The Scottish portion of this trip started with a train strike on my way to Inverness. Wide variations in airfare from the U.S. to various Scottish destinations led me to buy a ticket to the capital city of Edinburgh in the east instead of Inverness farther north, and I planned to catch a train and scope out the countryside along the way. Scottish rail workers had different ideas, and I spent a major portion of that journey in the front seat of a crowded bus. 

No worries. This was Scotland, and I was happy to play the part of a lost and confused American, dragging my overstuffed duffel and travel golf bags on an adjusted route. I rolled into Inverness a few hours late but eager to see what Tom Doak had in mind for his new design at Cabot Highlands. 

But first, something equally new: Cabot Highlands had just constructed a short par-3 course, and I joined a small cadre of other golf writers and marketing folks for a quick go-round. The best par-3 courses are short on the walking and long on creativity as golf balls dance about sometimes preposterous slopes. This new layout at Cabot Highlands checks both those boxes perfectly. 

The par-3 course is part of a rapid expansion plan for what was known as Castle Stuart until the property was bought in 2022 by Cabot. The property already features a highly rated 18 opened in 2009 with a co-design by architect Gil Hanse and original resort developer Mark Parsinen, who died in 2019. Perched on a bluff above Moray Firth, that eponymous layout ranks No. 4 on Golfweek’s Best list of modern courses built since 1960 in the United Kingdom and Ireland. 

Doak and his crew will build a second full-size 18 starting near the clubhouse and stretching past the 400-year-old castle that gave the resort its original name before wrapping around an inlet. My trip coincided with a site visit by Doak, and he spoke openly about the challenges and opportunities of building a new course in a land filled with so many classics where the ground game takes natural precedence.

“I still think that we as designers have a hard time visualizing people hitting the ball along the ground the way they do over here and really designing an approach for landing the ball 20 or 30 yards short of the green and feeding off something to get it in there,” Doak said before a quick lunch in Cabot Highland’s gleaming white clubhouse overlooking the coast. “We all talk about it like we do that, but I don’t see many modern courses where you would want to hit those shots. The more we can get that here, the more it will feel like a real Scottish golf course.”

The land Doak has been given rolls down a hill toward the coastline, but centuries of farming have smoothed much of the terrain. It will be his job to reinstall many of the humps and bumps expected in links golf, much as Hanse and Parsinen did on the original 18 that sits higher on bluffs above the firth. 

One thing Doak won’t have to worry about is a dearth of incredible views. The original Castle Stuart course is one of the most scenic layouts anywhere. Even if there was no golf to be played on the property, guests would happily sign up for a resort stay overlooking the water. Most of the holes are simply postcard beautiful, with two returning loops stretched in opposite directions directly above the beach while making dramatic use of a cliff, with some holes below the cliff near the water and others perched on top. This original Castle Stuart layout isn’t classic Scottish golf in the sense of St. Andrews, which is low to the water with sometimes surprisingly flat terrain. Castle Stuart is in some regards flavored more like Royal Dornoch, another can’t-miss classic that features several higher stretches that provide long views across other holes toward the sea. 

Without trying to copy the original Castle Stuart layout, Doak hopes to capitalize on similar high ground in places before extending the new layout lower and close to the firth, then returning to the clubhouse in what mostly will be one big scenic loop. 

“We have some holes along the water, and we’ve got some pretty good elevation where you feel like the couple holes at Royal Dornoch that are up overlooking the rest of it,” said Doak, whose design credits include 12 courses on Golfweek’s Best list of the top modern courses in the U.S. and three of the top five modern international courses. “One of the hard parts about this (site) is there is a lot of land out there to potentially use. Your natural instinct is to use all the land closest to the shore first, but that’s not necessarily where the best views are.”

And Cabot has its sights on more than just new golf holes. Its Highlands expansion will include luxurious cabins and increased dining options, all just miles from an expanding Inverness that has earned a greater role in Scottish tourism with trendy restaurants and a lively pub scene alongside a picturesque river pouring out of Loch Ness.

The golf, the food, the bars, the side trips, even the ambitious plans for growth – they are in many ways different than their classic Scottish interpretations. At Cabot Highlands, it all fits together perfectly in a modern way. Doak’s layout, as with the original 18, won’t have the aged patina of a classic Scottish links, but it is sure to draw plenty of attention to the edge of the Moray Firth when it opens with a possible soft launch as early as 2024.

The folks at Cabot, led by congenial general manager Stuart McColm, clearly thought our small bunch of writers was more important than we really are. We ate too well, slept too comfortably in Parsinen’s house – since converted to a well-equipped guest cabin among the golf holes – and even went salmon fishing, catching naught. All that paled in comparison to a dinner at the castle home of the 21st Earl of Moray, John Douglas Stuart, whose family title goes back to the days of King Robert the Bruce in the 14th century. (The venison was excellent.)

But after three luxurious nights at Cabot Highlands, I was on my own. 

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After several rounds at the modern and high-end Castle Stuart course and facilities, I was headed 60 miles north for something completely different. Something much more quirky and, dare I say, electrifying for short golfers or those who don’t mind their steps. 

Brora Golf Club was established in 1891, and in 1923 five-time Open Championship winner James Braid redesigned the links into a perfectly wrinkled piece of golfing ground beside the sea. Not long at 6,211 yards from the tips, Brora depends on wind and funky bounces in its defense, and that combination is more than enough. 

I have to mention the sheep. If you’ve been to Brora or follow Golf Twitter, you’ve seen the livestock. For anyone unfamiliar, an introduction: Brora is not only a golf course, it’s grazing land. Sheep and sometimes cows roam freely, and electrified wires mounted about 2 feet off the ground encircle each green to keep animals away. Golfers must step over such a wire when approaching or leaving each green, and contact promises a jolt. But to focus on the livestock is to miss the splendor that is Brora. 

This isn’t the most dramatic piece of golf land in Scotland, but it outpunches its weight as far as humps and bumps that send a golf ball skittering. Firm and fast in the best ways, Brora demands thought, even on shorter approaches that just don’t want to stop rolling. The front nine plays closer to the North Sea while the returning back nine is perched slightly higher, with ocean views everywhere. 

And Brora is home to an incredible hole that sneaks up on you. After playing along the water for five holes, the front nine juts inland on the par-3 sixth, named Witch. Having joined up with an American father-son twosome, I sauntered onto the tee box not knowing what to expect, but after 30 seconds staring at that green 190 yards away, I was even more in love with Brora. 

No. 6 rises slightly toward the green, playing between two pot bunkers to the left and one to the right, with a putting surface that features a false front and a valley through the middle – it kind of resembles a Pringles potato chip. A flag in that valley is easily approachable as shots funnel in from all directions, but any hole perched atop the green’s flanks presents all kinds of options and difficulties. That beautifully designed green made the Witch one of my favorite par 3s on this Scottish trip. 

After finishing the outward nine and battling a headwind on the mostly incredible returning nine, I didn’t love the closing par-3 18th as much. The 201-yard one-shotter climbs a hill in front of the pro shop, with out of bounds tight to the back and right side of the green. Any approach that doesn’t climb far enough onto the green is repelled by gravity, rolling down as far as 30 yards off the front into a minefield of divots. On a course of delightful Scottish quirkiness, this felt like one quirk too many. 

But I had found what I was looking for: classic authenticity. Brora is a course I could happily circle dozens of times, playing until my legs give out from high-stepping over those electric wires. And while it would be wrong to ever call Brora a warmup – it’s too good for such a shortsighted description – its funkiness and fun served as a perfect reintroduction to classic links golf en route to my next round at an even more lauded layout. 

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Every golfer on the planet simply must make a pilgrimage to Royal Dornoch’s Championship Course. Originally designed by Old Tom Morris and opened in 1877, the layout has been tweaked over the years to near perfection, resulting in a Golfweek’s Best ranking of No. 3 among all classic courses in Great Britain and Ireland. 

That ranking, as high as it might be, hardly does the place justice. It is simply golf nirvana. I had wanted to check it out for decades but had never made it that far north into the Highlands, with the course – and its sibling layout, the Struie – just a 17-mile drive from Brora. And after listening to Bandon Dunes Golf Resort founder Mike Keiser describe it multiple times as the inspiration for his Oregon resort, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about even more. Famed architect Donald Ross – think Pinehurst No. 2, Seminole and Oakland Hills South, just to name a few of his designs – was born in this town and learned the game on this rumpled ground, and I was eager to lay eyes on the place that fueled such an imagination.

It doesn’t disappoint. Not one bit. Sitting in the two-story clubhouse with my soup of the day before I teed off as an afternoon single, I couldn’t have been more thrilled to watch the club’s flags dancing in the wind outside the windows. There’s a palpable excitement when playing one of the world’s best courses for the first time, and nowhere have I felt it more than at Dornoch. 

The first hole is a shortish par 4, only 331 yards – the epitome of a gentle handshake to start a round, and I birdied it downwind to set off unreasonably high expectations. The second is a 184-yard par 3, strong yet still a bit of an introduction to a theme. Then, after walking through several sand dunes to the third tee, the whole place turns the volume up to 10 and never really quiets down. It’s just amazing hole after amazing hole, with plenty of room to play but incredibly strategic demands for any player hoping to put up a good number, all of it with the ocean in sight.

The Championship Course is a blast off the tee. Good drives shaped to counter the contours have plenty of room to roll, but penal pot bunkers dot the fairways and almost always require a pitch out — if you hit into one, it’s your fault and you have to deal with it, no coddling here. 

It’s been often noted that the greens are the faces of a golf course, and that’s true at Dornoch – good enough to draw your attention from the views. Several greens are perched above their surrounds, and everywhere the humps and subtle swales challenge any bouncing approach or chip shot. Short grass expedites the ball’s roll away from greens that are narrowly missed, especially relevant when trying to steer clear of the steep-walled pot bunkers. Every approach must be carefully considered, and there isn’t a lapse in design to be found. 

The front nine plays to the left, inland and across higher ground on this classic, mostly out-and-back loop. A ridge rises on this side of the property farthest from the ocean, and the outward nine climbs it to provide just-absolutely-blow-your-kilt-off views before tumbling down to the eighth green. The course then turns back toward the club on the par-5 ninth, down lower and closer to the beach.

My favorite hole was the par-4 fourth. Then it changed to the par-3 sixth set into a vegetated dune. Then it was the eighth, the par 4 that shoots players off a cliff. As I made the turn, I realized this is close to the ideal: a course with no American-style cliché “signature hole.” When all the holes are this good, there’s no need for a single one to stand out as different. 

The inward nine features four beefy par 4s when playing into a strong breeze, as I did that evening through golden light. Not a long player but able to keep the ball in front of me for the most part, I was forced to hit driver-driver to almost reach the 11th, then driver-fairway wood into the 14th, the steeply uphill 16th and the flatter 18th. The difficulty was due as much to the wind as to the holes’ length, and who am I to argue with a Scottish breeze? I played those four holes in 3 over and felt like I was stealing shots. 

But Dornoch’s Championship Course isn’t all about length, stretching to just 6,754 off the back tees. It’s incredibly clever, often offering a player the choice between a smart passage or a more direct and sometimes blind route at the flag. First-timers aren’t likely to pick up on many of these subtleties, of course, as this place could take years to learn. With my bag on my shoulder, alone with no caddie, I tried to study each hole and each shot as best I could, never having to remind myself to savor this experience.

This was one of those rare rounds after which I walked off the 18th green totally invigorated in near-darkness, ready to go make more bogeys and never stop. If the pro shop hadn’t already closed for the night, I would have marched right in to discuss international membership opportunities. I tend to get bored playing the same home course again and again, but I can’t imagine such as scenario at Royal Dornoch. And really, that is the greatest compliment for any golf course. 

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After a relaxing and early night in the bar of the excellent Royal Marine Hotel in Brora, I faced a pre-dawn wakeup, a 70-mile drive and the first of my 36-hole days. At such times I normally would loathe my own proclivity to overschedule golf, but this morning was all uncharacteristic sunshine and anticipation – Scotland has that effect. After my day at Dornoch, I couldn’t wait to see what new things Golfbreaks and VisitScotland had in store for me as I looped back out of the far reaches of the Highlands and headed east. 

First up: Nairn Golf Club’s Championship Course, twice home to the British Amateur (1994, 2021) as well as the 1999 Walker Cup and 2021 Curtis Cup. Designed in 1887 by Andrew Simpson and altered over the decades by Old Tom Morris, James Braid, Ben Sayers and most recently the firm of Mackenzie and Ebert, Nairn might lack a bit of the drama of Royal Dornoch – that’s a very high bar to clear – but it in no way lacks in links interest. 

Tight to the sea, Nairn for the most part plays across what at first sight appears as generally flat terrain, but it is filled with an intoxicating blend of subtle lumps and bumps that appear when you’re out there walking and swinging. The views are wide open with golf holes inland and the sea right there, quite often in play. The opening nine is stretched tightest to the coast, and unlike Brora or Dornoch, it’s entirely possible to send a ball into the drink at Nairn, especially for any player whose miss is to the right. 

The course loops past one of the coolest halfway houses imaginable, the Bothy. Built in 1877 to store fish, the one-room building was converted to a quaint snack shop. Make sure you have cash on hand, as the digital world of credit cards hasn’t quite reached the Bothy. Hopefully it never does. 

Nos. 8 through 12 zig and zag at the far end of the property before climbing a massive inland hill on the par-4 13th. The layout then races down that hill for the par-3 14th and short par-4 15th before turning right for a closing stretch that rejoins the more typical linksy land. 

As at all these links courses, the wind by and large defines the challenges. And for my round at Nairn, that meant a blustery headwind for most of the front nine, then a helping breeze on the par-5 18th. I managed to split the fairway bunkers with one of my best drives of the trip, a tumbler that rolled forever and left me a mid-iron into the green. My two-putt birdie was exactly the motivation I needed to jump into the Skoda and race 40 minutes east to Moray Golf Club. 

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I was late to my tee time at Moray, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. In the town of Lossiemouth and sometimes called simply Lossie, Moray is a bit off the beaten path for most foreign golfers shuttling around Scotland in a quest to play more famous layouts. At Lossie, I heard many more local accents than American voices, which was a treat. 

Not really knowing where I was as I pulled into town and searched for the turnoff to the clubhouse and pro shop – Google Maps was missing the mark by a bit – I parked the car and walked along a sidewalk on a hill above the waterfront below. And I was entirely blown away by what I saw. 

Moray’s clubhouse was at street level to my right, but the club’s courses stretched out below with one of the prettiest panoramas imaginable. Golf holes, tiny pro shop, beach, lighthouse – all ingredients for a beautiful photo, so I obliged. It’s a scene in which I wanted to linger, but instead I found my way down to the first tee and began a race against twilight on Moray’s Old Course, a true links laid out by Old Tom Morris and opened in 1889. The club is also home to the New Course, designed by Henry Cotton some 90 years later. 

I was in love with the Old from the start, which basically is in the town – similar to the Old Course at St. Andrews – and playing with the water to the right and toward a Royal Air Force base, complete with jet noise and flyovers. I grew up at several U.S. Air Force bases, and the planes made me feel right at home. There are even landing guidance lights stretched across portions of Moray. 

Most of Moray’s Old is perfectly lumpy and extremely bouncy. The club has struggled with overly dry conditions at times – if such a condition can exist on a links – but the RAF recently paid the club to build a pipeline beneath several golf holes en route to the base, and that cash inflow allowed the club to install new irrigation that helps keep things a little greener. It still plays very firm and fast, ideal for links golf. 

After crossing a road twice nearest the base then zigging and zagging a bit on the way back in, the stunning 18th hole awaited as the sun bid its farewells. A testy 408-yard par 4, it plays across a minefield of uneven ground with a steep bluff to the right, climbing its entire length to a green perched just below the clubhouse and the vantage of one of the best sunsets to be found on this entire island. 

Lossiemouth is a small town, and Moray isn’t at the top of various course rankings. But after a quick drink in the clubhouse full of locals, then crossing the street to the perfectly suited Links Lodge overlooking the 18th green and the coast, I fully appreciated that I was in an idyllic golf setting. Solid and authentic links golf, great company, even better views, and little traffic. I strolled several blocks to grab dinner in the dark while I contemplated a stop at a local real estate agency. 

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Even after waking up to the amazing view across the street above Moray, nothing prepared me for Cruden Bay. 

It was an easy 90-minute drive east from Lossiemouth to Cruden Bay just north of Aberdeen. I cruised past farms and only got lost once before rolling through town and into the club’s parking lot. I knew the ocean was just off to the side, but the downhill walk to the pro shop was an eye opener. 

I was slack-jawed at the site of the ocean with golf holes wandering in all directions. I posted a photo on social media, and the first response was from the club telling me I hadn’t even seen the best of it. It wasn’t until 10 holes later that I realized how serious that tweet was. The course climbs hills, shoots players off cliffs, rambles next to the ocean and offers a continuous lineup of very interesting golf shots. The club’s Championship Course, originally laid down by Old Tom Morris with help from Archie Simpson, opened in 1899 on the site of an historic battle between the Scots and the Danes in 1012 – it’s said the ground was stained red with blood after the fight. 

It’s hard to imagine such a level of violence on what has been transformed into one of the most scenic golf courses in the world. Cruden Bay was renovated in 1926 by Tom Simpson and Herbert Fowler, and the front nine is simply beautiful, starting inland in a loop around the club’s shorter St. Olaf Course. The layout reverses course after the par-3 fourth, then plays along dunes until reaching the eighth, a vert short par 4. From there, it’s a calf-burning climb up, up and even more up to the ninth tee, where everything is ratcheted up several notches with one of the game’s most eye-popping landscapes. 

From that elevated tee, the loop that includes much of the back nine appears built for a postcard. It’s almost too pretty to be real. The hills, a farm, the ocean, black rocks jutting from the ocean, golf holes rambling out and back. I didn’t know whether to keep swinging or stop and photograph it, so I did both. 

As for the golf itself, there’s not a boring shot on the property. It tips out at just over 6,600 yards with a par of 70, and I played it that day with two members at 6,263. In the cool autumn breezes, I certainly wasn’t left wanting for more yards. The layout features several short par 4s, a unique blind bathtub green sunken into the hill above the water, back-to-back par 3s on the second nine, only two par 5s. And at most holes, especially on the back nine, I was gobsmacked by the scenery and the dunes and the ocean light and the opportunity to send a golf ball rocketing across perfectly suited turf. 

It’s all enough for Cruden Bay to rank No. 21 among Golfweek’s Best classic courses in Great Britain and Ireland. And when it comes to take-your-breath-away views – especially after that climb to the ninth tee – it has few equals. 

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I spent the night after Cruden Bay in the over-the-top Chester Hotel in Aberdeen – the place was too nice for me, truth be told, with well-dressed guests and chic decor that made me regret my apparel choice of thrice-worn wind pants and puffy coat. Sometime during the night, I awoke to the sounds of howling winds outside my window. 

To this point, I had been treated to warm sunshine and mostly reasonable breezes, not at all what I expected for an October trip to Scotland. It had sprinkled for about 5 minutes on my first full day at Castle Stuart, which seemed ages ago by this point. But that night in Aberdeen, everything changed. 

I drove to Murcar Golf Links just north of town with my little Skoda SUV buffeting in what might fairly be called a tempest. When I pulled into the parking lot, the club’s flag somehow clung to its flagpole, but just barely, and biting cold hit me in the face like a wall of ice. There weren’t many cars in the lot on such a day, which was a shame, as this is a rollicking links across sometimes upheaved ground set tight to the ocean. On this day, the windmills just offshore worked double-time as whitecaps blasted their bases. 

Murcar is a neighbor to the much more famous Royal Aberdeen. Archie Simpson, the keeper of the green at Royal Aberdeen, assisted in the original routing at Murcar, which saw alterations by James Braid and George Smith in the 1930s. And while Murcar isn’t Royal Aberdeen, it shouldn’t be missed by anyone playing along this coast. 

The club has a relaxed vibe, the kind of authentic experience so many American golfers seek. From the small pro shop to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the first tee, it’s a place where a road-weary golfer can relax and just hang out, savoring the soup as well as the North Sea views and the terrain. 

Murcar’s layout is tight in spots, wider in others – although in the winds during my day there, all the targets felt condensed. Up to this point on my trip, I had played with just one golf ball, its tired 66 wearing off the cover from the repeated strikes of 126 holes without being lost. I had in mind some heroic trip around this country with just the one ball, and it had become one of my best friends, similar to Tom Hanks and his volleyball named Wilson in “Cast Away.” But that all came to and end on Murcar’s downhill par-4 13th when I hit a 3-wood approach too high, my new BFF blowing offline in a gale that exceeded 50 mph, over a barbwire fence and into a farmer’s field. Vaya con dios, No. 66, it was fun while it lasted. 

At one point, my playing companion’s pushcart was taken hostage by the wind, blowing some 50 yards across a fairway before toppling – I started laying my stand bag flat on the ground to prevent a similar stumble. When I packed for this trip back home near Orlando, I had thrown every bit of winter gear I own into my overstuffed duffel, and at Murcar I needed all of it. 

But while this wasn’t the kind of weather anyone hopes for, it was a blast. Murcar has all the shots, wind or no wind. The views are excellent, the terrain varied and the ball bounces all over the place. I hope to see it again, perhaps in a gentle breeze. And I will stop for a moment of silence where No. 66 crossed the fence on 13.

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Even after being blasted by the wind at Murcar, with my nose running from the cold and rain pelting the road for much of the nearly two-hour drive to my next bed, the Skoda seemed full of energy because I was headed to the Home of Golf. Golfbreaks and VisitScotland had helped me secure spots on St. Andrews Links’ hallowed tee sheets for four rounds, and as I thought of all the golfers in the world who weren’t me on that drive into the Auld Grey Toon, I almost felt bad for them.

I crashed into my bed that night at the Spindle Guest Rooms, a small personally run bed-and-breakfast just half a mile from the first tee of the Old Course. I haven’t slept that hard in years, and I needed it, because the next day I had 36 holes scheduled for the Jubilee and Castle courses, both run by the St. Andrews Links. 

If you have never played at St. Andrews, take all the excitement you would expect upon your arrival and double it. That’s how it feels in the clubhouse parking lot, not to mention the first tee. It’s familiar – if you’ve read this far into this story, then you’ve certainly been privy to these scenes on television during British Open coverage – and yet it’s all new at the same time. There’s an electricity in the air. 

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Golfers from around the globe gather here to pay homage, camera phones at the ready. Walking past the R&A clubhouse, sampling the various golf shops and pubs on ancient streets, just standing and staring at West Sands Beach adjacent to the courses, people-watching as golf bags are carried through town on the way to a tee time – it’s as if whatever path you have taken as a golfer, all the roads lead here. The Home of Golf sums it up quite nicely. 

First up for me was the Jubilee, and I was joined on the opening tee by Kieran Moran, a content creator for the St. Andrews Links. His office is nearby and his work life revolves around the courses, but even he couldn’t quite contain his excitement to be playing golf in St. Andrews. That kind of enthusiasm made him a perfect guide for 36 holes that day. 

The Jubilee Course, opened in 1897 as a 12-hole layout in concert with Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee and expanded to 18 holes several years later, is considered by some players to be the toughest test on the peninsula it shares with the Old and New Courses. Architect Donald Steel overhauled the Jubilee in the 1980s, and on a breezy day it may be either relentless or beguiling and probably both, depending on the numbers written on your scorecard. 

As with both its older neighbors on the peninsula, the Jubilee features an out-and-back routing that reaches the waterfront at its farthest point from the clubhouse. It’s all about pot bunkers, firm ground, sea breezes and a continuum of sometimes stern golf tests for those who venture offline – no golfer should miss the Jubilee even if it’s not as famous as its neighbor just a few hundred yards away. 

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Moran and I shot out of the parking lot after holing out on No. 18, rushing on the 10-minute drive past the University of St. Andrews to the much more modern Castle Course for a tee time with Alan Grant of VisitScotland. 

Laid out by David McLay Kidd – a Scot made famous for his design at Bandon Dunes Golf Resort’s first course in Oregon who has followed with several highly ranked tracks around the world – the Castle offers a series of stunning views and a mixed track record of early criticism. 

When it opened in 2008, the Castle Course – ranked No. 25 on Golfweek’s Best list of modern courses in Great Britain and Ireland – was maligned by some as being too difficult, too artificial. Kidd had to move a lot of earth to build the Castle, which is perched on cliffs overlooking the town in the distance, and many critics point out that he moved too much. That resulted in over-the-top fairway mounding on a site that isn’t true linksland. The greens in particular can be a bit too much – sometimes way too much – with severe undulations and pin locations that are nearly impossible to approach. 

My take after just one round on the Castle Course: It isn’t the Old Course. It isn’t subtle. It’s tough to score on, especially for mid- and higher handicappers. It’s a hard walk. The tall rough ate too many balls. The scenery is incredible, especially when focusing beyond the layout. There were some unforgettable shots mixed in. 

It’s just a lot to take in, especially in a country famous for natural links. The biggest knock might just be that the Castle is too American, too modern, too artificial, too much of everything. Those are fair points. But I couldn’t help thinking that if the Castle was built along the same time in the U.S. with those kinds of views, players would flock to it. The Castle was never going to replace the Old Course in people’s hearts, but it certainly was worth my afternoon go-round to have a look.

And after climbing each nine of the Castle Course, I felt more than entitled to dine on an entire pizza and pass out early as I prepped for a day every golfer should experience: a round on the Old Course at St. Andrews. 

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It can be difficult to score a tee time on the Old. Players can book through a licensed travel provider such as Golfbreaks months in advance, but that comes with an increased cost. Players also can enter the ballot two days in advance for a spot on each day’s tee sheet, but there are no guarantees of scoring a time. Players also can arrive early in the morning and wait to see if the starter needs a player to fill out a foursome, but this option might consume a whole day with no guarantee of playing. 

I was able to skirt most of these issues thanks to a connection made through VisitScotland. I was introduced to Chloe Goadby, a St. Andrews native who won the 2021 Scottish Women’s Amateur and who turned pro shortly after our round together. Locals receive priority status on the ballot, and Goadby was able to score an early-afternoon time. I realize this isn’t an option for everyone looking to play the Old, but I was extremely thankful that I didn’t have to wake up at 2 a.m. and sit in the cold, hoping to be squeezed into a foursome.

Even with that late tee time, I woke before dawn that morning with a sublime sense of anticipation, same as I get when playing any great course. I lingered for hours around the St. Andrews Links clubhouse, watching groups tee off on other courses, then headed back up the beach road to the Old’s practice green – I could linger there for days. A touch of sprinkles from a gray sky in no way soured my mood. After coincidentally being paired with the same American father-son combo with whom I had played at Brora a week earlier, Goadby and I set off across one of the great landscapes of any sport, with the Old Course ranked No. 2 among classic courses in Great Britain and Ireland.

I don’t get nervous much on first tees. Here, however, the jitters struck. Yes, No. 1 of the Old shares a fairway with No. 18 and stretches some 125 yards wide. But after watching one of the other Americans smack a wicked slice out of bounds directly into a crowd of onlookers, I opted for a bunty 3-wood down the middle. And we were off.

After appearing on television for so many years in so many Opens – and also being featured in various video games and of course all the history books, paintings and photography – people think they know the Old Course. It’s just so familiar. But it’s not. Not really. 

It’s difficult to know where you are at any given moment in relation to the hazards because the course, especially its tee boxes, lies even flatter than expected. Many of the obstacles are just out of view behind small sand dunes and native flora, or sometimes sunk into the ground. It appears as a great expanse of turf and sky, but there’s not a lot at which to aim from many tees. Goadby was my guide, and she was terrific as she pointed out steeples and cell towers miles away as targets, but there was a frequent sense of unease as I attempted to decide exactly what to do with any given shot.

The pros make it look so easy in the Open, sending balls bounding past deep pot bunkers and other trouble. On the ground with a club in your own hands, it’s a different matter. And that’s the strategic brilliance of the place. There are miles of open fairway out there, but the hazards frequently appear random in their placement. The layout gives you so many options, and there’s nothing more confusing than having too many options. It requires thinking and commitment to every tee shot, every approach and every putt, and it’s brilliant. Even solid strikes on the Old might meet calamity as balls bound into hazards either unseen or unaccounted for. 

One swing of note from my foursome: The American father hit the one shot many golfers fear most on the Old. On No. 17, the notoriously tough Road Hole, he drilled his tee shot directly into a window of the Old Course Hotel. The impact resulted in a horrible “doink” on the reinforced glass, and the ball actually bounded back into play. We all got a good chuckle out of that shot – well, at least three of us did.

But even that blind tee shot on 17 isn’t the toughest challenge of the Old, at least in my experience. That biggest threat to a low score is the gigantic double greens. The average size of the putting surfaces is 22,267 square feet, nearly four times the size of a typical green in the U.S. Most of the Old’s greens service two holes, one on the outward nine and another on the way back in. They feature much greater undulations than can be seen on television, and it’s not uncommon to have a 100-foot putt. Forget chipping and pitching, you’re often left scrambling even after hitting a green.

With my handicap hovering somewhere near scratch, I was able to hit 13 of the greens in regulation, but I three-putted four of them. I spent so much effort avoiding bunkers with famous names and gorse and tall grass, but most of my seven bogeys were the result of miscued putts as I signed for 76. 

And I couldn’t have been happier. This literally is holy ground for a golfer. Old Tom lived here, as did his son, Young Tom. Almost every top-tier competitive golfer has played this links, with Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods and the like earning trophies. The ground itself is so perfect for golf, so inviting and so intricate – I’m not the first to write that the Old can be played a myriad of ways depending on weather and skill, but I can certainly vouch for the notion. 

If you have never been, I have to tell you: The Old is even better than you can imagine. After my round I stood at the back of the 18th green and watched several more groups wrap up, unwilling to let go of the sensation of having experienced this course. 

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After that high, I was mentally prepared for a letdown as I tackled the New Course the next morning, my last full day on this Scottish marathon. I mean, c’mon, what can compare to playing the Old? The skies finally cut loose as my tee time neared, the most serious rain of my trip. I was to play alone in those conditions on a course that wasn’t the Old, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to muster the energy. 

I shouldn’t have worried. The New, laid out by Old Tom Morris and opened in 1895 and now perhaps the most misnamed course on the planet, was a blast. Undulating fairways, beautiful iron approaches, tricky greens – the New stands on its own as a terrific links challenge, even if it wasn’t directly next door to the Old. The New offers scoring opportunities in places and rejects a golfer’s best efforts in others. It’s natural, charming and beautiful. 

I birdied the par-4 first, and for once my scoring expectations proved not to be too unreasonable. A string of pars were mixed with a handful of birdies and bogeys, and before I knew it the rain had cleared, the sun broke free and I needed to get down in two putts from the collar of the 18th green to shoot an even-par 71. My first putt rolled some three feet past the cup, and I was more than a tad nervous trying to shake in that comebacker beneath the St. Andrews Links clubhouse and the handful of players loitering about. I didn’t make the greatest stroke, but the ball found the hole. That was it. One final par, and I was headed home. 

Those final steps off the New were a mixture of exhaustion and elation. Not just at having shot a decent score but in having been immersed in the links game for so many days. I had played newer courses, and plenty of the classics. Rain, sun, wind – I had seen it all. There had been bad bounces off firm turf, and good bounces too. As I strolled the shops of St. Andrews on my way out of town, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it all. Even weeks later, I’m not sure I ever will. 

And please, don’t ask me about all the courses I missed on this trip. I’ll be back as soon as I can. 

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