International

As I sat with my golfing companions in Duel In the Sun, the new clubhouse restaurant at Trump Turnberry (those two words together seem strangely incongruous, but it is what it is), we munched on appetizers, sipped dark ale and watched the second day of the Ryder Cup play out on several big screens. Then it all hit me: This was the last golf stop on my whirlwind nine-day tour of Scotland, arranged and expertly hosted by Connoisseurs, who, I quickly realized and will forever appreciate, know how to present this magnificent island nation in the most sublime light.

Speaking of light, we caught this stretch of Scotland’s west coast under the brightest early October skies imaginable, with warm temperatures to match. A glorious fall sunset gathered outside the clubhouse windows, with the old-but-new Ailsa Course’s famed final hole to the left, Ailsa Craig crouched in the Firth of Clyde straight ahead and, panning right, the iconic lighthouse in the middle distance, framed by cloud-shrouded Isle of Arran and Kintyre Peninsula. A final few foursomes filtered down the same fairway where, in 1977, Tom Watson bested Jack Nicklaus in an epic Open Championship battle that gave this restaurant its name and put Turnberry on the worldwide map after decades in the shadow of Scotland’s more famous layouts, including Royal Troon an hour up the coast. Greg Norman won Turnberry’s second Open in 1986, carding a 63 along the way, and Nick Price notched his only major win here in 1994. Then, in 2009, Watson nearly made history again at age 58 before succumbing to a bad bounce from the 18^th fairway, a weak par putt and a four-hole aggregate playoff loss to Stewart Cink.

We made our way out onto into the shadowy links to take a few photos, soak up the history and raw beauty and recall a fine Saturday at this rejuvenated, stately resort. That morning I’d strolled some of the front nine and snapping dozens of photos. I went back up the two long flights of stairs leading from the golf courses to the hotel, took a few laps in the indoor pool and joined my cohorts for a fun, freeform circuit around the lovely 18-hole pitch-and-putt course across the street from the big course. We capped off the afternoon with a trek into the village of Kirkoswald for the second of three Scotch tasting forays at an impressive shop called The Whisky Experience, owned by Tim Morrison, a longtime Turnberry member. Then it was to the Duel In The Sun for drinks and dinner. I went all in for the surf and turf, filet mignon and lobster. This is no “normal” clubhouse grill. In fact, the entire two-story building is part golf museum, part retail juggernaut, and stops just short of the gilded decorative bombast that mark so many of Trump’s properties (though the recently remodeled hotel rooms embrace that ethic full-on, evidenced by the huge chandelier hanging over my bed and a huge, ornate bathroom).

We hadn’t played a proper round of golf since Castle Stuart nearly three days before. Between then and now we’d driven through the heart of the Highlands between Inverness and Perth, enjoyed lunch among Glasgow’s movers and shakers at One Devonshire, a downtown hotel comprising five former townhouses, and toured several of its distinct, Victorian rooms before heading southwest to the Ayrshire Coast for an hour-long golf clinic with PGA Pro Sven Nielsen at Turnberry’s outstanding teaching facility. The practice tee looks across the current Kintyre-Arran course composite to the lighthouse-turned-luxury halfway house — one of the prettiest ranges I’ve ever seen and more than enough to whet my appetite for dinner of pan-fried scallops that evening in 1906, the hotel’s main restaurant named for its original opening date.

Pumped up with anticipation and two days’ worth of mouthwatering views, we’d finally get our shot at the Ailsa Course the next morning. It reopened in June 2016 after two years under the sharp redesign knife of Mackenzie & Ebert, one of the U.K.’s top architectural firms, who managed to make what was already one of the world’s great routings even better, tweaking virtually every hole to some degree — most extensively on the incredible mid-round coastal stretch including holes 8 through 11. Actually, they’d worked on the Ailsa before the 2009 Open, moving the then par-4 10^th a bit closer to the sea and sliding No. 16 to the left to make room for what would become a new, shorter 17^th. Armed with Trump Organization dollars (or, rather, those of his banking partners), along with the R&A’s and membership’s blessings, the architects dug in to the rest of the course with two big goals in mind: To make even better use of the setting’s natural majesty, and to make sure the Ailsa remained in the modern Open rota, not only in pure golf challenge for the world’s top players, members and visitors, but in terms of big-event infrastructure.

Mission accomplished on both points. As of last July the R&A declared that Turnberry would indeed host its fifth Open in the future; earliest availability is 2022. And hole-to-hole, the new Ailsa keeps the best elements of Philip Mackenzie Ross’s 1950s redesign of A.N. Weir’s 1909 routing — he was contracted to bring both Turnberry courses back after much of the Arran nine’s acreage was used as a Royal Air Force training facility during both World Wars — while breaking new ground in perfectly wrought ways. It’s as aesthetically moving as links golf gets and, while perhaps not as internally dramatic as Trump’s other course near Aberdeen, far more memorable hole to hole.

The first big change comes right off the bat, on No. 1, which was lengthened 50 yards and offers a fully visible and wider landing area from the tee (Mackenzie & Ebert got rid of many blind drives and approaches, in fact). No. 4, the first of three outward nine par 3s and the start of eight straight holes that either skirt the seaside dune or the firth itself, boasts a green that’s slightly closer to the water. No. 5 is a reachable par 5 whose green was pushed further into a big dune, creating a fine amphitheater. No. 6 is a short- to mid-iron playing atop a dune angled in from a shoreline tee box. No. 7 slides inland for up to 575 fairly flat yards before rising to a green that affords a killer vista up the coast, and the classic holes to come. After a bit of a duneside breather at No. 8, the course reaches its full dramatic pitch. What was once its most famous par 4, the somewhat awkward but cliffhanging 9^th, is now a par 3 of 187 yards from the white members’ tees, most of them over rocks and frothing surf, with little margin for error between the cliff and the front of the green.

Make sure to take a slight detour down a wide path to check out the world’s most scenic and expensive halfway house. There’s a full menu and indoor seating, but if it’s a nice, sunny day like this one, you can take your burger or sandwich out on the terrace and gather yourself before the inward nine … and if you have north of three grand to spend on one night’s accommodations, you can rent the two-bedroom lighthouse suite. Put it on your gold-plated bucket list. Before heading to the 10^th tee, give the historical plaque near the lighthouse’s entrance a read, and check out the ruins of Bruce’s Castle, which dates to 1271.

Now the 10^th is a much better hole, a stunning par 5 demanding the same back-tee drive across a sliver of surf, with a second shot that must either fly or skirt a huge, rambling cross bunker about 50 yards short of the clifftop green. No. 11 is the final seaside hole and perhaps the prettiest par 3 of the bunch, its green now hugging the precipice with an uninterrupted view up the craggy Ayrsire coast. While the remainder of the Ailsa moves inland, similar vistas are never far away. Climb the hill to the right of the green at No. 12, where its namesake monument stands in tribute to the 60 pilots who lost their lives during wartime maneuvers on the Turnberry air strip, for a great photo op. The new green at No. 16, canted against a low dune beyond a tricky burn, affords a different kind of view — of the huge hotel hovering over it all and awaiting your post-round return. But don’t rush the final stretch, and when you come to the tees on what is now a dead-straight par 4 — it used to be a sharp dogleg-left — take a moment to recall the dusty drama of 1977, and Watson’s near-miss 32 years later. Then make your best, measured swing and see if you can clear the fairway bunkers, leaving a simple shot to one of the flattest greens on the course. I didn’t reach the bunkers with one of my best drives; in fact I barely cleared them with my second shot, a snuff-top that ended up in the wispy grass to the left of the fairway, which led to my fourth double of the day against a handful of pars and a slew of bogeys for a wobbly 89. Good thing I’m dwelling on the delicious views and overall majesty of the place, rather than the score. What a way to wrap up my first visit to Scotland.

Epilogue: But it wasn’t exactly a wrap. We still had a few more precious hours on the island before flying home, starting with a 90-minute drive to Edinburgh and an overnight at The Glasshouse, one of that beautiful city’s most interesting hotels, with an expansive rooftop event area and suites named after some of Scotland’s most famous courses, some of which we played. We enjoyed a private farewell meal in The Observatory, joining friends from Connoisseurs Scotland and Little’s Transportation as a Scotch expert — a transplanted Israeli in full kiltage — described each of five flights from various distilling regions: Glenkinchie, Oban, Glenfarclas, Glenmorangie and Lagavulin, the latter a peaty beast from the isle of Islay. As we finished off the last dram, America regained the Ryder Cup for the first time in eight years.

I rose early for the long flight home the next day — Heathrow-Chicago-Reno for me, though a couple guys had direct flights to the states — and spent much of it reliving every shot, every sip, every bite, every gale, every squall, every blast of blessed sunshine, every smile from a fellow traveler, every thick brogue from the locals, every picture-book view from tee and green and hotel window. Scotland was now part of me, and I gladly leave a glowing coal of my golfer’s soul behind. As we all do.

Trump Turnberry: www.trumpturnberry.com

Connoisseurs Scotland: www.luxuryscotland.co.uk

Little’s: www.littles.co.uk

Part 1: St. Andrews

Part 2: Loch Lomond

Part 3: Aberdeen

Part 4: Castle Stuart

The three-hour drive west from Aberdeenshire, on Scotland’s long and dune-swept northeast coast, to Inverness — a lovely, compact city of 50,000 set softly between the Highlands’ northern reaches and the glistening Moray Firth — is among the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, ranking with Highway 1 in California, Yellowstone National Park, Hawaii’s Big Island and Canada’s Cape Breton Island. Postcard villages with tidy storefronts and tight traffic circles pop up every few miles, then give way to stretches of impossibly green, rolling farmland where you’re far more likely to spot a rainbow than two or more human beings at one time. More than once my heart took a “hey, I could see myself living there” leap as our Mercedes van, piloted by our ace Little’s driver, Bruce, rolled by a small cottage. Then we pulled into the parking lot at Castle Stuart Golf Links and that leap became a rapid, loping beat of anticipation, the same tingle I get whenever I visit Pebble Beach or Bandon Dunes or Edgewood Tahoe back home.

Only a teasing swath of golf course was visible here and there; most of our immediate view was of the white, art deco clubhouse and heather-clad hillocks — containing the tee-to-green mysteries we’d soon reveal, if not solve — between it and the Firth itself. To the southwest we spied the Kessock Bridge leading to Scotland’s upper peninsula and its own brand of golf riches, Royal Dornoch included. Distant Highlands peaks greeted us from every direction. As we unloaded our clubs and stepped into the foyer, a sly wind picked up, carrying rain. My waterproof gear would come in handy as we reached the northernmost point of our journey — a course that’s easily among the five best built in the past decade worldwide.

Brainchild of Los Angeles-based entrepreneur Mark Parsinen, Castle Stuart captivated Scotland visitors the moment it opened in 2009. The site was spectacular, accessible and begging for a course that seemed like it had been there for centuries — as had Kingsbarns, Parsinen’s first Scotland project, which opened several years earlier. Parsinen brought in Gil Hanse, a fellow Yank known for his excellent redesigns and deep love for traditional links golf, as co-designer. Two years later Castle Stuart hosted its first of three straight Scottish Opens despite a record deluge that cut the event short, with Luke Donald beating the likes of Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els. Mickelson would win in 2013, carrying him to his epochal Open Championship triumph at Muirfield a week later. Phil loved the course at first sight, singing its praises as a guy who, more than anyone at the game’s top level, knows that golf is nothing if it isn’t fun.

“In 2011 [after his first round in the Scottish Open], he came in the press conference and said, ‘this course is fun, engaging, and it should be a prerequisite for any young architect who wants to design golf courses to play Castle Stuart,’” said Stuart McColm, Castle Stuart’s general manager from day one, who was also worked with Parsinen to bring Kingsbarns international acclaim. “Then he went on to win the Open Championship. He’s got an affinity for the place.” Steve Stricker picked up that thread. “Patrick Reed, J.B. Holmes, Danny Lee, they all came over and played, and they all loved it.” So did many of my fellow journalists who had played Castle Stuart before me. Not a sour note was heard, so I was doubly eager to get out there and see what all the hype was about.

First we sat down for lunch with McColm, who quickly told us that since the dodgy weather had left some big holes in the afternoon tee sheet, we could go out as a fivesome if we vowed to keep up (it’s part of Scottish law) and not spend too much time hunting for golf balls … which brought up one of McColm’s, Parsinen’s and Hanse’s mantras for what makes a golf course great in strategic terms — and fun.

“It’s not just 18 holes; it comes together as short par 4s, par 3s, varying lengths, different directions,” he told us. “You’ve got to work from the pin back. It’s not just the fairway — is left or right better? You study the course guide, get the pin sheet, see where the placement is, and you’ll know that you don’t want to be coming in from the right side, you want to come from the left. Holes 3 and 14 are very strategic par 4s. You need to get in position. The great thing is, there’s not much in the way for [forced] carries; if you duff the ball it’s going to roll 150 yards and you’re still in it. The premise: Test the best, but appeal to the everyday customer. That’s a hard mix.”

It’s also a winning mix. Study what might be the most well-written yardage guide in history, strategize from the hole back as McColm says, pull the trigger with confidence and hit the right shot and par is always in the cards. Make a mistake off-line and you’ll still have a shot at par, supporting the design team’s edict that the game is about “recovery and redemption.” Castle Stuart’s fairways — whether they’re directly on the shore as on holes 1-3 and 10-12 or stair-stepped onto the rumpled plateau above — are invariably wide, though often partially hidden by dunes, berms and hills in true trick-the-eye fashion. Combine that with perfectly timed vistas of water, mountains and structures like the 16^th century castle itself from the par 3 No. 4 tee, and you’ve got the recipe for a round that never lets up in engagement, excitement and shot-to-shot energy. “The secret,” adds McColm, “is to seduce people into playing different shots, make them think on the tee.” Which leads, of course, to that next decision from the fairway or wispy rough, whether to take dead aim or bail out, how to find a way to save a stroke here or there. The risks and rewards are legion and not one situation is clunky or unfair.

And the rhythm … also perfect, at least for me. I love that certain classical-jazz mix in my favorite courses: Classical in the sense of building on a motif and climbing to a thematic climax; jazz in the way a great design wanders away from those core notes, through “solos” and clever interpretations, without losing them. Castle Stuart’s musical journey is both wild and well-modulated, from the first drive between gorse-covered slopes on the left at the firth on the right, through the front nine’s cliffhanging final stretch, back down to the water to start the inward nine (No. 11 is a longer and just-as-gorgeous version of the same-numbered par 3 at Pacific Dunes in Oregon, 8,000 miles away) and atop the bluff for several holes before a truly incredible three-hole measure that masterfully restates a theme 2016 Scottish Open champ Alex Noren dubbed “sneaky tough.”

“Down the stretch are all ‘tweener’ holes,” says McColm. “No. 16 is a drivable par 4, so it plays as a 3 ½; 17 is a hard par 3 so it’s a 3 ½; and 18 is gettable in two, so it’s a 4 ½. Good things happen on tweener holes. You can win or lose.”

My wobbly finish left me both winner and loser. I limped to bogey from the 325-yard tees on 16, playing downwind, thanks to a sprayed-right drive. A nasty double followed on 17 after I snap-hooked a 4-iron from 195 yards, came up short with a knockdown iron and three-jacked. Another hooked drive to a hidden slab of fairway on the magnificent par-5 finisher gave me one choice — lay up to a slightly downhill lie short of the ravine guarding the green, leaving the perfect distance for a sawed-off 8-iron into the teeth, which stopped well short of the pin again. I killed my first putt and atoned with a healthy 10-foot comebacker. Par. Smile, then a sigh. It was over too soon.

The final tally? A hard-fought 88 rife with ugly misplays but also pretty recoveries — all of it graced with views and feelings that will stick with me forever.

While Castle Stuart unfolded like music for me, McColm sees it as great theater, all plot twists and stagecraft. “The green complexes are easy on the eyes, there’s a sense of arrival on every hole,” he said as I made my way through a fortifying lunch of freshly baked mac and cheese, washed down with a dark ale. “A lot of people crave the sea views. I know at Trump [International] you’re in a fantastic part of the dunes, but you don’t get the views like you do at Kingsbarns and here. In terms of a theater, you’ve got the stage [the water], the orchestra section [shoreline], the stalls [lower holes] and the balcony up on top. But if you give someone a view all the time, they don’t see it, so we have a couple what we call ‘compression and release’ holes, based on what Frank Lloyd Wright was famous for — two rooms with windows, and a connecting corridor where you never, ever put windows, because then the views don’t mean as much. No. 13 is the perfect example. You hit this inland drive, you get the top of the hill, turn to the green and ‘boom’ — you’re playing toward the bridge. You remember that.”

It’s the same deal at Bandon and Cypress Point and every other great seaside golf experience I can think of: a visual give-and-take that leads you to remember every hole. Castle Stuart also happens to boast the world’s greatest locker room view from the clubhouse’s second floor. Those from the first-floor pro shop and restaurant don’t disappoint, either. It’s all a magical package even by Scotland standards.

Castle Stuart’s master plan calls for a second course and onsite lodging which, when combined with the regional airport just five minutes away, will turn this place into a self-contained golf destination. In the meantime, the 20-minute drive into Inverness leads to plenty of fine lodging. We enjoyed one precious night at Rocpool Reserve, a truly unique, upscale boutique hotel with 11 bedrooms covering four themes — “Hip,” “Chic,” “Decadent” and “Extra Decadent.” I lucked into a Decadent room with its own patio and hot tub and was sorry to leave it behind. The hotel’s restaurant, Chez Roux, owns one Michelin star for Chef Albert Roux’s inventive and colorful menu of locally sourced ingredients. I’m still thinking about the Scottish Seafood Zarzuela of seared sea trout, poached lemon sole, roasted langoustine and braised octopus, with glazed lemon tart and raspberry sorbet for dessert.

Should I revisit Scotland, Castle Stuart is my first stop — hopefully with Connoisseurs leading the way, and ideally with rounds at other famous courses nearby like Nairn and Royal Dornoch in the mix. Until then and from now on, it owns a piece of my travelin’ hacker heart.

www.castlestuartgolf.com

www.rocpool.com

www.luxuryscotland.co.uk

Scotland Part 1: St. Andrews

Scotland Part 2: Loch Lomond

Part 3: Aberdeen

Scotland Part 4: The Highlands and Castle Stuart

Scotland Part 5: The Ayrshire Coast

Up next: The Ayrshire Coast

Mention “golf in Scotland” to most casual players and they’ll think of one place: St. Andrews. That’s fair, and understandable, as the Old Course is one of the three most famous locales in the game, along with Augusta National and Pebble Beach. And I did spend a wonderful afternoon there at the start of this nine-day jaunt around the island with the good folks from Connoisseurs Scotland and their transport service of choice, Little’s.

But St. Andrews is far from the end of the line for incredible golf on the nation’s northeast coast. In fact, it’s only the start. Drive 90 minutes north up and you’ll hit Aberdeen, Scotland’s third-largest city. Built with oil money that’s still circulating to this day — evidenced by the tanker ships lined up to deliver crude pumped from below the North Sea — it’s all gray, imposing granite, one hulking office building blending into the next with the occasional break for a soaring cathedral or a green urban park. Not exactly the kind of place you’d imagine sprouting a solid golf culture, but it’s there. In fact it was one of very first golf cities, though it didn’t get the attention it’s long deserved until Donald Trump opened his course a few more miles up the beach near the village of Balmedie. Connoisseurs would lead us to that much-touted modern links soon enough, but first we had some serious history to absorb.

ROYAL ABERDEEN

After a three-hour jaunt from Scotland’s western side we veered into a leafy Aberdeen neighborhood and checked into one of its most sought-after and golfer-friendly hotels, The Marcliffe. It’s really a suburban manor with a golf twist, its 40 suites and rooms branching out from the cozy lobby like doglegged spokes from a clubhouse. Hotelier J. Stewart Spence is life-long crazy for the game, a solid amateur player and a member at several clubs including Royal Aberdeen and Trump International. Virtually every top European and American tour player has laid his head at the Marcliffe over the past four decades, most recently during the Scottish Open in 2014, played for the first time at Royal Aberdeen and won by Justin Rose. All of them have hung out in the basement Golfing Memorabilia/Pool Room, the ultimate hackin’ man cave. We would gather there that evening before dinner in the lovely Conservatory Restaurant next door, knocking around a few snooker balls, sipping single malt and soaking in years and years of photos (including a sweet caricature of The King, Arnold Palmer, who had just passed two days before). For now it was quick lunch in the Drawing Room Bar & Lounge, where high tea is also served most afternoons. A bowl of Rigatoni Bolognese set me up for one of the most memorable late-afternoon rounds I’ve ever played.

After snaking through the city’s stolid gray tunnels, our Little’s driver for the week, Bruce, carried us over the Bridge of Don, through a nattily-clad middle class neighborhood and to the gates of Royal Aberdeen, whose club was established in 1780, making it the sixth-oldest golf club in the world. Its original 25 members — first dubbed “The Society of Golfers at Aberdeen” and finally “Royal Aberdeen Golf Club” in 1815, played on a public spit of land between the Don and Dee rivers, now called the King’s Links Golf Center. In the latter half of the 19^th century the club acquired a two-mile stretch of tall dunes, windswept hills and grassy hollows just north of the Don, and the first full-length Balgownie Course came to life. Archie and Robert Simpson of Carnoustie laid out the original links on a classic north-south, out-and-in strip; James Braid re-bunkered it decades later. King Edward VII made it a “Royal” course in 1909 and it stood the test of time into the 21^st century when, despite the objection of a few vocal members, Donald Steel and Martin Hawtree gave it some modern, technology-fighting tweaks and stretching it to nearly 7,000 yards. Hawtree would ride his work here, and that at other Royal & Ancient courses throughout the United Kingdom, to land the Trump International design job.

Like many of the U.K.’s oldest clubs (Royal Porthcawl in Wales comes to mind), Royal Aberdeen eschews grandeur in favor of deep-rooted, formal utility. The clubhouse isn’t huge or ornate, but it’s goosebump-inducing nonetheless, especially when accessed at the end of an early fall day when the members have gone home and you’ve got the old wood-paneled locker room and bay-windowed bar and grill pretty much to yourself but for the presence of an attendant or two. The room is still anchored by the original club captain’s chair dating to 1783, and the ballot box once used to vote in new members is also on display. Then you look out the tall windows and it’s right there, just a few feet away — the first tee. There’s nowhere to hide when you’re called to the box.

The opening straightaway par 4 of 409 yards plays straight toward the North Sea and its ever-present flotilla of tankers; on this day they glimmered under a near-cloudless sky. There’s a big, hidden swale guarding the green and a pair of serious fairway pot bunkers to negotiate, but more distracting (and enticing) is that broad horizon of dunes and water. Next stop, Norway, and if the 30 mph hour south wind had shifted a bit, it could have blown us halfway there. Then the course makes a sharp left turn for several holes hard against a dominant dune ridge, with the crashing surf just beyond, always in earshot. No. 2 is a squeeze-and-fire par 5 — tight off the tee, through a chute and broad but bumpy down the stretch. It begged me for my best bump-and-run magic and I did my best to oblige on the third-shot approach. It would take me few holes to get in any sort of keep-it-on-the-ground groove, and it would come and go through the rest of the trip. No. 3 is the longest of Aberdeen’s four par 3s, 217 from the second set of tees, though with a stiff helping wind it played closer to 190, with only two small bunkers to avoid. Then comes what I consider the meat of the course, holes 4 through 9, a rollicking stretch of elevated tee shots, blind approaches, tricky recoveries from mounds and depressions, and putts ranging from long to mega-long. The greens aren’t huge by, say, Old Course standards, but if the pin is tucked and you’re on the far side, it’s 50 feet minimum. The tee at No. 9, a stout 454-yard par 4, is one of the course’s highest points, serving up an uninterrupted view up the coast toward Trump International and renowned Cruden Bay; it asks for a big forced carry over low dunes and Marram grass, then turns back toward the sea for a slightly uphill approach.

After sneaking a look at underappreciated Murcar, a somewhat shorter 18-hole links just across a berm from where we stood on the 10^th tee box, we gathered our grit and turned into the breeze’s teeth, starting with a completely blind drive over a heaving hill to a broad but short fairway. I picked the wrong line, too far right into lost ball territory. The play is more left to skirt a low dune and stop short of a green-fronting burn. It’s one of the tougher short par 4s we’d play all week. From there the inward nine snakes along the property line for several holes. No. 12 is another fine par 5 and 13 serves up another blind drive to begin a stellar quartet of 4-Pars. No. 17 plays about 175 yards into a crosswind, its well-bunkered green nestled in a shallow bowl with the flat sea horizon beyond. The finale plays all of its 433 yards and more, especially on the uphill approach to a green bracketed by the clubhouse and the separate pro shop, with a spacious practice area even further right.

Standing sentry over much of Royal Aberdeen is a single, tall windmill, erected within the past decade or so. It’s a sign of the times for Scotland, which, like many first world countries, slowly transitions to renewable energy. Lord knows there was plenty of wind on this day to keep those blades churning. After enjoying a cocktail in the clubhouse lounge as dusk approached, we headed back to the Marcliffe to relive our rounds over steak, fresh seafood and some fine wine from Mr. Spence’s cellar, as so many golfers, from famous pros to fellow pilgrims, had before us. Royal Aberdeen is a pure, few-frills delight at that top of its game. Now that it has hosted both the Scottish Open and the Walker Cup, can an Open Championship be far behind?

TRUMP INTERNATIONAL

Donald Trump, too, is at the top of his game for obvious, tumultuous reasons, but his stunning electoral victory back in the States was more than a month away as we drove down the narrow lane from A91 to his first foray into Scottish golf. It’s a monumental design achievement no matter where you are on the political spectrum. In the six years since it opened to great fanfare (and, yes, great controversy, stemming from Trump’s well-documented battles with local residents — including building berms to block their views of the sea — and his ongoing legal challenges to Scotland’s decision to build wind turbines in view of the course), Trump International Golf Links has found a spot on most world top 100 lists. It’s not a classic links in that each nine goes in opposite directions from the clubhouse, and its setting among some of Scotland’s largest Marram-covered dunes (another source of friction with the environmental protection community) has more in common with some of Ireland’s most famous courses, such as Ballybunion or Royal County Down. In contrast, Trump Turnberry on Scotland’s west coast, which we’d play later in the week, is much more Scottish in personality, with its broader panorama of surrounding landmarks.

Swedish-born Jonas Hedberg, Trump International’s Golf Operations Manager, spelled out those differences as we lunched on Scottish appetizers — zucchini fritters, haggis bon bons, ham hocks and cheese and haddock goujons —  following our morning round under leaden skies. “Here on the North Sea, we’ve got 12 miles of uninterrupted beach, at least,” he said. “You’re amazed at the course itself, every hole, whereas at Turnberry, you’ve got the Ailsa Craig, the Lighthouse, the backdrop of the Isle of Arran and Scotland in general. It’s really what type of [experience] you prefer.”

Hedberg joined us for the round; I played 10 holes with him, then he jumped back to join the other half of our crew. As a solid player who grew up playing with the likes current Open Champion Henrik Stenson and has been working here from day one, he described how the course has matured, and how the two nines continue to stir his soul in different ways.

“On the back nine there are clusters of dunes, whereas on the front nine, there’s a dune ridge, and then another one, and you play in between. Like on holes 4 and 5, out and back. From a golfer’s perspective, I like the back nine. It is a bit of a longer walk, perhaps three-quarters of a mile. It’s about five miles to walk the entire course.”

And what a walk it is. In layout out Trump International, Hawtree brought every natural advantage to bear, building drama in windblown, hulking waves of sand, turf and water; he’s not shy with the pot bunkering (I had to blast out backwards on No 4, a ribbon-like par 5 and the No. 1 stroke hole, scarring my card with a triple bogey), and he loves to ensconce green complexes in the most visually arresting natural amphitheaters possible. Hedberg is right: each hole is a portrait unto itself, rendered in bold strokes of bright, manicured green against the wild gold and dun hues of the natural dunes. The sea is always there, visible on perhaps half the holes, with the closest brush with the beach coming early, on the par-3 third green, one of the finest one-shotters in the region. The tee box at No. 6, the second par 3, affords one of the course’s three best on-high views, along with the tee at No. 14 (a truly great par 4, asking for a drive silhouetted against the sea and sky before falling between towering dunes for the narrow uphill trip to the green) and No. 16, the final par 3, where Hawtree conjures a broad, heart-pounding view before dropping you back into some of the tallest sand drifts for a solid finale. On the home hole, a 651-yard, into-the-wind beast, there are 16 bunkers to negotiate (I got the feeling that Trump himself had some say in that, judging from I’d seen at some of his stateside courses), plus two ponds up the left side. Escape with par there and you’ve earned the right to drop twenty bucks on that burger in the clubhouse restaurant, The Brasserie.

If you’d like to stay onsite during the course’s operating season of April through October, there’s the 17-room McLeod House, where we spent one night, finding it a good choice for groups in terms of convenience (though rooms are on the smaller side compared to, say, The Marcliffe, and some Old World issues do pop up, including dodgy water pressure) and The Estate, a former baronial mansion. Both were meant to be temporary accommodations in anticipation of a much larger onsite resort that’s now indefinitely on hold, as is a second course on a more bowl-like swath of dunescape to the south of the original links. But they were good enough for several tour stars to stay there during the 2014 Scottish Open at Royal Aberdeen, including Phil Mickelson and Rickie Fowler, who both raved about the links, according to Hedberg.

“Phil was here a lot and was a true gentleman. He’d practice a lot on the short game area and was here most evenings quite late. One evening was funny. It was 7 o’clock and he wanted to play the front nine on his own. There was nobody out there. He came back a couple hours later, at 9 o’clock, and told me, ‘That was unbelievable.’

“Rickie Fowler was a great story, too. He couldn’t wait to play here. I was watching the tournament at Royal Aberdeen on TV as groups came in on Friday afternoon. Rickie was in one of the final groups. A half hour later he was here — he hadn’t had any food or anything. ‘Any chance I can get a tee time here, right now? I’m staying here but I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.’ So he walked it with his caddie, his manager and one of his friends, played 18 holes and came off the course half-eight at night. ‘I couldn’t concentrate on the last few holes [at Royal Aberdeen], I was thinking about this course. It’s amazing.’

“That was pretty cool,” Hedberg concluded. Who can argue?

So, Trump clearly made his intended headlines with this course, and unintended ones, too. Empirically, it’s spectacular and challenging — and, yes, among the most expensive rounds in Scotland — though I’d contend that individual holes don’t stand out as much in the memory as those at some other courses we’d play, Turnberry included. And given that the Trump name is everywhere here and at all his golf courses around the world — the family shield on every flag, for instance — will the inevitable political bleedover prove a help or hindrance over the next few years? I suspect it’ll be some of both.

Royal Aberdeen: www.royalaberdeengolf.com

Trump International: www.trumpgolfscotland.com

The Marcliffe: www.marcliffe.com

Connoisseurs Scotland: www.luxuryscotland.co.uk

Scotland Part 1: St. Andrews

Scotland Part 2: Loch Lomond

Scotland Part 4: The Highlands and Castle Stuart

Scotland Part 5: The Ayrshire Coast

Framed by the deep gray-blue of one of Scotland’s most famous lakes — make that lochs — behind him, the handsome red-tailed hawk swooped a few feet above the expansive Cameron House lawn before perching on my outstretched, heavily gloved hand. His trainer, a fast-talking chap with blond hair and an outdoorsman’s restless, open attitude, quickly fed his friend a big chunk of raw meat. A quick forearm flick and the big bird was off again, lighting on a tree limb some eighty yards away.

I’d arrived at this stately castle-turned-resort a few hours earlier after a two-hour Scotland Rail ride from Leuchars Station just north of St. Andrews to Queen’s Station in downtown Glasgow, where Jeremy Hawkings, Connoisseurs Scotland’s marketing man, picked me up for the 40-minute drive north to Loch Lomond. A spate of rain would be chased away by bright, sun, then return, then run away again — the classic Scottish weather game in full play. When the loch came into view I caught myself thinking of Lake Tahoe, that glorious mountain jewel, back home in Nevada. We have our share of hawks there, too, but I’d never gotten this close to the beautiful predator, especially one so tuned in with his human cohort. It was a thrill, as was the hour-long Loch Lomond cruise that immediately preceded it — aboard the Cameron House’s luxury craft, Celtic Warrior.

I wondered if the hawk could track down my errant golf balls the following morning at The Carrick, a fine parkland layout and the only course in Scotland that straddles the island’s Lowlands and Highlands (divided by an actual faultline), with nine holes on each — the outward down low, starting along the loch’s tranquil shore, the inward climbing toward mist-shrouded hills right out of central casting before soaring downhill, bird-like, with one dramatic, mid-iron drop at the par-3 14^th. Alas, the hawk was otherwise engaged, so I was on my own in the early fall chill , pushing a powered trolley up and down the rain-drenched Carrick’s gentle ridges, through thick turf and around muddy puddles. At any rate I lost far fewer balls than I would on the other courses on this journey, all of them links on the sea. Named after Scotland architect Doug Carrick and opened in 2007, this routing among stands of pine, fir, spruce and plenty of deciduous trees as well as ponds, wetlands and streams is generous in width, with large and surprisingly quick greens even after a stretch of soggy weather. Bunkering is, fittingly, of the small, round, “pot” variety.

The course is a solid hike, too; by the time our group reached the halfway house — actually a boat converted into a cozy confine where the single malt flows — we were more than ready for a quick and bracing dram. At 10 a.m., no less. Then it was into the Highlands (complete with a welcome sign on the 10^th tee) for a sublime trek through nature, augmented with thrilling golf shots. The round reaches its literal high point at the tree-shrouded 13th green and clifftop 14^th tee, then winds downhill to culminate at the modern, mountain lodge-styled clubhouse and Claret Jug restaurant — a large, stately, comfortable room loaded with golf memorabilia and serving breakfast through dinner, everything from steak and barbecue chicken to classic Caesar salad and, yes, haddock and chips, the “other” national dish besides haggis. While the Carrick might not enjoy the notoriety of the Tom Weiskopf-authored Loch Lomond Golf Club a few miles north, it has hosted its share of high-profile amateur and pro events over the years. And will again. It’s a wonderful place to begin a Connoisseurs-hosted golf tour, especially if you’re flying into Glasgow.

Same for the Cameron House, which is one of Scotland’s most popular resorts due to its size (100 acres), ease of access, wealth of recreation water and land-based recreation options (boating, biking, hiking … and falconing) and broad breadth of rooms both within the main baronial mansion (the two-room suites are a lovely option) as well as several stand-alone family-sized bungalows. Its impressive restaurants include the Cameron Grill for Scottish breakfast, elegant lunch or solid steak-seafood dinner; the award-winning Martin Wishart for a high-end experience; and the casual Boat House for solid resort fare with views of the resort’s marina and loch beyond. That’s where I got my first literal taste of Connoisseurs hospitality with a cozy bowl of seafood chowder, and ended with a final Loch Lomond seafood dinner the following day as we prepared to head north and east to Aberdeenshire on a luxury shuttle provided by Little’s, one of Europe’s top personal transport companies.

Before that meal, however, we had some drinkin’ to do. About 30 miles into the Highlands is Glengoyne, the nearest Scotch distillery, where we took a fascinating Malt Master Tour —the first of several whisky-tasting adventures on this journey. A veteran Scotch aficiando named Arthur led us through Glengoyne’s meticulous, unrushed brewing process begun in 1833 and altered very little to this day: air-drying its barley malt (no peat burning in this part of Scotland); mixing it with water and mashing it into wort — a sweet, thick beer-like base — in huge wooden vats; fermentation with yeast; distilling in distinctive bell-shaped copper stills; harvesting the “pure centre cut” clear alcohol; and, finally, aging it in Spanish sherry casks in a cool and dark warehouse for anywhere from three years and one day (the bare minimum to yield an official single malt) to 25 years or more. Then we had the opportunity to blend our own personal flasks of Scotch to either sip through the bogeys and birdies to come or stash for the eventual flight home. I’ve still got my bottle, just waiting for the right time to pop the cork and relive those heady first few days in Scotland.

Cheers to that. Or, to put it a Scottish brogue, sláinte mhath!

Cameron  House: www.cameronhouse.co.uk

Connoisseurs Golf: www.luxuryscotland.co.uk

Glengoyne Distillery: www.glengoyne.com

Scotland Part 1: St. Andrews

Scotland Part 3: Onward to Aberdeen

Scotland Part 4: The Highlands and Castle Stuart

Scotland Part 5: The Ayrshire Coast

Editor’s Note: In late September and early October 2016, Golf Tips editor Vic Williams joined respected tour company Connoisseurs Scotland and several other journalists for an extensive tour of the birthplace of golf. Following is the first installment of a multi-part series on his experience, which he began two days early, on his own with a visit to St. Andrews.

The little road that separates the Old Course and New Course in St. Andrews is about eight feet and three centuries wide. As I stood there, looking at the 400-year-old world-famous links to my left and its much younger (only 120 years) sibling to my right, a warm blast of emotion cut through the damp September air and straight through my heart. No tears, but damned close.

After a little over 24 hours on Scotland soil, it all hit me. I was finally here, strolling alongside the Auld Sod, all greened up and gorgeous in preparation for the Dunhill Cup, its hallowed hollows and humps trimmed just so as its ancient heart beat strongly and clearly from down through the decades. I thought of all those hours watching the Open Championship come through the TV in two-dimensional grandeur, beckoning me to where it all began, but the Old Course is many times more timeless in three dimensions, in person. The best elements of many golf worlds — traditional and modern, wild and austere, exclusive but open to all — are right there, strewn over its narrow, rumpled, shepherd’s crook-shaped expanse, palpable and visible. The gravity is almost too much to bear, but bear it I did.

I wouldn’t play the Old Course that Saturday afternoon, though I did wander further down the narrow road, following a guy in knickers, Payne Stewart style, as he negotiated the first few outward holes alone — probably the last standby from the day’s show-up-before-dawn list. I strolled back past the Himalayas Putting Green crowded with women and kids, then toward the R&A, cutting across the first and 18th fairways on the well-worn path so many thousands of visitors negotiate each year. I then turned right to loiter behind the Road Hole for a while, fighting the urge to sneak into the most famous bunker in the world, scoop up a handful of sand and put it in my pocket for the trip home nine days in the future. I took what seemed like a thousand photos instead, thinking of all the shots I’d seen struck there on the tube and in my imagination. I wandered over to the British Golf Museum, soaked in the exhibits and devoured the historical accounts until closing, which led me to the picket fence and little garden park behind the 18th green, which led back toward the Jigger Inn and the Old Course Hotel and finally into the village itself. St. Andrews University was back in session so the shops and pubs and restaurants along Market Street were bustling with students as well as wind-chapped golfers; after a quick pint at The Central I found my way into a fresh seafood house called Tailend for another two pints and plate of fish and chips, then circled down to North Street for a nightcap (make that two more pints) at Dunvegan Pub, where many pro and amateur players have toasted and tipped, elbow to elbow, just one block up from the Old Course.

From there I caught a cab back to my hotel a couple miles south, the Fairmont St. Andrews, home to two excellent clifftop courses of its own — the Kittocks and the Torrance. I’d played the latter first thing that morning with three young lads from Edinburgh, two of them very good players, all of them as friendly and open as every other Scot I’d meet over the week to come. Our first blind tee shots on the opening par 5, from a bluff above the modern, two-level clubhouse, played into a stiff southwest breeze carrying light rain that would play hide and seek with spates of sun through the round. I pull-hooked my drive into the tall fescue; at least I had the churning gray expanse of the North Sea to gaze at as I searched in vain for that new ball. I was playing golf in Scotland and I was happy to donate — and my generosity would continue a few more times this round, and in the five to come. Even as I straightened my tee shots and found a par here and there, score would take a backseat to the Experience.

Despite offering the requisite pot bunkers and huge greens, both the Kittocks and Torrance courses are more heathland than pure links, rolling over longer, broader hills than those found among classic dunes, with views of the Fife coastline on most holes and the familiar church spire-dominated skyline of St. Andrews itself a constant peripheral companion. Though Sam Torrance’s eponymous layout gets the most notice and hosts the greater number of name competitions including the Scottish Senior Open from 2009 to 2014, the Kittocks has its adherents. Designed by Bruce Devlin with some input from Gene Sarazen, it’s bisected by a meandering, tree-filled mini-glen (Yanks would call it a ravine) that comes into play on several holes including the long par 4 4th, with a deep valley in front of the green. The course heads back toward the sea on No. 6, a lovely mid-iron par 3 playing straight toward the water, followed by one of the course’s best two-shotters, a slightly downhill, well-bunkered beast that shares a massive green with the short par 4 10th (overshoot the surface on either hole and you’re either on the rocks or up against a low wall). The rest of the back nine’s first half moves inland, then U-turns down the hill for holes 15-17, a tough stretch culminating on a cliffhanging green guarded on the right by a deep chasm. The final hole stretches gently uphill alongside wetlands and one of several inland ponds, into the prevailing wind — a stout windup to a solid warmup round for any first-time Scotland golf pilgrim.

Both Fairmont courses were part of the original St. Andrews Bay resort opened by American entrepreneur Don Panoz in 2001; Fairmont took over management of the entire resort in 2006. The 209-room, U-shaped hotel — which is undergoing a stem-to-stern refurbishment slated for completion in May 2017 — is among the Fife region’s finest, especially if you want an all-in-one home base while you sample the dozens of golf options up and down the coast and inland, to places like Gleneagles, which resides in the Highlands, perhaps a 90-minute drive away. The rooms are excellent, the dining options solid (have lunch at the clubhouse pub at least once, or stick around for a steak-seafood dinner menu), with a full Scottish breakfast included in the hotel’s airy atrium for hotel guests. I tried my first-ever helping of haggis before taking on the Kittocks, and amazingly, I loved its spicy, earthy richness. The Fairmont also offers the largest meeting facility in the area, indoor pool, full-service spa and fitness facility, and cozy lobby bar for tallying up the score. And remember: The Auld Grey Toon, the Old Course and its half-dozen St. Andrews brethren are just a short drive up the narrow A917. In fact, the tough Castle Course is even closer — right next door — while another world-class links option, top-ranked Kingsbarns, is a scant mile to the south.

Of course, though this part of my trip wasn’t on my Connoisseurs Golf itinerary, they can handle all the arrangements, including guaranteed rounds at the Old Course. “Connections” is their middle name.

With so much golf yet to play and the Old Course pulling at my soul with more force than ever, can my first visit to St. Andrews possibly be my last? Not if the golf gods are listening.

Fairmont: www.fairmont.com/st-andrews-scotland/

St. Andrews Golf: www.st.andrews.com

Connoisseurs Scotland: www.luxuryscotland.co.uk

Scotland Part 2: Joining the Connoisseurs crew at lovely Loch Lomond

Scotland Part 3: Onward to Aberdeen

Scotland Part 4: The Highlands and Castle Stuart

Scotland Part 5: The Ayrshire Coast