Gullane #2

Our lap around Gullane #2 was a much more peaceful experience than #1. We also had the benefit of a good sleep in a real bed, and I woke up just giddy to play more golf in Scotland. The Links Sherpa and I took an early morning trip in search of coffee to the town of North Berwick. It was just a 10 minute drive away. We passed the ambiguous entrance to Muirfield, which didn’t mean much to us except that we couldn’t see it, and we wondered what it looked like on the other side. Google maps helped some.

I was immediately fascinated by the town of North Berwick, and the coffee worked, but that is a story for tomorrow.

We were scheduled to tee off sometime after 11 am, so we had time to eat a leisurely breakfast. The forecast was mellow, still cold, but the wind was down and some layers could stay at home. We marched to the members' clubhouse at Gullane. A place where, you guessed it, members go whenever they please. However, unlike most private golf clubs in the great land we call America, at most Scottish courses that are also called “clubs”, visitors with a tee time can explore and enjoy most facilities as if they were a member. It seems that in America, we have Clubs with golf. While in Scotland, they have Golf Clubs. Wait, maybe that doesn’t make any sense. What I mean to say is that Scotland has a system of opening their clubs to the interested public, and you don’t need to be invited by a member to play.

The clubhouse stood just near the first tee of the #1 course - I shuttered thinking about my display on the opening tee the day before. But it was a new day, and a new course.

We were greeted warmly in the lobby and directed upstairs to the dining area. It was a sweet spot. Modest, warm, comfortable, and they served hot food, which was a plus. There was a lot of chatter about haggis, bread pudding, things of that nature. We all ordered various types of breakfast rolls with some kind of meat. I decided it was time to try the haggis. In deep reflection since my time in Scotland, I have a take. I don’t like haggis. I’m sure there is some good haggis out there. But most of what I ate conjured one word in my mind, sand.

We found our way to the first tee box of course #2. Coco and The Sherpa went of first. Mom, Dad, and I followed.

The first hole was pretty benign. We all had some fun in the fescue, and my Mom became very familiar with golf in Scotland. The fescue, to be specific.

After the first hole, you cross the busy road that comes in and out of Gullane. The second hole bends to the left at the base of Gullane Hill. Somehow, I mashed a more than serviceable drive, and finished with a par. A really cool hole and a fun way to spring the round right into the teeth of the hill.

A guy appeared playing a hole behind us, by himself. He was chipping onto the second green when we were getting ready to tee off on the 3rd, a perfect time to ask if he would like to play through. I did this and he bashfully declined the offer saying he was in absolutely no rush. I’m a student of golf course traffic and etiquette, mostly always to a fault. And after this response I envisioned him clipping at our heels for the next 16 holes. But, we did not insist that he pass, and this guy ended up holding his end of the bargain by slowly winding his way through the holes at a good pace behind us. Maybe he had a late flight to catch or he “got caught up running errands”.

The 3rd hole is preposterous, in the best ways. Unlike the 3rd hole on course #1 where the journey up the hill is gradual and charming. This 3rd hole on course #2 makes you want to turn around and go home. If a seagull was floating 100 feet in the air above the tee box, and then they flew in a direct line to the green, it would only be a distance about about 220 yards. But a golfer doesn’t get to float 100 feet in the air. I bashed a drive that got waved to the right. The hill is seriously steep, and there is no way to know what it looks like up there on the first play. I found my ball nesting on a flat section of the dusty cart path about 30 yards short and right of the green. Pretty fun stuff. We all made it to the green in reasonable fashion and marveled at the view all around.

This was the first round in Scotland for my parents, and I think they were already starting to figure out why they were there. We come from a long line of folks who can sit on a porch looking out over a land/sea scape that might look static, but is deeply dynamic if you have a lot of practice.

The 4th hole was a dead straight and long par 5 with a diagonal line of pot bunkers slicing in short of the green. My favorite structure from the previous day, the pumphouse, appeared to the right of the fairway and I remembered that we were back on the very same land. It was familiar, and with the fresh memories of a round to remember from the day before, I was primed to find what else we could find.

The 5th is a cheeky little par 3, freckled with protecting pot bunkers. The 6th is a bear of a par 5, and at this point in the round, the three of us might have shrugged our shoulders and said something like, “Hey, we’re doing pretty well!”.

My dad doesn’t hit it far, but it most always go straight. And while my Mom is new to playing the game, minus her famed exploits on her high school golf team, her personality shines in her game. Mostly, through her delightfully stubborn approach to getting the ball in the hole. The simplicity of both of their approaches to the game inspired me to take a similar aim. Score didn’t matter. The appreciation for the shared company and the place did.

The 7th hole ducked into the low corner of the property where course #1 turned for home yesterday, and I once again was able to sneak a peek of the wartime tank barricades that reminded me this land was more than a golf course.

The 8th hole darted back parallel of 7 and we all got to taste in its smattering of pot bunkers. Here’s a pic displaying the diabolical placement of the bunkers short and around the green. Nasty stuff.

The 9th and 10th dove back and forth from each other and explained that this was not a traditional out and back links. Course #2 took its time bringing us home.

The 11th was a picture worthy par 3, the signature hole of the course that offered a drastic elevation change down to its green. Three bunkers placed well short of the green must trick the eye of any newcomer into fearing their depths, when really, they should not bother at all. Here’s a video of me hitting a golf shot on the 11th, pretty cool view huh?

The 12th was a par 5 that dove deep into another corner of the course, down into the lowlands where hiking trails bordered and wove for anyone more interested in the wildlife than the golf. We were lucky enough to enjoy both on this day as we saw rabbits darting around and a few deer munching their midday snack.

The 13th zipped us back up the first stretch of hill, and we began our climb home. My dad hit a memorable 3 wood approach and we both made surprising and encouraging pars.

The view from the tee box on 14 left us feeling blind as a bat. The meat of a hill dug steeply into the fairway from the left and obscured any wish of hitting a confident shot. It was a short hole, but tilted to the right by the land while the green appeared through a fairway shaped to the left.

Iphone pictures don’t do Scotland justice.

There were several workers staring intently at a green side pot bunker, hands on hips. This image sparked the easy appreciation for what work goes into making these courses ready for play. It looked more like an art, rather than a science. They were working on the deeply layered walls of sod that made the pot bunker what it was, and I hoped that this was their only assignment for the day.

The 15th was a benign par 3. We hit off mats, which was only slightly disappointing. At this point in the round we could all do arithmetic up to 18 and even find the difference between 15 and 18, but it seemed like we were still far very from home.

The long 16th cheated its way up a gradual hill. This was the sight of my only useful tidbit of advice I offered as my Mom as she hacked around in the deep scruff off the fairway. I said something like, “Just get it back into the fairway, it’s much easier to hit it in the short grass.” And, like most pieces of advice I have ever given in my young life, it was suitable for my own exploits as well. The 16th green directly abuts the green of the 3rd hole, the site of our heroic climb up the hill from a few hours previous.

The 17th matched the drama of yesterday's penultimate tee shot. I foolishly pulled my driver and waved a ball into orbit that must have landed somewhere, but who was I to say. We had nowhere to go but downhill and we hit approaches that we hoped would miss the temptation of darting into the busy road off the back. The 18th was short and flat, much like the last on the #1 course. The symmetry between the two courses making more sense every step of the way. This green was much more linksy than the previous days with a big mound protecting its right side and a scary collection area on the left.

The Links Sherpa and Coco awaited our triumphant return just off the green. And once again all 5 of us finished the days round together, hugs all around.

We had more daylight to spare and decided to walk around town a bit before finding our first celebratory pint. There were more people out and about as the howling wind was not blowing front doors closed and Gullane turned out to be a charming little town. We wandered onto Gullane’s Children's course, which to anyone who was unaware of golf, appeared to be a town green. The Children’s Course was a flat rectangular piece of land with tee boxes and small greens, for children. In fact, I remember seeing a sign that displayed one rule, any golfer must be a child or be accompanied by a child.

We wandered into The Mallard Hotel. And although it was not the rustic hangout we all secretly craved, it was quiet and Guinness was on the menu. After a few pints and proclamations of our love for golf in Scotland, we needed some dinner.

We wandered into The Old Clubhouse, where we had made a quick pit stop the night before. It was a stimulating pub, if there ever was one. We had to wait for a table as a gaggle of about 50 traveling birders occupied most of the tables. The walls were covered in old framed photos displaying caricatures of golfers and wildlife. Stuffed birds and other woodland creatures peered down at us and a sparking wood stove warmed everyones bones.

Several of us enjoyed a first course of Cullen Skink, Scotland’s take on a fish stew. It came in a sizable bowl and was hearty and delicious. My opinion on haggis was not fully formed at this point and I ordered haggis, neeps, and tatties. Translation: haggis, mashed potatoes and turnips. They served a massive portion, and my stomach couldn’t keep up. I needed a doggy bag.

There was something about this town of Gullane and its courses that bolstered my faith in the game of golf. Life seemed simple and everyone operated at a comfortable pace and tone. The land was gorgeous and we all went to bed happy that we had another full day to feel like a local.

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