were intentionally left to go as rumors swirled the city park system would be buying the property and converting it to a boat launch. New photos no announcement of closure suggests these plans have been scratched. This is great news, as Cook's Creek is simply the best value when finding interesting public golf in Columbus. That said, you really must be here at the right time. If it has rained, almost all of the front nine, and several on the back, will be soaked. Simply the result of building a course at the culmination of the Scioto River and Walnut Creek. There's healthy marshland to capture excess rainfall (one of my communicants described Cook's as "Poor-man's Victoria National") but this course simply doesn't have the budget for extreme drainage measures. If the timing is right, however, Cook's is an affordable asset for the Columbus golfing community.

Typically, a review opening with comparisons to Bethpage Black and Torrey Pines would be a promising one. Unfortunately for Rees Jones, your cynical correspondent managed to turn this into a bad thing. Jones has taken some flak within his role of “The Open Doctor” at the aforementioned municipals, for both fairway and bunker renovation. At Torrey, bunkers popped up that didn’t border fairways at all, requiring a very targeted miss to challenge great golfers. At Bethpage, the thinning of fairways meant some of Tillinghast’s monstrosities stood less chance of collecting shots that rolled too far. The original standing of the offending bunkers at Griffin Gate is unknown—this was one of Jones’s first designs, circa 1981—but the “Open Doctor” symptoms are clear. Three separate greens are fronted at the center by a bunker, to promote an aerial attack. Not wildly imaginative by the third time, but not a serious concern. More humorous is the layer of second-cut that surrounds each. I chuckled as I appreciated the fronting bunker at No. 18, finding that my poorly-struck approach had gotten stuck in the grass, rather than rolling into the sand. Good thing that rough was there...otherwise I may have been in real trouble! The lie allowed for a relatively simple up-and-down, and a putt for par. I doubt the bunker would have been forgiving...had I been allowed to enter it. This phenomenon occurs consistently, both greenside and fairway-side, across the course. The hole that reminded me most of classic “Heroic” Rees was the Par 5 No. 10, which wrapped around a lake for some good risk/reward action. Although my eyes should have been stuck on the lake, I couldn’t help but notice a huge bunker sitting well outside of the cart path on the outside of the dogleg. Why? For whom? Even Whitechapel Jack would struggle to slice that thoroughly. A second issue pertains more the second half, where a housing development encroaches dramatically. Such courses in your correspondent’s native Columbus give ample leeway to protect homes, often with wide ponds to push players away. Griffin Gate pushes home insurance rates up. No. 12 best advertises the problem, as a tight line of homes wraps around the INSIDE of a dogleg, coming within 15 feet of the cart path, which itself was just a few feet off the fairway. As the father of a toddler, I shuddered when I saw a collection of toys in a backyard. If this is a deterrent to psychologically push players to the left, it is a perverse one (but effective...I certainly took the left-most route to protect both windows and children. Not everyone is as sympathetic as I, however). The housing is certainly not Jones’s fault, and possibly neither is the lack of shaving on bunkers. What is Jones’s fault (in a rare “good way”) is a number of fun greens, such as the Hog’s Back Par 3 at No. 2 and the undulating putting area No. 6. Perhaps because of its surrounds, Griffin Gate has a municipal vibe, and for the price, these greens provide a more exciting round for casual weekenders than the common muni, as do a number of comically short Par 5s (three are less than 500 from the tips, and the opener is 468...get your scorecard off with a friendly number!). Locals can enjoy, but travelers should take it from your course snob cynic and pass.

I can list at least three golf courses in Ohio that were founded and designed by entrepreneurs who had made their money in other industries. All three feature an island green. We tend to imagine characters such as Elon Musk (or Richard Branson, for those reading in the UK) as flashy, bigger-than-life personalities, and what better expression of this mindset than an island green? A singular entity, surrounded by a murky/obnoxious aura. This is just a bit of haphazard psychoanalysis by an unlicensed practitioner.The difference at Stonelick Hills is owner (and designer) Jeff Osterfeld packaged his island at the end of a short Par 5, allowing those who play toward the center of the fairway to strike at the large putting area if they feel so bold, but also allowing the conservative player to continue down the fairway to the left, and take a shorter third to the green complex. In short, Osterfeld offers options...something other aspirational architects (and golf course architects in general) would do well to consider before moving ahead with the simple “Island” Par 3. Heroism is the simplest concept for amateur golf designers to appreciate. It gets the player’s pulse up, and generally creates an impressive aesthetic. Stonelick benefits both from the owner’s restraint but—as with the aforementioned No. 9—also from his occasional push for adrenaline. Osterfeld made his money producing long sandwiches, but he finds more pleasure at Stonelick in short Par 4s. Both require the decision whether to take the long way around a hazard tracing the left of the fairway, or to bomb it over. On the more drivable of the two, No. 16, a pond waits on the right, and a dramatic green guarantees nothing to those who carry the blinding hill to reach in one. It’s a fun challenge at the end of the round for buddies to place bets upon. No. 11 is almost the same concept, although not quite drivable. Carrying a trio of bunkers at the corner leaves a shorter pitch to a green as comically-thin as Spyglass Hill’s No. 4 (i.e. not reasonable). Exciting, exotic...the kind of things we expect from businessmen-turned-course architects...but without the subtle touch displayed at nos. 9 and 16. Likewise, trees in the fairway can swing violently from “strategic thrill” to “strategy-strangling nuisance.” The latter takes place at No. 2, a longish Par 4 with only one route to glory. The small tree that nestles within the kidney-shaped green at the Par 3 No. 6 provides a unique distraction—and not an unfair one—for those who consider attacking back-right pins.You correspondent is wary—probably unfairly—when playing courses designed by rich hobbyists. Osterfeld, however, merits your trust. His boldest initiatives aren’t worth serious gripes in the grand scheme of a round, and the maintenance standards are quite high. The course is ultimately much better for Mr. Osterfeld’s brand than his company’s current slogan, “put it in your face.”

There are two Robert Trent Jones II courses in Ohio, and both were ordered by the same developer at the same time. The major difference between the two, to the advantage of Wedgewood’s membership, is the parcel on which the younger RTJ got to work. Although Jones is want to include bells and whistles in his projects, the land here—rolling hills not dissimilar from nearby Muirfield Village—convinced him (at least partially) from relying too heavily upon artificiality. Instead, as Macdonald deemed right, the land will reward and punish accordingly. No. 13 is certainly more eye-catching on Google Maps than most holes at the course, but the three bunkers dividing the front foot of the fairway will not—and should not—threaten the player hitting from the tee. It becomes obvious upon approach, however, that they were a distraction all along. Your correspondent wound up nicely, but a slight tilt in the turf, hidden by the hazard, could have converted a seemingly ideal drive into a nightmare by bouncing it aggressively in the larger, and more realistically-reachable bunker on the right. Two feet of good fortune benefitted this player. No. 15 is one of several very reachable Par 5s, which requires less trickery on Jones’s part; the final stretch of the fairway banks right toward a collection pond. Bigger hitters can avoid the risk of running up a fairway wood, but they find their own pitfalls by ending up too far up the back of the green...prompting a downhill putt on greens reported as “10” on the Stimp. The lengthy, rolling green at No. 9—another short Par 5—features the best of these greens, and demonstrates the importance of accuracy that is also reflected in the collection areas, and precise demands of tee shots. Local knowledge is earned, and it reflected among my hosts, who eagerly discussed skins. Your correspondent didn’t get to sample the local sand until No. 17 (those not playing from the Championship tees will find this to be the only short of significant length variance from the others), and it was about as cushy as it looked...a soft hazard, hardly damning the par chances. Matches at Wedgewood are made in the rolls of the fairway, not here. Perhaps feeling pressure after installing a bizarre, boomerang-greened at the cross-town country club, Trent Jones II tries to beef up the final Par 5, sitting on a rare, flat plot, a little too much, pinching the final fairway between two irrigation ponds and reflecting his father’s occasionally-forced penal nature. When given good ground to work with, however, he manages a track that will make year-round play worthwhile for membership.

Suburban golf courses have been known to acquire odd shapes to better suit the properties that line the fairways. Shaker Run is a collection of especially amoeboid shapes...where the homes and condominium development came nearly 40 years after the course’s completion. It would be overly generous to suppose Arthur Hills was working with tremendous foresight, as the new real estate doesn’t especially pinch any of his original palette. The greens simply do not “fit,” except into the era that ‘70s golf architecture found itself mired within. Nearly half of these greens are more than three-times longer than they are wide. This tendency always raises an eyebrow (if your eyebrows are bushy, you’ll have a nice idea for what these greens are shaped like) but a long, thin green can be a great change of pace / conversation piece when used conservatively. No. 14, a Par 3 that dives down through a wooded corridor to a green that runs front-right to back-left along Shaker Creek, is a fun piece of heroism. You’ll forget the experience, however, at No. 15...perhaps the most flagrant abuse of the theme. The back nine is accurately described as “Woodlands” and, if the mid-handicapper can thread this wood canyon, they must carry a fronting bunker and land a lob on an anorexic green. Kidneys are a good standard for putting surfaces when considering human anatomy. Shaker Run tends toward the intestines. Very few greens allow any sort of run-up, which will severely hamper the amateur. Whether it’s a halo of rough or a pinhole "sidewalk," loft is essential. Three of the more circular, non-liposuctioned greens, are fronted by forced carries in the form of creeks or lakes. Target golf or no golf. The bunkering shares a similar wiggly style as the greens, although this is not a point of critique. If every approach weren’t inherently a risk/reward, they would be quite attractive. Your correspondent has long defied convention and stuck his neck out for center-fairway trees as a hazard—and Arthur Hills is more fond of this technique than any. Our defense stops here: No. 16’s botanical guardian only removes options; there is no way to find the corner of the dogleg-right apart from luck. Arthur Hills always tends toward the wonk, but Shaker Run has not aged well. For a better glance at Hill’s hand for the exotic (and a similarly-priced tee time), head north in Ohio to Virtues Golf Club. It offers the challenge without the frustration...and that is a line even finer than Shaker's greens.

A number of classic architects are basking in a renovation revival, none more so than Donald Ross. Gil Hanse is on a Ross run, tapped for work on both Aronimink and Oakland Hills—plus his reimagination of Pinehurst No. 4. Nearer to your correspondent, recent work done at the Columbus Country Club has reportedly done much to restore the Scot’s philosophy to the property (we aim to affirm soon). Denison Golf Club would benefit greatly from such attention. Two of the best holes are instantly improved by something as simple as removing five trees—hardly the relative deforestation that occurred at the aforementioned renovation sites. No. 3 provides a classic Cape-style drive, positioned diagonally to the fairway, where a wide creek flows along the left side. Strangely, a single tree stands intimidatingly off the tee-line where a less confident golfer may aim to “bail out,” spooking the novice toward danger. A larger tree stands farther along the left side, which stands to punish those who play long and near to the creek, upending the entire purpose for such a design. Likewise, No. 13 is a short Par 4 where players can opt to gun past a deep bunker at the corner to a thinner landing area and earn an easier approach, or they can lay up short of the bunker. Basic architect calculus suggests nearness to corner bunker correlates directly to ease of approach (landing in the bunker is a multiplier of 0, of course). Three pines (not featured within original aerial photos) mean nothing but the most precise of iron shots leave an open approach to the uphill green. Ten yards too short? Better be able to bend it like Beckhamickleson. Those fixes are simple. The rest...not so much. A real estate sale way-back-when meant removing three holes and creating a new 15-17 tucked within a subdivision. No. 16 slogs up an intense hill with no plans other than reaching No. 17, which is just a green tucked unromantically on the parcel’s last remaining bit of flat land. Imagine Lawsonia’s classic No. 7, minus a soul. We’ve heard similar complaints about No. 15, but we’re actually fans of the this long, downhill Par 4. If the course were to expand the fairway, long hitters could worry whether the right-sloping fairway will kick their ball into more than just rough, funneling it down into the pond—finally giving strategic purpose to the water. This fairway width problem, unfortunately, has muffled many quality hazards along Denison’s route—either surrounding sand with a virtual bullet-proof vest of long turf, or allowing bunkers to slip from the fairway’s orbit altogether. Having recently played Shennecosset, a private Ross restored splendidly as a municipal, I know Gil Hanse is not the only option. The design at Denison is inherently strong. A prioritized list of fixes will prove it.

During 1889, a hunting club operated by Andrew Carnegie and friends made alterations to a local dam, weakening its resolve and ultimately causing a massive flood that devastated the city of Johnstown. The separate golf club Carnegie looked to establish above the city was handled more properly on all levels, thank God, and the results of that project shine on today. Carnegie, of course, made most of his fortune in Pittsburgh, just a few hours West, so it’s little surprise that he may have sought some points of comparison from that city’s classic courses. Although Tillinghast himself expressed disapproval for the geometric tendencies of MacRaynor, it’s worth considering whether input from his wealthy employer may have influenced Tillie in the slightest. Oakmont is the toast of Pittsburgh, of course, and Raynor would have been constructing Fox Chapel at the exact same time as Tillie’s work at Sunnehanna. Understanding the latter’s success is a matter of measuring Tillinghast’s fingerprint on Raynor’s aesthetics.It would be absurd to suggest the greens play as anything but Tillinghast, with considerable humps and scale to make both putters and pitchers sweat. Your correspondent’s caddie reported a Stimp-score of 13, and our broken dignity tends to agree. The architect was better known for longer templates—i.e. Great Hazards and Reefs—but two of the Par 3s at Sunnehanna are subtle twists on classic ideas. The more dramatic example is No. 5, which is rather square compared to the classic “Redan” green. But the optimal shot will catch the front left and funnel toward the flag at the center, performing rather like a Reverse Redan. It’s unlikely any shot will funnel hard enough to catch the pond on the right, but the thought will linger off the tee. No. 10 is elevated and plays to a traditional “Short” template distance, but only has bunkering at the left and right bunker. Understanding how Tillinghast opposed bunkers fronting his greens, it’s reasonable to consider the deep trench at the fore to be his alternate take on the “Short.”The logistics of lugging sand uphill may have prevented any true Great Hazard, but there are subtle indications Tillinghast tried his best on Nos. 11 and 15, both of which feature sizable bunkers that cut at least halfway into the fairway from the right. No. 11 features a pit of significant depth, which is invisible until once crests the peak off the uphill tee shot. It will take GIR off the table for those blindly fading right. The biggest hitters at the annual Sunnehanna Amateur could conceivably play too aggressively and drive into the pit, essentially taking a penalty for its depth. After a good tee shot, the approach will not be long, but it will roll downhill into a green that moves from front to back—one of many on the course that behaves this way. It’s an uncomfortable tactic for the average and, when the greens play as quickly as stated, an eagle approach quickly can become par. No. 15 (which fulfills Tillighast’s “Double Dogleg” template) features a “Great-Ish Hazard” of its own, jutting across the fairway with a shape more natural to Tillinghast. Every bunker on this Par 5 deserves credit, however. The tee shot must contend with three at the corner of the dogleg, staggered and rising in altitude with the hill. Finally, the deepest bunker on the course sits at the left of the green, its steep walls bordering on Charles Banks. Many of the bunkers mentioned across this review, and to great measure on holes such as Nos. 6 and 17, are invisible to the player during the shot. It’s a classic tactic that punishes those who play brashly, and a psychological tool to cast doubt, even upon well-struck shots. It’s a wonderful strategic move, if not a photogenic one. That may be the Sunnehanna’s first sin in a nation where course raters place undue emphasis on prettiness. A second, more legitimate complaint is the disappointing conclusion to the round...a relatively bland Par 4 on a course with very few bland holes. I heard suggestions for future improvements at Sunnehanna, and for what little your correspondent’s opinion is worth, they sound excellent. Sunnehanna may not quite merit Oakmont and Fox Chapel status, but it does deserve more than “little brother” status. After all, Johnstown’s Conemaugh River floodwaters are not influenced by rainfall in Pittsburgh. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Tom Weiskopf is not afraid to let his freak flag fly when designing a golf course. Continuing with the parlance of ‘60s rock ‘n’ roll, it seems like he really got his ya-yas out when designing No. 13 at Shanty Creek’s Cedar River course. As a man who guarantees at least one drivable Par 4 at every course he designs, Weiskopf also places some importance in differentiating between these entries. This is—among the Weiskopf shorts that we have played and seen (and we did additional research before making this claim)—the wonkiest of the bunch. Measuring 297 from the tips, the player naturally has two choices: Lay up to the left of the center bunker (and tree, for good measure), and pitch over another bunker for a birdie opportunity. Or, for the slightly deranged, go right of the center bunker, drawing the long tee shot so that as it crests the hill to the direct right of the tree, it avoids another large bunker on top of the hillock (and the surrounding native area), funneling down the last stretch of fairway and threading ever so precisely between two greenside bunkers, onto the putting surface for an eagle look. Your correspondent—frequently described as a “chicken” by his wife—went with the more conservative option. Why spend so much time elaborating upon this one dramatic hole? Because it stands in stark contrast to the rest of your experience at Cedar River, and Weiskopf seems to have been cooped up accordingly. The same glaciers that created the vivid blue waters of nearby Torch Lake also formed the rolling slopes that make Shanty Creek’s main source of revenue skiing—not golfing. The pine forests that surround almost every hole at Cedar River owe their beauty to the glacier-supplemented soil, and to the resort for seeing fit to down as few as possible during the construction of the course. Weiskopf designed accordingly, avoiding doglegged holes where the treeline would make second-shots near impossible for high handicappers. With exceptions—including the downhill Par 4 at No. 12, which rewards a well-played approach bank off the slope into a long green, and the closer, a fine replica of Congressional’s famous 18th—the limits on fairway routing and similar surrounds leaves Cedar with a large collection of holes that, while not particularly “bad,” are not particularly memorable either. That said, the conditioning is top-notch for a resort route, and those in the region for the day could do much worse.

Outside the most snobbish of purists, golf aficionados have calmed down when an American club describes itself as “links.” Although there is a knowing smirk, there is no need for an all-out eye-roll. It would be unfair to punish poor Roger Rulewich for the branding decisions made by the Crystal Springs Resort, for which Ballyowen serves as the flagship course. His green design may be quite unlike the rolling topography of “true” links, but his plateaued approach is undoubtedly the most fun aspect of the round, rewarding those who value position over a simple GIR stat. More than half of the holes will make two-putts difficult for those land on the wrong level. Among the best are the closer, a par four with a green of three distinct landing zones, stacked snowman-style for 51-yards of fun (or heartache, depending on context). A true gem is No. 13, where players will hit a wedge or short iron uphill to a green where the front plateau is higher than the back, surely resulting in many an anxious hike to review one's birdie chances. It’s the kind of measured blind shot that makes uptight golfers mutter “bastard” under their breath, while inspiring us fun folk to lookforward to "next time" (we’ll do better, surely!). Rulewich’s commitment to the approach shot shows in the yardage; even after jumping to a lengthier set of tees for the back nine, the only thing keeping your correspondent from reaching in two (including the Par 5s) was the fescue, which did in fact live up to the links hype. The course is very playable for its yardage: Your scorecard will either fall apart or come alive on the greens. It would be nice if those greens played as nicely as Rulewich laid them out. Across the 18, every green issue imaginable showed its face (literally on one green, where hundreds of little ant faces poured forth from the fringe). Playing dramatic greens like these relies on the player’s ability to control their shot, and the greenskeeper’s ability to control their turf. Where one iron approach lands atop a plateau and ceases to move forward, the next green's surface ushers it aggressively off the putting surface. Although these factors could easily be exaggerated by a player having a bad short-game day (it has happened to us, believe it or not), it’s tougher to discount the unfortunate reality of countless ball dents and spike marks. For a discounted, municipal tee time? Sigh and move on. For the prices Ballyowen asks? Disappointing.It is easy to overlook questionable “Links” branding when the course satisfies. It is tougher to overlook such branding when cash for potential green conditioning is instead going toward kitschy bagpipe players (and maintaining a glitzy clubhouse). Our experience did not come in the wake of any weather events, but Ballyowen's perennial ranking among New Jersey publics suggest that something was awry. If your experience at Ballyowen matches the hype, please redeem the course accordingly within these reviews!

Most 27-hole facilities do players the courtesy of letting them know which pair of nines is best. Shepherd’s Hollow does not. Many resources—including this one—suggest the latter 18. Others suggest the first nine accompanying the second. Your correspondent opts for 10-27, with a significant asterisk*. Designer Arthur Hills is no stranger to more whimsical design ideas, and that fact alone makes 19-27 more in line with his character. For example, Nos. 22 and 23 play as back-to-back drivable Par 4s, depending on how bold the player is feeling (and, of course, assuming it’s a day where the left-most of the two greens at No. 22 is in play). The final nine at Shepherd’s Hollow also includes—at least in this humble critic’s opinion—the best hole of the lot. The land blessed Hills with, well, hills throughout, and the architect uses a combination of compromised sightlines and natural dells to have a laugh at overeager first-timers. No. 21 rolls along, and with a 70-foot drop from tee-to-green, making even its 600 yards seem reachable. A dell runs for 100 yards along the left side into the green says otherwise. Knowing where to land on the fairway, versus simply landing on the fairway, makes the whole of Shepherd’s Hollow a great “local knowledge” venue. Now for the asterisk: If you can swing it, try to arrange for an 18-hole round that begins with 19-27 and ends with 10-18. The former’s final trio is not altogether boring, but it can’t hold a candle to Nos. 16-18 for interest and variety. No. 16 is a long 4 that encourages longer drives...which feel great until those who hit the left side of the fairway realize they have ended up in a deep collection area, possibly behind a nefarious tree. A GIR to this false-fronted green from the bottom of the dell is unlikely. The thin, diagonal Par 3 green at No. 17 features two tiers, lower at the front-right and higher at the back-left. A pond hugging the left side only complicates the player’s attack strategy. The Par 5 closer becomes a Cape upon the second shot. Either lay up carefully—the fairway wraps around a pond—or try to carry the hazard to the green for a glorious conclusion to the round. Short is obviously wet, but long could be as well: Although there is a wide patch of fairway for long approaches, the green tilts aggressively from back to front...many pitches will roll all the way back down to the water. As the debate between 1-18 and 10-27 suggests, the middle nine is the best. That said, each of the three has patches of mundanity, which are easier to deal with when playing a strong final trio. Your correspondent’s negotiations with the starter were made easier by the weekday tee time. Don’t count on such luck on the weekend. Shepherd’s Hollow’s collection of 27 holes is a great contribution to the local golf scene, if not necessarily worth a trip unto itself.

My playing partner, a longtime resident, took the time to point, from atop No. 16's crowned green, across the Thames River at two separate lighthouses, each haunted by its own ghost. A more benevolent spirit lingers around Shennecossett's property, that of designer Donald Ross. Nothing is better proof of this than the very "turtleback" green we stood upon. Ironically, Ross did not lay out the stretch from Nos. 15-17. They were added in 1997, after a land swap with a local pharmaceutical giant. The commitment to the Scot's legacy means his name appears frequently, and Tim Gerrish—the architect responsible for the fine three along the sound—is lucky to get a mention. For a more historically-sound Ross primer, note how the designer uses deep, lengthy, and curvaceous bunkers (Nos. 5, 7, and 11) to make one rue what seemed like a good tee shot / lay-up at the the time (for some reason, our knowing playing partner chose not to share THIS information). No. 2 may not be particularly Rossish, but it packs Old World charm nonetheless, playing across a burn from the tee and hopefully stopping before fescued mounds, before presenting an approach shot over live train tracks to a tricky right-to-left green. Unfortunately, our aforementioned playing partner has only seen two trains cross in his 30 years. The maintenance of the aforementioned bunkers is certainly better than the municipals in your correspondent's neck of the woods, and the greens are also admirable for the price point. Although the Par 3 at No. 4 is neither particularly fun nor fair, the crowned green 200 yards away at the top of a high hill is true-to-form (Arnold Palmer shared our opinion while stationed nearby). The Redan at No. 9 plays true to its purpose, however (if on the shortish side, at 175 yards). Although a touch short for good players (6,600 yards), that Shennecossett is maintained as a municipal at its rates is an admirable feather in Groton's cap.

C.B. Macdonald’s “Scorecard” for identifying the ideal golf course leaves little room for one to interpret a route to one’s own whims, especially when the Father of American Golf Architecture lends as much credence to “nature of the soil” as he does the combined “Best length of holes” and “variety and arrangement of length.” The average non-architect will focus on the latter two, especially when beginning a round at The Country Club. “Best length indeed,” you may think to yourself, placing your tee at the 450-yard dogleg left, and hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of the starter at one of America’s premier privates. “Best length INDEED.” The next 17 holes matter more, both in terms of redeeming yourself and in terms of quality (the opener is perhaps the weakest at Brookline). For every crusher, there is a short Par 4 to assure you, a guest, that you have a chance here. No. 10 is almost as fun as the hole that follows; playing just 311 from the standard tees, the real trick is to best position yourself for a wedge. This wedge will loft uphill to an old-fashioned green that tilts zanily from back left to front right. It almost makes you feel bad for the pros, that they won’t get to experience this as part of the Composite championship course in 2022. Then again, they don’t take well to chicanery (read: fun elements) such as this. As a new update for the U.S. Open, they’ll be skipping No. 4 as well, where the back tee plays shorter in terms of yardage, but teeing over a sheer wall of native grass and rock feeds the paranoia of just how far you can go before you meet sand, fescue, or all of the above. Pros do not like blind shots (I do). One blind shot they won’t be able to avoid is No. 16, where the bunkers fronting the medium-length Par 3 rise up to allow viewing the flagstick, and not much else. Your correspondent’s adoration for the shorter holes isn’t simply a reflection of how poorly he played on the longer holes. The more beastly Par 4s earn their acclaim, especially at No. 3, where the fairway funnels between a pair of fescued hillocks before presenting a long approach to an obstacle course of bunkers. The closer also questions whether GIR is GIR (grounded in reality). These holes draw attention to the purely American concept of “par,” and whether mid-handicappers such as myself should obsess over it. A two-putt five on either of these fours is a noteworthy mark on the scorecard. That feeling of noteworthiness is more readily available, and the longer holes more appreciated, when the player has the opportunity to score elsewhere. This is the essence of “variety and arrangement of length,” by Macdonald’s word. The antithesis would be a Bethpage Black, which grants little reprieve for little golfers trying to enjoy classic architecture. Coming into The Country Club, the lack of alternative lengths (two Par 5s and three Par 3s) may sound like a stale round. Given the strength of “variety and arrangement of length” presented by the respective Campbells—Willie and Alex—Brookline could have thrown 19 two-shotters at us and gotten away with it. Well, almost. We haven’t touched on the club’s greatest hole, the Par 5 eleventh, which is a sight to behold. The hole’s oft-photographed rock formations define the unique geography of Boston, and especially Brookline. Good design is possible anywhere, theoretically. This is not. Enjoy the details of the site, even if that’s while picking for your ball among the thick vegetation edging the bunkers...we still need to research for what species of moss was growing along the No. 18’s greenside bunkers. Horticultural goosebumps.

Golfers at Fowler’s Mill will immediately become acquainted with Ohio’s second-best-named natural feature, the Chagrin River (the first, unrelated, is Mt. Miserable). And, those who need that second ball off the first tee, will find the name to ring true as they top the first one. Reality, however, the waterway will provide more aesthetic benefit to the round than heartache. In truth, higher handicappers will suffer at the hands of the parkland route’s many target-golf greens...the kind of approaches that make Bethpage Black a headache for non-pros. If your tolerance for scorecard pain is low, and your handicap high, your correspondent highly recommends checking out the Cleveland metro area’s other array of nice municipal offerings. If you’re willing to put up with Pete Dye-level beatings (guilty) or have a nice handicap (not guilty), you will struggle to find a public option more appealing within Ohio. Pete (joined by his brother Roy for this project) had finished his more-acclaimed Ohio project, The Golf Club, several years earlier, and it’s evident in visual touches, such as “grass bunkers,” maintained via vertical railroad ties rather than steep sod faces. As usual with Dye, there are plenty of opportunities to be stupid (and/or have fun). The fourth hole makes a shepherd’s crook cape around the Front 9’s title “Lake,” inviting you to bite for the tip of the hook, you brave fish you. The same concept is exercised even more drastically at No. 8, a Par 5 that plays nearly 580 if you do the smart thing and follow the double-dogleg around patches of trees. Or, with a long drive, you can cut maybe 150 yards off by attempting to navigate an 150-or-so-yard corridor of bunkers. The aforementioned river splits both the ninth and twelfth fairways vertically, to dramatic effect. To rehash a popular complaint of the golf architecture Illuminati, some tree trimming would benefit the options off of many teeboxes, at a course already dealing with tight fairways. For as much as we celebrate the wonkiness of Pete Dye, it’s worth noting that the more plain entries at Fowler’s maintain consistency not found elsewhere among Ohio publics. Some have stronger headlining holes, but none offer a stronger median.

At the risk of speaking “too soon,” architect Keith Foster’s work at Texas Star on the West side of Dallas is a metaphor for his duelling careers. On one hand, Conservative Keith generated acclaim for his work restoring classic American golf courses. On the other of things, Dangerous Keith ran into trouble with the FBI by illegally trafficking exotic animal parts for clients at his antique store. The ironic twist within this review is that “Dangerous Keith” is the version we’re eager for (neither this correspondent nor, presumably, this publication, encourage the trafficking of exotic animal parts). Visitors are greeted by one of Dangerous Keith’s more bombastic creations as they pull up in the lot. The Par 5 No. 18 is twice crossed by deep, concrete creek that came packaged with the previously industrial lot. Toward the back of the property, players may be surprised by the sudden valley that appears at No. 13, plummeting toward a green fronted by multiple bunkers. Dangerous Keith peaks at No. 15, perhaps the signature hole at Texas Star, where the player must consider laying up to the end of the first fairway, and then carrying the pond to the green; or carrying the creek that flows from said pond to the reachable second fairway. The approach from that position is only a tad safer, as the fairway capes around the fairway to a green perched over the lake. If laying up sounds like the easy option, know that a small bunker plopped right in the middle of the fairway may change your mind. That bunker may also make you question the round thus far. On one hand, holes like 13 and 15 are quite fun. But 15 would have been just as fun without that last fairway hazard. And so would No. 18, which has a similar bunker, where the creek’s threat would have sufficed just fine. And then you consider long, straight Par 4s such as Nos. 4, 5, and 17, which could have used some spice. The price of this round (very reasonable) probably suggests the relative budget Foster had to work with, perhaps preventing manufactured sloping or similar. Instead, the aforementioned holes have some occasional, and strangely artificial humps in the fairway. It’s a tad surprising that Foster couldn’t muster—between his obvious penchant for the exotic and his skills restoring Golden Age courses—something a tad more creative and/or utilitarian with what he had to work with. The course’s strongest hole is not a shocking one, but it is a clever one. No. 6 features an uphill, dogleg right featuring a fairway bunker that limits the view of players who stay away from the corner. The approach, rewards risk accordingly, but still demands players consider how much they can cut off from the two bunkers guarding the green and get home safely. After two holes that threaten to veer into “freeway” architecture, it’s a blast of fresh air. This is a splendid opportunity for those living in the area, but certainly not a “Top 3 public” option for those in Dallas for a stretch.

Approaching the end of The Colony—a peninsular North Dallas community reaching out into Lewisville Lake—one will find two tribute golf courses. One is literally The Tribute, a compilation of classic templates inspired by the great links courses. The second draws inspiration from the courses of the Golden Age, but only in design sensibility. Designer Tripp Davis and player consultant Justin Leonard do not overindulge in template worship, which is a refreshing way of approaching a retrospective. Once you have gotten past the club’s beige title (some suggestions…”The Colony,” “Old Lewisville,” “Anything Else, Really”), you’ll have very little to complain about. It is tempting to look at a course, consider the shape of its bunkers, and conclude that it is Mackenzie-inspired. But Davis and Leonard dig deeper into both that man, and that age, to unlock a more profound truth of the Golden Age at Old American. The first hole, a borderline Cape that flirts with disaster for its entire length, may frustrate the modern golfer. It is no firm handshake, but rather a firm round of arm-wrestling. Such is the wonder of a course intended for matchplay and—although we’ve found nothing in the club’s bylaws that says this openly—Old American is intended for matchplay. Whether it’s a blind dogleg on a short Par 5 (No. 7), a strategic tree standing at the corner off the tee (No. 14) or an enormous fairway offering dozens of angles, the course invites you to either outwit or out-risk your opponent. Just about every hole of more than two shots requires some degree of thought to accompany skill. The Par 3s will require reading not only Golden Age green slopes but also significant winds off of the lake (No. 12, with admittedly a little Road Hole in its blood, is in good position to cause havoc). This is the essence of matchplay, which is arguably the essence of the Golden Age. So don’t be mad when you can conquer a particularly nefarious pin position at No. 1. Instead, be glad you didn’t double from an ill-informed and aggressive approach, like your matchplay rival. If you’re going to be frustrated by anything, let it be the club’s name.

Stanley Thompson accumulated acclaim for his series of courses complementing many of Canada’s National Parks, so it’s appropriate that when Cuyahoga Valley was incorporated into the American National Park System in 1998, it inherently ingested Thompson’s Sleepy Hollow design as a rare route within a U.S. National Park. Although the rolling hills of northern Ohio can’t live up to the mountain majesty of Banff or Jasper, the Canadian icon’s style does translate to the course at Sleepy Hollow. The most-telling facet of the course’s historic status is the angles present on its greens. Almost every hole will demand the player stay below the pin upon approach, or prepare for a three-putt. If controlling distance is difficult for the player, they should consider laying up short and playing for an up-and-down Par; better to be chipping your third shot from the front of the green than chipping your fourth from the same position, having sent a birdie putt screaming down the slope. The green at No. 9 will be a particularly shocking experience for those lulled into complacency at more modern munis. At a course that demands such control upon approach, it’s appropriate that the Par 3s are the choice crop at this course. No. 2 plays long—up to 230 yards—along a marsh, to a narrow, lengthy green. No. 8 uses a well-placed bunker to accomplish a redan effect, while the aforementioned slopes make placement essential. Both this and the Par 3 No. 6 require carries over deep creek beds, where the only true connection to the more famous Sleepy Hollow—Seth Raynor’s Hudson Valley classic—emerge, as walkers traverse lengthy, cross-beamed bridges (a nice aesthetic experience, if nothing else). The creeks provide little strategic consideration; the only reason for a lost ball will be shaky nerves. If the Par 3 at No. 2 sounded like a stiff short for so early in the round, you aren’t wrong. Those playing against par may quickly find themselves in the hole, as—following a reasonable and reachable opening Par 5—the course quickly runs through three of its most beastly. Although the yardage is similar between the two nines, the front-half is a tad disproportionate in its challenge when compared to the second. If walking (you’ll need the cart even more after you’ve paid for it; Cleveland Metro Parks charges an arm and a leg), you’ll be in for one of the state’s finest greens fee values.

The Pan-Am Games are a little like Justin Rose’s gold medal at the 2016 Olympics; fully deserving of respect and yet it struggles to muster viewers. They try to generate hype with gimmicks, accordingly; how a green parrot with a flaming tuft of feathers became the mascot for the Indianapolis 1987 Pan-Am Games is anyone’s guess. The Fort Golf Course, which now resides on the land where those games were held, occasionally features flourishes that, like the misbegotten parrot, don’t quite add up. Part of the problem lies in the designer...which is a rare sentiment when your correspondent rates Pete Dye. He’s created some of the most exotic layouts in the game and yet manages to squeeze purpose into almost all of them—whether it be strictly visual intimidation or subtle strategic ploys. The Fort’s most peculiar facets are often, strangely, just peculiarities. No. 6, the first Par 5, features a dramatic split fairway when approaching the green, divided by several large bunkers. But why? If a player tees off long enough, they have no reason not to head directly at the green (regardless of whether they could reach); both fairways are of equal width, and the one rolling up to the target (which is both right AND correct) is at a higher altitude. There is no pitching benefit from the left side. Furthermore, a shorter drive off of the tee doesn’t even make reaching the left side possible; too many trees at the corner. On older courses, this is chalked up to overgrowth over time. That excuse doesn’t add up here. No. 15 is a lengthy Par 4 with all the potential in the world; two “great hazard”-sized bunkers, both featuring patches of growth in Dye’s frequent style, guard a serpentine fairway. The first, along the left side, is ideal: The best line to the green is from the left, and this hazard enforces those who bite off more than they can chew. The second (farther up along the right) is too far removed from the green to prevent a run-up, even after the approach carried the hazard. But hey...it looks cool? But here’s the kicker: Dye’s best bets at The Fort are among the least discussed. No. 4 is a long, downhill Par 4 with a fairway that slopes left dramatically, feeding into guaranteed-bogey bunkers. It’s the toughest test on this course, and earns a place in Pete’s pantheon of punishing holes. Sometimes the landscape doesn’t provide much wiggle room for creativity, but he and Tim Liddy push back. Many municipal designers face similar circumstances as No. 5—a large wetland crossing with little land on the other side—and concede to the plainest of forced-carry Par 3s. Pete built a deep sod-faced bunker for both looks-and-strategy, as well as a bail-out area left. It is not a dramatic hole, but it is a solid one. Unfortunately, there are other holes (Nos. 10 and 11 come to mind) where the land wasn’t quite as flexible. Dye obviously didn’t have the budget for this project that he did at nearby Brickyard—as both the greens fees and his $1 paycheck indicate. So he would have been forgiven for leaving a bit of personality at the door and incorporating more subtle offerings (the cluster of small bunkers at No. 13 would have been worth repeating). The Fort is hardly bad, but it probably shouldn’t be your first public option when visiting Indianapolis.

Afforded a fairly flat piece of property in the middle of Indiana, the settings for Prairie View left something to be desired. Considering that this was to serve as the sole public route in Carmel, a wealthy suburb of Indianapolis, it’s only natural that they brought in Robert Trent Jones II—a natural at creating the unnatural—to add some sedimentary "sparkle." Rare is the hole where the player won’t be menaced by one of his diverse sand installations. No. 5 is a short (but certainly not drivable) Par 4, where the player must consider going over the mounded bunkers that split the fairway laterally, or lay up for an obscured approach to a lateral green, protected by yet another trio of hazards. No. 11’s dogleg-right fairway is pressured by several swathes of sand, and the green is pencil thin thanks to another intrusive piece of granular landscaping. No. 13 snakes from right-to-left-to-right between two irrigation ponds, both of which come with respective lines of fairway bunkers. It’s quite reasonable target for two good shots, just like every other Par 5 on the property (Prairie’s longs far outrank its shorts). Finally, No. 17’s long Par 4 cape is traced by a lengthy trench. You will be grateful for this one, perhaps. After a long day of being punished by the course’s many sand hazards, at least this one has prevented your ball from rolling into the pond. There has never been bones about a Jones using bunkers, so you’ll understand what you’re getting into. Happily, Prairie View’s maintenance standards prevent the hazards from playing unfairly once therein (whether they are fairly placed for amateur golfers is another question, frequently associated with all the Jones boys). If the designer’s name doesn’t immediately turn you away, you’ll probably like what you see.

Quarries have made for popular golf course locations, especially in North America, due to the dramatic man-made contrast they provide to a location's typical topography—i.e. Tom Fazio's Black Diamond route within the pancaked coasts of Florida. The Quarry Golf Club in Northeast Ohio offers an exaggerated take on the subject; while the rest of the hilly region spikes up, the trenches spike down. Understandably, there are considerable forced carries. The course's two best holes live up to the heroic mindset—No. 5 doglegs quickly right into a cape-ish collaboration with a quarry, inviting the bold to cut off as much as possible to shorten the Par 4's lengthy distance. No. 17 is simply eye-candy, across largest quarry on the property to a large green, with several pot bunkers to dissuade run-up attempts. Strategically, it's not the deepest design in the world but visually? Hell, who needs strategy anyhow? Well, don't get caught up in it yet. While several of Quarry's Par 5s revel in towering dives from tee-to-fairway, the toll for such shots occasionally comes due. Such is the case with No. 14 where what has come down is forced to go back up—forcing a steep, blind tee shot. The huge chunk of rock defending the dogleg makes cutting the corner impossible. That slab looks cool, for sure. It would look cooler anywhere that didn't impede the golf. Quarry is perhaps the crown of a popular argument at many of Ohio and Pennsylvania's courses, where heroism comes to the fore and the strategic takes a back seat. This is forgivable for those looking to play a unique, visually-stimulating course. The Quarry, however, has an unfortunate streak of bad maintenance behavior (during multiple rounds over multiple years), with mushy fairways and bunkers whose sand is of similar consistency to the gravel once mined here. It will take tough love and budget decisions to make it worth the trip for traveling enthusiasts.

Virtues Golf Club was once the namesake club for the Longaberger Basket Company, a now defunct business based out of a seven-story building, shaped like a basket. That sort of eccentricity is reflected in the Longaberger's (now the Virtues after an ownership change) golf course as well. Sometimes hills simply force exotic design, in the sense of the property's high foothills. Such is the case with No. 4, a lengthy Par 5 that drops 150 feet from tee-to-green...making green-in-two a possibility despite the distance. Notably, the curves, placement of hazards, and reverse-redan provide a challenge for even the longest hitter trying to reach. Sometimes Hills simply forces exotic design, in the sense that Arthur Hills often expresses himself as somewhat Dye-lite. Such is the case in the Par 4 No. 8, offering a drastically contrasting pair of options from the tee: Carry a (shorter-than-it-looks) natural area on the left to a lower plateau, or take the seemingly safer route to the higher fairway right. From the left, you'll be forced to carry an inlet from the lake, and from the right you'll have an open run-up to green...if you can control your approach from probably 50 feet up. To look at the shape of a hole on a yardage guide is to understand how far Hills will push the envelope. Many will salivate, and just as many will cringe.Of course, both sets of Hills will crimp the round at points as well. The geologic variety make holes that would function well on flat ground—No. 3, for example—a slugfest they were never intended to be. The designer's own creativity seems to putter a tad when dramatic altitude change disappears on the back nine. No. 11 is a fine short Par 4, and No. 18 a fine long one, but everything in between leaves something to be desired. The cape at No. 16 seems more thirsty (youth slang translation = "desperate") than inspired. Routinely ranked the top public route in Ohio, Virtues is not overpriced for its standing, and is worth a trip within reasonable distance. Whether it is a Top 100 American public? That is a whole other hill to climb.

Every year, golf media repeats similar praise for the maintenance at the Muirfield Village Golf Club, home to the Memorial Tournament and—perhaps more notably—Jack Nicklaus himself. Another route in the Columbus area deserving recognition is another one of the Bear’s “biographical” courses: The Scarlet Course at the Ohio State University Golf Club. A typical “win” for golf architecture fans is when a modern architect can sweep in and, with the help of documentation, restore Golden Age courses that have fallen on unkempt times. Historically, attempts to “improve” the works of masters to suit the modern game have been damaging. Rare is the case where these courses actually needed renovation so much as restoration, much less from one as touted as Alister MacKenzie. Some have claimed Nicklaus manhandled MacKenzie’s intentions, but that’s a chronologically-inaccurate complaint. MacKenzie passed away before his plan could be implemented. Without his boots on the ground, and a relative lack of drawings from the original architect. And so Nicklaus took the simplest route toward creating what a MacKenzie course “should” look like: bunkering. And so we return to the quality of maintenance at Scarlet. Nicklaus enhanced the course’s original bunkering to take on a more authentic approach—featuring high sand lines, steep faces, and plenty of grass fingers. Such an approach demands proper upkeep, and their intent remains true even after a rain. Certainly the most photogenic example is No. 13, a short Par 3 fronted by stellar examples. Even then, the soft sand might be a better play than putting downhill from the back of this green—which has also recovered Mackenzian essence. Perhaps the best indication of Nicklaus’s strength in the renovation is that it doesn’t play like a Nicklaus course, despite his heavy footprints. If you’re looking for something more Bearish, look to the No. 4 Par 5, which is truly a total overhaul. What was once an automatic score now features a creek crossing to consider upon the second shot, as well as a pond curled up to the green. Ohio State University is among the largest in the country, so MacKenzie fans shouldn’t struggle to find an alumni host. The experience lives up to one’s expectation of a MacKenzie route, and not down. And some good news: Although the bunkers may approach the quality of sand at Muirfield Village, the greens do not. Which is to say, no 12-on-the-Stimp nightmares.

Imperfection takes on a positive spin while playing Eaglesticks Golf Course. Michael Hurdzan and Dana Fry drove the hour from Columbus to examine small parcel of land packed with jarringly abrupt hills, and probably had a small budget for moving earth——considering the course’s location near Zanesville, one of the more prominent stops in Ohio’s notoriously poor Appalachian region. They did what they could. It’s not difficult to find weaknesses in the design. The fairways are narrow, as are the greens. It’s not a bucket-list course worth driving terribly far out of one’s way to visit. But they did what they could, and it’s worth noting, if not a road trip. Ohio and the majority of Appalachia is full of quirky, eccentric holes, where designers wage simultaneously unwinnable wars upon geology and economics. The battle for EagleSticks followed the same formula. Fry routed thin fairways because that’s what the Earth’s narrow corridors demanded. Hurdzan rotated his thin greens to match whatever relatively flat space he could find. But that Hurdzan and Fry were there at all embody the ambition of the course’s founders. The yardage doesn’t add up enough to challenge the lowest handicappers, but neither do the greens fees. Those fees apparently go much further for groundskeeping purposes than at Hurdzan’s subdivision-based courses in Columbus, based on recent experience. You’ll see a few homes during the round, but they won’t be what you expect at a ranked course. No. 7 takes the theme of tight fairways and greens to its logical conclusion: as a short, downhill Par 4 where the player simply must consider funneling a driver through the tunnel onto the green, threading numerous layers of bunkers in the process. Distinctive, however, is the row of trailer homes that overlook the fairway from the left, separated by a simple chain link fence. Whether you appreciate the community that EagleSticks was built for goes a long way in determining whether you’ll drive down from Columbus to play it.

It’s conceivable that the best public route in Kentucky is nominally attached to Cincinnati. And, likewise, that the best municipal course available to Cincinnatians is actually in Kentucky. The strength of these arguments are largely measured in how well the player enjoys perhaps the most novel hole in Michael Hurdzan’s repertoire. Carrying the previous paragraph’s irony over, we’ll examine Lassing Pointe’s last hole first, as it’s the one that will instantly ingratiate / infuriate readers. The last green stretches nearly 120 yards in length, while perhaps allowing 20 yards at its widest point. To the right is a slope that occasionally offers generous rebounds; on the left is a lake. Imagine any one of Bay Hill’s cape holes and then turn it into a green, and you have No. 18 at Lassing Pointe. The drive is easy, and the approach is insanity. Invective is inevitable when playing within a foursome. Many rounds will be soured by the demand of one hole, which makes this hole an awful punctuation mark on an otherwise pleasant layout. It’s essential, then, to appreciate the designer’s more balanced approach. As you might expect from the antithetical theme pursued so far, the best trio of hole’s at Lassing Pointe is its first. The opener is a mid-length Par 5, offering eagle opportunities early—depending on how one approaches the split fairway with their second shot. The second, a Par 3, is an interpretation of the reverse redan, wedged into a hill with a large, deep bunker out front, and smaller pots guarding the back. The third is the first Par 4, snaking downhill from an upper fairway to a lower one and a green as thin as the notorious eighteenth’s...although it plays a more reasonable length for its shape. Although No. 18 will be the stick that breaks most camels’ backs, if you’re in debate over whether to trudge out to Lassing Pointe, consider No. 8. A short Par 5 that plays downhill, featuring a forced carry over a small pond to consider eagle. Look at the bunker that wraps around the inlet. If your design sensibilities are offended by its heavy-handedness, avoid this course. Otherwise, jump in If you’re in the area and looking for a reasonable rate on a good route. Play 17, and then ask if your mood is prepared for the 18th.

If the best designers were all given a plot of land on which to build a Ryder Cup host, the golf world would be blessed. Not a U.S. Open, not a PGA Championship...but a Ryder Cup. Although that event may be the pinnacle of professional golf, none of the other major championships reflect the wants and needs of the passionate amateur better than a Ryder Cup course, and Pete Dye’s Ocean Course at Kiawah is the definitive proof. Matchplay emphasizes the value of variety between holes, as well as risk-reward factors. Pete Dye is hardly an architect who needs encouragement to seek out unique hole concepts, but with a mandate from the PGA? The dog (and the actual dog who accompanied Pete on the grounds of all his projects) was off the leash. Perhaps the best demonstration of Dye’s variety in motion is to consider at the highest level (literally, Google Maps), how similar the four Par 5s are. All are, at their core, an S-bend-style long. This claim seems absurd to those who’ve, but it’s true. The difference is more than just the course’s shifting environments, but Dye’s rearrangement of the same basic principles. On No. 7, the life-or-death question comes first (carry the dune or lay-up left?). On No. 2, it comes last (Can I carry the marsh? Can I avoid the live oak?). On No. 11, the fairway is pockmarked with pot bunkers. On No. 16, the fairway is anchored by massive waste bunkers. The shape song remains the same on each, but the strategy’s lyrics change drastically. The only thing that remains the same is that the notorious coastal wind is omnipresent...but even that’s prone to change. What this meant for the Pros in the ‘91 Ryder Cup was a constant shift in mental direction. What this means for the amateur today is, well, the same thing, but more importantly: A course that delivers a refreshing experience on every hole. Many architectural purists may prefer the strategies of Bethpage Black or Pinehurst among public must-plays, and there’s no reason to say they’re “wrong.” But there are many mid-handicappers who simply prefer a course where every hole stands out in their memory. Dye provides.

“I did not undo God’s work.” That’s the quote from Pete Dye that Bulle Rock Golf Club uses in its promotional materials. Indeed, the public course doesn’t deal in the sometimes shocking twists expected from Pete’s work. He may not have undone God’s work, but don’t fall for the claim that he didn’t do Pete Dye work. The rolling hills of this property, just north of Baltimore, allowed Pete to let the bulldozers rest more than he typically might. That, in turn, allowed his wit as a designer—often overshadowed by his taste for aesthetic fireworks—take sole grip of the wheel. This is best seen in the shorter of the Par 4s—Nos. 1, 4, 9, and 16 come to mind. Dye has always been a proponent of changing directions from off the tee to approach, the ability to work the ball in multiple directions. This skill is essential for breaking 100 at Kiawah, but he didn’t build Bulle Rock for that audience. The majority of 4s feature a more risky scoring route for those who can shape, and a safe route for those who can’t, where Par is still rewarded for quality contact. Although the championship tees stretch healthily beyond 7,000 yards, starting from the right color will leave players with few 4s where distance alone prevents scoring. Some exceptions include No. 5, which is a fair bear, and No. 13—this hole may appear in more Google searches because of its unique ravine hazard...but it’s not a fair fight from any distance. Although the course’s No. 2 Par 5 is the kind of eye candy many look for from Dye (and it’s a good one), the No. 15 long deserves credit as the best hole at Bulle Rock. Every shot begs questions, regardless of whether you aim for lay-up or eagle (Challenge the green? The creek? The tree? The bunker?). His eye-catching championship hosts tend to draw more tourists, but don’t forget that Bulle Rock has hosted several LPGA Championships. That’s a good indication Dye has built a championship-caliber course without abusing distance or headline hazards.

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you tea leaves, you make iced tea. Arnold Palmer proved that the disparate elements make for a delicious combination. Jack Nicklaus couldn’t master the mix at Rocky Gap. The lemonade, if you will, is the opening nine at this course, which accompanies the casino of the same name in the foothills of Western Maryland. This nine takes full advantage of the foothills. This sort of terrain fires up the creative (lemon) juices in designers who enjoy the unconventional, and Jack’s history certainly qualifies him for the task. No. 5 obliges as players descend through a valley between crests; a split-fairway Par 5 where players can choose to attack from the elevated plateau to the left, or pick up as much yardage as possible off the tee via the right corridor. Both offer chances at an Eagle putt, but the fun is in deciding how to get there. No. 6, a Par 3, descends dramatically from a cliff face down the green, and No. 7 continues the drama with a mountain stream that wraps around the front of the green. The hills smooth out on the East half of the property, however, as does Nicklaus’s inspiration. Although his back-to-back Par 3s at Nos. 16-17 are consistent with the strength of the shorts throughout the property, the longs prove to be quite the opposite. An interesting note is the course’s five Par 5s to match its five Par 3s. They match in number only, not execution. No. 10 would otherwise make for an interesting addition to any municipal, but it feels like a watered-down version of Nos. 5 and 7’s best features by the time one reaches it. The second half’s other longs echo a common complaint among design devotees: They are long, stringy, and have few features in between. Rocky Gap, opened in 2000, would have benefitted from the current resurgence in nine-hole courses. The shortened jaunt through the woods would provide satisfying morning respite from the gambling tables in a region that’s not particularly noted for golf trips anyhow. Lemonade and iced tea make for good mates. The formula was just a tad top-heavy here.

A “lodestone” is a naturally magnetic piece of stone that is found with some frequency in the Western hills of Maryland. Golfers may wish for such a geologic relationship between the flagstick and their ball; the greens at this resort course are large, and first-time-designer Hale Irwin—an accomplished putter—may have gotten excited at points in the shaping. Examples include the biarritz-style green that concludes the No. 12 Par 4, and Par 3 No. 17 features a deep, dark corner that would make the USGA’s mouths water come Open time. Irwin’s excitement can be forgiven, considering the relatively exotic location he was granted. Exposed rock makes frequent appearances—both as a hazard, jutting in from the rough, and as a fine distraction while making the lengthy trip between green and the next teebox—reminiscent of the Ontario’s “Shield” region. Although this kind of atmosphere feeds fans of the “heroic” school of architecture, Irwin and collaborator Todd Schoeder indulge without driving recklessly. The best view on the property—cresting the fairway and diving down toward the distant Deep Creek Lake—might distract from what is a quite functional Par 5, able to be reached in two, and willing to punish those who miss. The property is not always so flexible for the designers, and their responses occasionally range in quality. The aforementioned No. 17 is undoubtedly the most photographed hole on the course, with its large green sitting atop a 20-foot rock wall on the other side of a ravine. It becomes considerably less fun once the phone is back in your pocket and the tee shot comes due, however. On the other hand, No. 9 does quite well with a green set far below the approach shot. What could have been a simple dive-bomb tourist trap benefits from Irwin and Schoeder’s naturalistic bunkers (seen throughout the course), placed to create a redan effect. This green, we would argue, truly merits the photo.

Perhaps ownership actually decided to build the castle-themed clubhouse after seeing the completed golf course; after all...that sort of excess wasn't a far-cry from the routing Michael Hurdzan & Dana Fry planned for the back nine. The course's signature stretch (if you will) from Nos. 12-16 will probably alienate two sets of golfers. Both will acknowledge the first 12 were well-maintained, with several bits of excitement (nos. 2-4 are often overlooked in light of what comes later) but from there, Player A will drool at the degree of heroism presented to him...while the more conservative design advocate will shake his head in disgust. Both are correct; but this reviewer tends to get giddy when playing such exotic fare in the Midwest. Among the highlights for the heroic will be No. 14, a Par 3 raining down from a turret of a tee box to a green surrounded by manmade waterfalls, framed by the course's signature "stone wall" slabs. No. 16 takes the cake, however, with forced ravine carries upon both drive and approach (and a nasty mid-fairway bunker to contend with on the latter). It's a hole would make for a striking closer, but unfortunately the plot Hurdzan was given simply didn't allow for it. This makes the closing stretch back to the clubhouse a bit of a drag, even with as stiff as No. 18 plays. The mountainous terrain on the back nine also means you'll play the course's only two Par 5s on the front. Ultimately, Olde Stonewall is very much aimed at certain course personalities, and not the others.

Bethpage Black's notorious warning sign gets all of the attention on the clubhouse patio, yet the opening hole that merits such a sign belongs to the "Red" course. The 460-yard opener does well to remind players upfront that it is "Baby Black" in the same sense that Venus is the second-best player in the Williams household. Although it lets up—mostly—following what some argue is the toughest opener in golf, the "Black-lite" references remain relevant. The yardage is long, and there are only two Par 5s to water it down. Tillinghast's bunkering takes a more merciful approach to mid-handicappers, and almost all of its greens will accept a run-up...at least more graciously than Big Brother. Still, several holes offer passable passes for the Black experience. No. 13 features its own "Great Hazard," and the "Red Redan" at No. 4 might not live up to Black No. 3, but it certainly surpasses the average municipal Par 3. And, at the end of the round, as has been stated countless times before us, is a Par 4 that is reportedly under consideration to sub-in for Black No. 18 come 2024. If you thought Black's greens played rather boring for the PGA Championship, Red's will induce considerable yawns. But, if you ask the average Long Island resident, a simple two-putt is appreciated after challenging these fairways. Indeed, Red is the preferred route for lifers, while Black is a once-a-year treat/punishment.<a href="/news-item/review-of-the-month-may-2019-bethpage-red">Review of the Month May 2019</a>

Those attempting the New England Tour de Dye in New England only need to book one night at a Hartford hotel, as the Connecticut town hosts both of the designer's efforts in the region (is Pound Ridge proper New England? Forgive us if so). And between those two courses, one will get two very different sides of Dye. While TPC River Highlands reflects the more exotic edge more often associated with Pete, Wintonbury Hills takes the strategy—and price point—back to the municipal golfer. Reportedly completing the design for $1, Dye kept the bunkers small and the fairways fat, rewarding angles more than carries. The trio of Par 4s from 14-16 are a reminder how much variety can be accomplished with minimal bunkering and nary a dogleg. But, despite lesson in simplicity, Dye devotees will embrace the Par 3 ninth. Although fronted by three pot bunkers that shift strategy daily, the volcano bunker cluster that serves as a backdrop / practice area reveals a designer who just couldn't help himself. One notable downside is a sense of deja vu from Nos. 1-4 and 10-13; although each series is fine on its own, the repetition in routing makes the latter stretch a touch more boring than its design would otherwise deserve.

Bar Harbor, Acadia National Park and indeed most of Mt. Desert Island has had little reason to change in the past century and, accordingly, neither has Kebo Valley Golf Club. This is not necessarily a complaint for the average (emphasis on "average") visitor; At 6,100 yards, Kebo will lend more appeal for those interested in the game's history than its scorecard. Although his foremost design came at Myopia Hunt, it's understandable why the Gilded Age members of the club held the land in similar regard; the views of Acadia National Park from nearly every teebox is easy on the eyes. Kebo Brook flows down from Cadillac Mountain and across No. 17, the course's signature hole; you will soon forget this however, in awe of the massive bunker built into the side of the hill that rises up to the green (President Taft spent 22 strokes to escape it). That bunker is the most obvious indication of Leeds' era and age, but the combination of Kebo and Cromwells Brooks around the fairways of Nos. 7, 8 and 9 make for the round's most exciting trio. Leeds did not necessarily approach the project with "Golden Age" design principles in mind. Donald Ross obsessives should beware making a lengthy side trip just to check a box; the Donald Ross Society will acknowledge that he never did any work at Kebo (although he did offer a few tips on fairway fertilizing to the then cash-strapped club). And thus the straightforward play of the course's original design exists today. For what they lack in slope and strategy, however, you'll be hard-up to find faster greens at any similarly-priced course in the United States. Spend some time on the putting green or prepare to be surprised when you reach on No. 1.