The peace and beauty of darkness

Will the President's Cup be exciting for once?

What do you do when you suddenly realise there’s still one of the world’s top ten courses you haven’t played? People mutter dismissively about this being a first world issue, but some of us live in the first world and our anxieties shouldn’t be overlooked. After all, this realisation can strike any of us out of the blue, rather like the way an unexpected gust of wind blows a perfectly hit drive at the 17th on the Old Course out of bounds just when you’re heading for a net 68 in the R&A Autumn Medal.

Let’s unpack this a bit. There’s no definitive ranking of the world’s best courses. There never will be because unlike golf itself, where the number on the card you hand in destroys any claim you try to make about having played well when actually you didn’t, there’s no statistical or totally objective measure of what constitutes a good course.

That doesn’t stop people from suggesting which ones are best. One of the most carefully researched lists is produced annually by GOLF Magazine, two of whose top raters are friends of mine. One, Tom Brown, is even a regular and very tolerant alternate shot foursomes partner of mine who enjoys 36 hole matches. His fondness for desserts means he’s never in a rush to leave the lunch table and get back on the course for the second 18. That’s a quality almost as valuable in a partner as his handicap of 1.

Anyway, in an idle moment during Christmas 2021, I noticed that Sand Hills was the one course missing from my global golf cv. A plan was swiftly hatched for a seven day tour of Nebraska involving nine rounds at six courses. The heart of this itinerary was two days and nights at the very remote and beautiful spot which three decades ago fortunately attracted the attention of Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw.

It was very bold to build a new course miles from any centre of population and one which only opens for four months a year. The golf world owes a huge debt to Dick Youngscap who had the vision to recognise what could be created here. In my opinion the result is a unique golf experience. I admit this judgment is based on only having played just over four hundred courses in five continents but I doubt if it can be challenged.

Maybe it was lucky I didn’t check exactly what the journey to Sand Hills entails until after Tom had facilitated an invitation for us to play there. From London it’s necessary to change at O’Hare for the 430 mile hop down to Omaha. On reaching the city made famous by Warren Buffett I discovered that, despite having personally placed my correctly labelled clubs on the conveyor belt carrying outsize items for this flight, they had not accompanied me. Unlike my recent experience in Dublin with unhelpful, unsympathetic and unapologetic British Airways, a single phone call to Chicago ensured they were on the next flight and arrived before I went to bed.

This was just as well, because we had to be on the road early next morning. My companions were Tom, who had joined us from LA, and David Home who travelled from London with me. We drove west through mile after mile of deserted countryside in one of the most sparsely populated areas of the United States on roads where even the sight of another car was a rarity. Our destination, a mere 250 miles away, was Wild Horse, a public course well worth playing, where we enjoyed a pleasant round and stayed the night.

Next morning we had another early start because 36 holes were on the agenda and we were still a hundred miles from Sand Hills. The county in which it’s situated has a population of less than eight hundred and the nearest “town” boasts a total of six hundred citizens. This is not a course which depends on local members. Nor does it advertise its presence. A small anonymous looking marker tells you where to turn off the highway and drive down the remaining couple of miles to the charmingly understated clubhouse. As it came into view, I was thankful to have finally arrived at one of the most peaceful places I have ever played golf.

There I met our generous host Gene Greco, who had flown all the way from his Long Island home to welcome us. Without Gene’s help this trip could not have taken place. He presided over proceedings on and off the course for the next two days with a quiet authority which commanded respect. Our party now totaled eight which allowed different playing partners for each of our four rounds.

The thing which immediately strikes first time visitors to this extraordinary layout is its sheer scale. The Sand Hills Golf Club sits on 8000 acres of land, and no, I haven’t accidentally added a nought. It has been shrewdly observed that this a course which was more discovered than built. When Coore and Crenshaw studied the terrain they discovered more than 130 potential holes nestling amid some of the biggest sand dunes in the world.

With that many to choose from, and such a huge canvas on which to paint, it’s not surprising that the 18 which have been created are stunning. The scale means that just to get to the first tee from the clubhouse requires a one mile cart drive, making it the polar opposite of Merion where you only walk a few paces from where you put down your drink to where you hit your first drive.

The course itself turns out to be walkable, though carts are permitted and regularly used. There’s a bit of distance once or twice from green to tee and I wouldn’t want to play it without a caddy. Play on most days is constrained by not allowing more than a dozen four ball groups on the course. Caddies, who like everyone else you meet here are locally recruited, very friendly and extremely helpful, are therefore readily available.

As you’d expect Ben’s Porch, the half way hut, is another delight with great views of the course and beyond. The lady serving us on the first day was particularly keen for me to describe what it was like to travel supersonically in Concorde, an experience nobody under the age of 21 has had. After dinner that evening, Gene suggested we return there to observe the night sky and experience the peace and darkness of a depth and total blackness I’ve never since anywhere else in the world.

Overnight accommodation is in simple, comfortable cabins overlooking the Dismal River and accessed by cart. Their remote location renders keys unnecessary. Readers familiar with my golf won’t be very surprised that it wasn’t till the back nine of our fourth round that I managed to make my first birdie but it was worth the wait.

On our second evening our group of eight were getting to know each other well and much hilarity ensued as the niceties of etiquette at the more elegant Parisian dinner parties were analysed. Next morning all of us were very sorry to say goodbye though for Tom, David and I the blow was significantly softened by the prospect of our next two destinations which were Prairie Club and Cap Rock

I haven’t said anything about the individual holes at Sand Hills and it would require another post to do them justice. Suffice to say they include a brilliant mixture and variety of challenges and are on the same majestic scale as everything else there. Assiduous readers can find several good descriptions online written by experts. My intention today is merely to convey a flavour of one of golf’s very best experiences.

In the interests of absolute accuracy it should be noted that since this visit to Sand Hills two years ago it has slipped to number eleven in GOLF Magazine’s rankings. This didn’t disturb my equilibrium as I have numbers eleven to twenty covered (apart from Tara Iti - New Zealand is one country I have yet to play in and yes, that is a hint). It was replaced by Royal Dornoch, a course which has long been familiar to me.

Turning briefly to the President’s Cup, which looked like game over after the first day concluded with a clean sweep for the US, it’s now very much alive at the half way mark after the “Ints” staged their own clean sweep yesterday. More on this, which hopefully involve a close finish, next Saturday.

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I am indebted to Gordon Simmonds for pointing out my error last Saturday in saying that Bob Jones won his first Open at Royal Lytham & St Anne’s in 1927. It was of course in 1926. He returned to Britain the following year and won it again, this time at St Andrews, and then finally in 1930 at Royal Liverpool. His unique record in the Open - entered four, won three - is very unlikely ever to be beaten. The extraordinary tale of what happened at his first Open, and the embarrassment he felt for years afterwards, will be the subject of a separate post this winter.