Professor Tepper beat me to the most obvious one - on Olympic Lake #16, the difference between hitting a 9-iron 3rd shot in my previous incarnation and trying to hoist a 4-iron over the same diagonal green side bunkers is, ahem, the difference between a tap-in par and being happy with bogey.
The other two that come to mind are both C&C creations. No matter how swimmingly things are rolling along on Bandon Trails - even making an unlikely par on #14, the final gauntlet - into the teeth of the afternoon hurricane - is too much for me anymore.
#15 tenderizes what is left of my legs (because I’m too dumb to play it in the morning round), followed by a severe par-5 that plays about 900 yards uphill. I still hit the ball straight, but my tee shot invariably gets bitch-slapped to the ground, followed by a 5-wood 2nd shot, up the face of Half Dome.
Now, at best, I’m 140 yards away from a tiny patch of grass, perched atop a wind-swept eagle’s nest, trying to punch a 4-iron somewhere up there, although damn if I have an idea where the pin might be. I can testify under oath, it is NOT in the deep left-side bunker.
Even that rare day when I somehow find the dance floor, I’m left with a downhill, downwind tentative tap that dutifully rolls off the front of the green and down the fairway, making certain I will NEVER, EVER make a par. My only early morning round (zero breeze) was a relaxed 72, but I’ve never come close to breaking 80 since.
The second one is #14 at We-Ko-Pah Saguaro outside Scottsdale. Just your garden variety, severely uphill Channel Hole par-5, into the same wind velocity, except dry as a bone in 100 degree heat. You could say - after 20 tries - that hole “has my number” . . . . and the number is 7.