This spring is the 10 year anniversary of a life-changing trip to a golf course far away and lost in time: Askernish. To both reflect upon it as well as occupy my time during this pandemic crisis, I am rolling out a multi-part series that explores my thoughts, emotions, and lessons learned from a legendary week on the links. The 1st talks about the physical and spiritual journey of getting to this place, the 2nd is about routing holes over untouched linksland, the 3rd is about the golf course itself, and the 4th teaches a lesson on how to shore up natural links bunkers for golf. This 5th and final segment talks a little about the ecology of the place, our final days together, and the lessons I have learned from the experience and how they’ve applied to my career.

Day 5

After a night of playing out on the machair, it was time for yet another new day and new lesson. The day’s topic was a bit broader but still a very important one—the ecology of the golf course and its surrounds. We would be led by Keith Duff, a top independent ecologist who has done work with the Golf Environment Organization, R&A, European Institute of Golf Course Architects, and many others. Keith made a presentation in the clubhouse discussing how harmonious golf and the environment can be as well as well as how good it is for both sides. In times when golf so often gets (sometimes admittedly rightfully) trashed by environmentalists, it was nice to hear someone say, “hey, golf can in fact be pretty good for the environment, and here is why.” Energized by the positivity, we then we went out for a field exercise to explore and identify the different types of flora and fauna found on and around the golf course.

On first glance, you’d say the landscape was barren. Just a place for cows to eat grass. There is more to it though. Birds are very plentiful, the skylarks seemingly always singing (though you can never see them all the way up there). The corncrake, a rare Western Isle bird, makes its home on the machair and the Askernish logo. The rabbits still very much call the land home, as evidenced by the holes, scrapes, and burrows all over the place. Among the dunes are many seasonally wet low areas called dune slacks, and they provide water and cover for all variety of creatures. Further inland the land dips down to groundwater lochs, where otters live and the fishing is said to be legendary. And of course in the opposite direction, you have the beach and ocean itself with all that it entails. Upon closer inspection, little wildflowers dot the land with many more to come as the spring would progress. Important insects, microbes, and pollinators keep the soil and plantlife healthy. The nearby lowlands switch to a heavier, peatier, rockier moorland soil complete with rushes, sedge, and heather. The uneven ground there is perfect for sheep grazing. At the beach is the marram grass discussed in the last installment, and in between there and the moor is the wonderful ground that has given us a place to play our beloved game.

So, more on that in-between ground. The ground that “links” us from town or farm to sea. We’ve alluded to its qualities so far in this series, but what really makes it? For one, it starts with the sandy soil. That free-draining, wind-blown sand is what gives us our wonderful contours. It is also the perfect growing environment for the fine types of grasses that, critically, a ball will roll over. These “poverty”-type grasses—fine fescues and bents—have much smaller leaf blades and therefore have a low level of rolling friction. Because the sandy soil doesn’t hold water or nutrients as well, only these types of grasses exist. And that is perfect for golf. If we only ever had locations with thick-bladed bluegrass or kikuyu, it is hard to imagine golf even existing at all. The ability of the ball to roll is critical to the game, and this amazing natural environment provides exactly that. Add in sheep and rabbits to chew down this turf tightly to ground level, and you have the perfect ground for a bunch of bored shepherds to knock their rocks around.

I had always thought about those moments of the game’s origins. What must have that ground been like? What were the grasses like? There must have been a true spirit of adventure, knocking your stone around aimlessly and finding the tight ground where it rolls the best. Then you challenge yourself, saying, “I should try and get this into that little rabbit hole.” You continue doing this, exploring new ground, finding new “holes,” and discovering which ones are most fun and most challenging. This continues onward, and a true game develops. Going to Askernish and exploring both the golf course and the surrounding linksland gives us a real glimpse into that initial adventure, discovery, and development.

The modern day management at Askernish does take advantage of a few tools we have now at our disposal, but I do emphasize few. Yes, they use mechanical mowers to keep the greens crisp and the fairways lower. Depending on the season and weather patterns though, these mowings can be very infrequent or non-existent, especially during the winter months when growth is slow and the animals graze. If there is nae need, then nae bother. They also carefully mow around breeding and nesting seasons for birds and insects, another example of the high emphasis on wildlife preservation. The only other modern devices used are a maintenance cart to get around and the electric shock wires around the greens to keep the grazing animals from damaging the surfaces. That’s about it. There is no irrigation, and there are no chemical pesticides or fertilizers applied. Everything has to be fully organic. The fertilizer used is either a seaweed extract collected from the beach or a mixture of dried sheep hoof, horn, and blood. When you think about that, it makes sense as both have long existed within the local ecology of linksland. Both were utilized by Old Tom Morris and the earliest greenkeepers, and both have still stood the test of time as being the best for true links turf. Even St Andrews still uses seaweed extract as fertilizer.

It’s incredibly and amazingly simple stuff. It must be said though, it is impossible for most golf courses in the world to maintain themselves at this minimal of a level. Their climates and growing environments just cannot sustain that. But what they can do in the same way is ask themselves hard questions about their critical needs and do things in a way that most minimally impacts the natural environment. Do we need to irrigate this much? Do we need to put down this amount of chemicals? Does the course need to be this green, this “prim and proper?” Do we need to install this artificial landscape when the naturally existing one would do? Do we need to mow and maintain all that short rough in the out of play areas? Do we really need all of this? These are the questions that Askernish asks itself. We should all be doing so too.

On this note, I was left thinking about our bunkers exercise the day before and the way they have evolved over time, particularly with regards to the links. At first they were wild, wooly blowouts or animal scrapes. Then some level of formalization began with Old Tom just stuffing some sod chunks in weak areas to try and strengthen them and keep the bunker from growing. He called it “revetting.” This form of revetting eventually evolved to cutting out some slightly more formal, but still somewhat rough, strips of grass and stacking them upon one another in those select trouble spots. The steepness attained by the stacking also helped to contain sand blow. That continued a trend of adding more and more of those stacked sod walls until there were entire bunkers surrounded in revetted walls. It would get more and more refined, clean, and geometric to the point that you see so commonly today on many links, especially those on the Open Rota.

The evolution also speaks to the industry at large. We tend to discover something that helps achieve a goal, and then we expand upon it, refine it,  turn it into a product, brand it, and branch out with alternatives and “The next Big Thing!™️.” Which is all fine and dandy. Our human desire for progress is innate, and that progress is good for the health of the economy and growing world.  With all sorts of fancy new bunker liners, complex irrigation systems, drainage techniques, golf carts and paths, and generally high standards though, it just makes me wonder how necessary all this stuff is. Perhaps we’ve gotten too far away from the basic principles and tactics laid out by Old Tom, and a simpler approach is better not just for the golf but the environment as a whole.

Our natural environment is important to our health and wellbeing, but we have done incredible amounts throughout history to alter it. Some of that is for good, some of it not so much. Golf is no different in this department. We have the extreme cases of mountains being blasted away or wetlands being filled, but we also have a lot of other cases where the golf is in perfect harmony with its environment, including the very place we were standing at that moment. I am a much bigger fan of the latter approach for a number of reasons.

One of golf’s biggest advantages is its connection to the natural world and the ability of such to appeal to our innermost senses. We are happier and healthier when we go outside, step through the grass, feel the changing breeze, smell the wildflowers, and hear the birds and insects. When we step out onto a course that is more in tune with these things, the experience is that much better. Shouldn’t we as an industry be striving for more of this then? I don’t see why not.

———

Thursday night was declared to be pub night, and we were to head as a group along with some of the Askernish members up to the Borrodale Hotel, THE spot for nightlife in South Uist. And by that I think it might be the only pub on the island. That said, it is no less than any other pub in Scotland and not a bad spot at all to hang.

As we were getting ready to leave though and hanging out in the kitchen, we heard the front door of the house open. Into the kitchen quickly walks a young man with rubber gloves carrying a green basket. In the basket are all sorts of completely fresh, completely alive shellfish, from small prawns up to a full size blue lobster. After days of wondering what the deal was, the fish monger had finally arrived and delivered. Change of plans: we needed to delay our departure to the pub and cook these fellas.

Paul grabbed a couple of the prawns and noted how cold they all were, figuring they had just come out of the water perhaps not even an hour ago. We couldn’t just play and admire them though. We had to get cooking. Luckily for us, Price, who was both a cooking hobbyist and from Maine, knew just what to do. Not that it was particularly complicated; it’s really just a matter of boiling. We needed all pots and burners on deck and had to platoon the prawns in batches. It wasn’t so much their volume but their awkward size and length that made it hard to fit into our way-too-small pots. That, and the risk of getting pinched.

We somehow made it out without any major issues or injuries, and we just had to sample a little bit before heading out. With a little bit of drawn Scottish butter, the simple flavor was just perfect. Fresh isn’t really a taste. More of an “essence,” perhaps. You absolutely know it though when you experience it, and with certain foods it seems to matter more. I never liked lobster as a kid until I first had it fresh in Maine, and then I loved it. This was probably better than that.

Quick sample feast complete, it was off to the pub for pints, bar games, and more story telling.

Day 6

It was our final day out on the links, which brought a bit of sadness that this time was coming to a close. Fittingly, the sky was a cool dark gray, perhaps mimicking my emotions but also providing some mercy to those who consumed too many at the pub the night before.

Our agenda was light with just a followup activity planned in the morning. The previous afternoon, we had broken up into groups of two to go out on a bit of an environmental treasure hunt. We were provided a map of an area of the golf course and machair, and we were to locate the different micro-environments as well as provide our management plan for them. For the most part, all of our answers were, “keep doing what they are doing” or “do nothing.” We had gone back in and discussed our maps the previous afternoon, but that morning we would go out and walk to each site and describe our plans. It was a good exercise to visually hammer home the key points being made. Following that was a brief bit of time to roam freely, which I spent by myself listening to Neko Case, looking at the sheep, and absorbing the magnificent landscape around me.

Of course, we also had to play one last round as a big group. This time, we mixed in playing with some of the key members of the club, and it was great to get a little extra perspective from them. I recall one instance on the 9th or 10th hole, trying to play a bump and run shot into the green but getting snagged by some rabbit holes and uneven ground. Thinking that the weight of my shot was pretty good, I commented, “that would have been perfect at St Andrews.” Donald MacInnes, the club captain at the time, just looked on with a half smile and said dryly, “someday.”

By a number of reports, they have come pretty close to achieving that “someday.” Eric Iverson reported to me a few years later that he was blown away by how well the course was playing. That sounds pretty good to me, just as long as they go so far as not to overdo and spoil it, relatively speaking of course. I can’t imagine though that ever happens, at least not as long as Gordon Irvine is still around, and their environmental management plan is in place. The course is spectacular and deserves some of the minor improvement I discussed before, but a real part of the charm is how natural both the ground and turf are. And there is so much to learn from that, if these ~20,000 words and 140+ images over the past month haven’t yet made that apparent.

Back to the golf. I can’t say I remember anything else specific about the rest of the round other than that it was again a load of fun. Also, it was bittersweet to hole out for the last time. What I do remember though is that long, open, 300+ yard walk from 18 green to the clubhouse that I described before. Still clinging to the golf experience, I dropped a ball, pulled out my putter, and with my clubs still on my back, I putted my way in.

After all, the native ecology allowed for it.

Day 7

The morning of our departure day came quickly. As my sleep debt had mounted considerably, I missed out on the scenery driving north up South Uist, through Benbecula, and to North Uist and the ferry terminal at Lochmaddy. Even though I regret not seeing what it was like, I wasn’t missing too much as it was rather dark and rainy that morning. Those paying close attention (or only happened to read Part 1 and this final part) will note that this ferry terminal is different from the one we had come in on (Gold Star for you, dedicated reader). Wisely, Paul and the R&A had devised an alternate route for returning. This had two positive benefits. One—this ferry leg was mercifully much shorter in considerably much worse weather than the one before. Two—we would get to see and experience a number of new sights and scenery. I really appreciated this move.

Again, as you couldn’t see much from the rain-soaked ferry windows, I used this 2 hour journey to chip into that massive sleep debt. This was a good call, because I didn’t want to miss out on what was ahead: the Isle of Skye.

You hear about its whisky, but you also hear about its scenery. Whatever you hear is true. It is spectacular. Winding down the twisting highway you move along and between massive, barren slopes of overly weathered mountains, all the while hovering over large lochs lying at their base. It’s a beautiful, dark, eerie scene as if you were flying through the screen of a Lord of the Rings film. It’s also a great way to feel very small, the scale of the hills and water dwarfing your tiny existence.

As we moved our way through and over the bridge off of Skye, we stopped off at Kyle of Lochalsh, named after the inter-sea loch between the mainland and Skye. I can’t remember if it was to get a spot of tea and stretch our legs, but the scenery was quite beautiful, featuring a train station that sticks out into the loch. It seemed quite odd, but perhaps that was the only flat spot they could find for a platform. Our stop may have also just been us looking for our next destination though, which was just down the road: Eilean Donan Castle.

I fully admit not knowing anything about the Castle upon our arrival, just how famous it was, or how it tied into my family’s history. My mother’s maiden name was McCray, which is an Americanized version of MacRae, of Clan MacRae. Clan MacRae were close allies with Clan MacKenzie, who occupied the castle for a number of centuries after it’s construction in the 1200s. Eventually, it would be destroyed in the 18th century by none other than the English and lie in ruin until the early 1900s when a MacRae, John MacRae-Gilstrap, devoted much energy to restoring the castle into the iconic landmark that still sits there today. At the time, I just thought it was a really cool looking castle positioned in a really cool (and defensively strategic) spot. Looking back now though, the memory becomes a bit more powerful and a little more prideful, just a bit of a fitting part to close up this incredible trip. Perhaps it provides an idea where my love of this landscape and general passion for restoration comes from.

We continued onward, stopping for a bit of lunch as well as a place to stretch our legs, hiking up a rushing glen deep in the forest. This would be our last break before connecting to the A9, the multilane highway running through the Highlands in a giant ‘S’ shape. One thing I remember was Dr. Paul talking about just how dreadful and dangerous the road was. It just looked like a regular freeway to me, albeit with much better scenery. I guess we Americans are desensitized by the regular dangers we put ourselves through.

—

We eventually landed back in Fife. The older guys, Price and Stuart, were dropped off at their cars at the college, and then I am next to go at my flat further into town. Not quite wanting to end the whole experience yet, the Myerscough boys invited me to stay with them in the Elmwood office and flat in St Andrews, where they were staying overnight before hitting the road the next day back to England. Not only did hanging out with them for another night in one of the greatest towns in the world sound appealing, I had been to the office before and knew that it had this view right here…

They didn’t have to ask me twice.

I first had to settle back in at the flat though, drop my bags, and catch up on something important I had missed over the week—Detroit Red Wings playoff games. How could I have refrained from knowing the outcomes you ask? Well, not having internet on an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean helps. Being preoccupied with a trip of a lifetime doing stuff you love also helps.

I skipped through the games a bit quicker than I normally would have because 1) not having ever missed any playoff games in my fandom by live tv or radio, this was the first time I had done it this way, and 2) I was eager to get back and hang out with the lads. Now having seen the Wings steal one of the first 2 games out in the Arizona desert, I could happily bus my way into St Andrews, knowing that the boys in Red would have a chance to go back home and take a nice 2-1 lead tomorrow evening after my weekly walk around the Old Course.

I get into St Andrews with my overnight backpack on my shoulder, and I walk that familiar walk down City Road, a short right up North Street, and a left down Golf Place and eventually The Links. The northern sky was a deep late-day blue, the low sun golden, and the shadows starting to cast down the 18th at St Andrews Old. This was a good idea.

I drop my bag off at the office, and we watch a few golfers coming up before going to the only logical place for that time of day—The Jigger Inn. The Jigger is little, white standalone pub sitting along the wall on the second half of the 17th hole, better known as the Road Hole. You can order pints, stand outside, and watch golfers hit their approach shots into perhaps the most famous hole in the world, all the while the Auld Grey Toon sits behind. It’s a wonderful spot.

We continued on with dinner in town, obligatory drinks at the Dunvegan, and hitting some of the trendier spots frequented by the university students. This was not something I ever got to do, the last buses running out of town by 9 PM most nights, and I was way too broke to be paying for a cab without a few buddies in it. So I was enjoying it not just for the company but also that.

We eventually decided we had spent enough money and went back to the flat for a night cap and to goof around and share some stories one last time. I realized to myself that this thing, this whole year abroad, was not just about golf, not just about exotic places, not just about seeing Scotland, not just about walking the next great links course. It was about the people too. To that point I had spent much of the year alone in this foreign land. Alone in my cold apartment, alone on the bus, alone in a B&B room. And for the most part, that’s all right with me. I generally like being alone and adventuring by myself. But it was too much. I missed this camaraderie, I missed laughing, I missed sharing ideas, I missed my girlfriend and family at home. But minus that last part, I had all those other things over the past week. It was about the people. The people you meet at a new course. The people in the classroom. The people in the green keeping sheds. The people at home. And the people I had been exploring with and learning from over the past week.

The same thing applies at Askernish. As much as it is isolated, as much as it is wild and natural and would probably look almost the same with just sheep and rabbits roaming around, it is the people that make it. It’s Ralph Thompson with his jovial welcome and passion for the place that started the whole restoration back to 18. It’s Allan MacDonald, with his love and care for the grounds even though he doesn’t play the game. It’s Donald MacInnes and the rest of the members with their dry wits and sharp games. It’s Gordon Irvine with his brilliant knowledge for links turf and endless energy to get the best of everything he does. It’s Martin Ebert, who graciously lended his time to come up with a brilliantly fun routing. It’s Keith Duff, who helps make sure the precious natural environment is kept as it should be. And it’s all the golfers, adventurers, thrill-seekers, and nut jobs who make the effort to travel and experience this special place.

I couldn’t be more grateful to all these people above who made this the trip of a lifetime. Thank you to all.

Postlude

In the years following the trip, I always have had the Askernish experience and lessons learned in the back of my mind. Whether it’s in conversation, working on a grounds or labor crew, or working on one of the many great projects I have had the privilege to be a part of, I am always pushing for things to be simpler, more natural, more sustainable, and more fun.

At Dismal River in Nebraska—my first project with Tom Doak—we built a course about as simply as you can outside of the machair. Till the native ground, track it in, and rake up the fluff. There were some major shoves that made things more workable, but for the most part, the course is as it is. Bunkers were just scraped away, the forms already sitting there. Tees were made to blend and done with as little shaping as possible. And greens were sometimes done in a matter of hours—quite the contrast to some USGA-spec processes that can take 3 or 4 weeks from start to finish.

In China, things were much more complicated than that with some heavy duty engineering and earthmoving, but a lot of the quest for a “natural” look prevailed. The Renaissance team also pushed to do things as simply as the complicated project would allow.

At the Schoolhouse Nine, with Mike McCartin, we kept things as minimal as they could be. We only disturbed ground at the tees and greens, leaving the rest to just be scalped down and seeded into. We kept the greens a native soil instead of creating a profile. And we used irrigation only on the greens, leaving the rest of the watering to mother nature. Also, we made it as fun and playable for all as we could. With an out and back routing finishing at a pub on the edge of town, it really felt like it had a Scottish soul.

At sandy Hardelot in France, I used the same basic skills that Gordon Irvine taught us about Old Tom Morris bunker building, albeit with a 10 ton excavator. There was chunk revetting, where I took scraps I had carved out and packed them down tightly to build up a new edge and split in-two the large left bunker on the picture-worthy 7th. There was doing something similar on the 17th out in a vast, newly stripped area of sand where I built a little faux-bunker ridge to add some visual interest off the tee. And there was the greenside bunker on the 5th, where sandsplash build up had gotten out of control and made hole locations over there impossible. Instead of stripping the turf on the bunker edge and being forced to created a new one with revetting, I decided to do a collapse. With the machine, I would pull away at the sand well underneath the main roots and organic matter, which gave the grass enough strength to stay intact despite the void below. I could then, very slowly, push the grass down until it met the sand below. I did this in stages until the front right pin was restored but the edge still had some flash to it. And then the actual edge looked like it had never been touched.

And at Santa Ana, Saticoy, and Orinda, I created lipless bottom edges to create the look of sand bleeding over into a natural area, it moving either by wind or water like the natural bunkers I observed out on the links of Askernish.

I can’t wait to see where I will be able to use these thoughts or what I will be be able to do next. (sandy site please!)

—

Askernish is undoubtedly a special extreme in the world of golf. There is a great irony in that though too. Because if a landscape like this didn't naturally exist and turf grass like this didn’t exist, golf itself would not exist. Yet the vast majority of golf courses are so far removed from this. Largely, that isn’t their fault. Specific environments and climates like this are rare in the world, but golf is a massively popular global game. Therefore, not everything can be like this. But, what I will argue is this: golf in most places can be at least be much closer to this than it currently is. We can cut back on the artificial irrigation and the overfeeding of chemical inputs. We can allow more areas in between holes to grow and cohabitate naturally. We can select better sites where we have to disturb less ground. We can just disturb less ground in construction in general, letting natural contours guide most of the play throughout the holes and preserving the native soil and seed bank.

We can do less and ultimately have more. That is perhaps the biggest lesson learned from Askernish.

———

I want to thank you all for reading, especially those who made it all the way through. (Don’t you have better things to do ;-) ) I started this with the idea of one single post, then realized I may need to split it into 2 or maybe three. Then I thought 4 was better. Then it had to be 5. And really, I could have split this one and made it 6. It has been a lot of fun looking back on an experience so important to me and my career, and I hope you had some fun with it too.

Most of all, I really want to thank the R&A, for if it weren’t for them and their commitment to students learning about sustainability, this trip would never have happened (and I would have had to find something else to do for the past month). There is a lot of good educational work going on with the R&A, and this is just one example of it.

Cheers, and thanks again

Brett