Standing in the left-centre of the 13th fairway at Cabot Citrus Farms (Roost), it becomes obvious that, while this is a spacious fairway to hit in principle, anything up the left is less-than-ideal. Even though you might have hit the left-centre of the ~75 yard wide fairway, you’re not exactly in position “A:” the approach shot isn’t played over a bunker, nor is it a bad angle into the green (on the contrary, actually). You still enjoy all the benefits of playing from short grass, with a relatively level stance. What does complicate things, however, is a tree in your way: smack-dab in the fairway, just left-of-centre, is a gorgeous live oak awaiting. Even with its high canopy allowing shots to be played around or under—the long hole’s nature suggests a wood or long iron in any way—the visual is obstructed and presents an unusual obstacle to overcome not often seen in golf architecture.
No, not talking about rows and rows of trees planted to line the fairways, but a singular tree. The fall of the Eisenhower Tree at the 17th at Augusta National is perhaps the most famous example, but by the time you reach the 13th fairway at Roost, this style of obstacle has presented itself a handful of times already. First, at the par 5, 3rd, where a second or third shot up the left will deal with a tree somewhat fronting the green, and again at the dastardly par 4, 7th, where blocked tee shots will have to play around a live oak into the punchbowl green. Following the 13th, the 15th fairway has a single tree up the left, and the tree on the inside corner of the dogleg-left par 5, 16th forces a right-to-left shot (or a direct line over). In total, five holes have trees that directly influence the strategy of the hole, although the playing corridors are more than wide enough to go around them when played properly. Similarly, the canopies are all high enough to go under on approach shots, and the trees are short enough that high ball hitters could maybe get up and over them, depending on the day and the scenario. In each instance on the approach shots, the fronts of the green complexes are open to allow for low, running shots and accommodate the chance of recovery. Used sparsely, this is a unique angle to take, and a breath of fresh air to parkland golf in America.
13th hole, Cabot Citrus Farms (Roost)
The Roost’s architecture largely feels like a “zag” against the current “zig” in the zeitgeist of golf architecture, where trees have vacated many of the most notable classic golf courses, and modern layouts rarely, if ever, incorporate trees into their golf courses. Truthfully, this is part trend, part site-selection and what’s in vogue now: the sandy expanses of rural America means trees are not always a consideration, and of the golf courses built in the last 30 years, perhaps only Bandon Trails has had the opportunity to utilize trees in its overall motif. Following Sand Hills (1994)’s breakout, developers and architects largely seek out the big, bold sandy expanses of rural towns like Bandon, Oregon, Childress, Texas, Venus, Florida, Bowling Green, Florida, and more. If minimalism is working with the land that’s provided, it would be a shame to plant trees on such barren yet fruitful terrain for golf in the same way that planting a row of trees in between holes at Muirfield or Royal St. George’s would be. That’s in contrast to golf courses like Rolling Green or Winged Foot, which are largely “parkland” in nature and had some presence of trees from the beginning. The second green at Winged Foot, as an example, has a tree purposefully left there, overhanging the green and making high, towering shots to the back pin more than unlikely from the left side of the fairway.
The “zig” of golf architecture is, well, large, spacious corridors and classic courses with aggressive tree removal efforts. The negative influence of trees in golf architecture (and particularly in America) is a topic long explore, examined, and debated by intellectuals and architects for over a century, going back to the days of George Thomas and Alister Mackenzie’s critical writings on the subject. Thomas once lamented that “he who insists on preserving a tree where it spoils a shot should have nothing to say about golf course construction,” while most other Golden Age architects avoided the use of trees in their architecture. Like our current era, this is a product of many of the notable architects either coming from the British Isles and wanting to replicate that style of golf in the Americas, or Americans going to Scotland and seeing the benefits of links golf. C.B. Macdonald, after all, was taking his favourite holes of the British Isles to places like Southampton, New York and Chicago, Illinois, and they all were derived from links golf close to the sea, with no trees in sight. It wasn’t until golf architecture began to move inland that trees became a factor at all, and even then, they weren’t a factor in the actual strategy or architecture.
Golf began to move inland around the turn of the century (1900), with heathland golf having more of a presence in the trees than its links sibling, even if just for aesthetics. Here, the New course at Sunningdale Golf Club outside London, England.
The current flavour is naturally a reaction to the era that followed World War Two, with massive beautification projects adding hundreds upon thousands to many of the famous layouts in America. Many of these parkland golf courses had trees in some semblance of the word, but they were few and far in-between until the greens committees efforts to add separation and isolation from the other holes, and the desire to plant trees overpowered the interest in architecture. Naturally, too, the idea of “championship” layouts caught on and Robert Trent Jones Sr., in particular, was prolific in his spread of smaller fairways, meaning more room to plant trees. Golf courses like Oakmont, Inverness Club, and Congressional were aggressive in their tree planting efforts, to the point that the original layouts—at least what was left of them following extensive renovations from the likes of Tom Fazio, Robert Trent Jones Sr., or Rees Jones—were choked out.
There are a fair number of reasons to remove trees, in both a philosphical and practical sense. For one, tree removal allows grass to grow better, and with more airflow and sunlight, better turf quality in general. Grass generally doesn’t grow under trees all that easy, and so, a large bunch of trees produces a rather unappealing lie and a danger with tree roots looming under the surface.
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The elm tree that hangs over the left side of the second green at Winged Foot (West).
As Sand Hills ushered in a new modern way to build golf—the minimalism movement—tree removal efforts began to sweep across North America. The Oakmont’s and Inverness’ and Congressional’s of the world began to look at not only restoration efforts, but also, tree removal alongside getting back to their original ethos. Thousands upon thousands of trees were removed from many of the notable golf courses in America, and rightfully so: now, many of them have never looked better and play great, too (Oakland Hills is an impressive 9th on the 147 Custodians, the highest parkland golf course in the world).
Eventually, a swinging pendulum has to come back around to the other side as gravity catches it, and starts its journey back the other way. Sand Hills and Pacific Dunes are rightfully wide and more spacious than anything their predeccesors built, though they never waste space for added width to accomodate even the worst of shots, and never have “width for the sake of width.” Their ethos is intent on ushering in the optionality of multiple routes and the freedom of choice in a round of golf, with those enjoying those layouts the decision-making of what route is either best suited for them, or best suited that day, depending on the conditions, wind, and pin location. In that regard, they are very links-like: Royal Dornoch is not overly wide, but there is options within the layout and enough width to play; Muirfield is far tighter, but yet again, space to play and strategy within the fairways and the questions asked. Neither golf course wastes space and has width for the sake of width: when the respective layouts expand, there is a reasoning for it.
Pacific Dunes, while wide, never feels too large in size to be strategic.
Yet, things began to get bigger and bigger (and bigger), to the point where it’s hard not to see golf architecture for what it is: maximalism mascurading as the same genre as Sand Hills. The desire to build bigger and bolder golf courses is a consistent theme of those trying to separate themselves from their mentors or those who paved the way for the new-school of designers. Nobody would ever accuse a place like National Golf Links of America of being too wide and wasting space and mantaining fairway just for the sake of accomodating even the highest of high-handicappers’ worst shots, yet it provides ample strategy and a true chess match from start to finish. Golf is a game of accomplishment and overcoming adversity, and while losing balls is a pain and should be avoided when possible, the ability to recover is an exciting reality when pulled off. It’s why Pinehurst No. 2 provides a captivating US Open venue, with unpredictability when missing fairways a factor and the wire grass providing uncertainty on what comes next—Pinehurst is “wide” in that you should not lose a ball, but there’s still emphasis on first hitting the fairway, then playing to the correct side, and if you miss a fairway, you have a chance at recovering. At No. 2, you’re never out of the hole, but you can certainly make it far harder on yourself if you play incorrectly.
If you decrease the likelihood of missing fairways, the opportunity to inspire heroics with a recovery shot is a fleeting thought. Golf courses like Mammoth Dunes are particularly dead-set on making sure the ball never misses laterally, with the ball more-than-likely staying on grass the entire time. Apogee (West), too, is a more recent addition to the conversation on width, with its sheer fairway size drawfing Hanse/Wagner’s nearby The Park (a superb golf course that never crosses the line on too wide to be compelling). In both cases, the purpose of each golf course is rightfully served, and could have played a role in the size of the golf course: Mammoth Dunes is a giagantic property and certainly a modern take on “resort golf,” which juxtapositions nicely against Sand Valley’s constant repletion of golf balls. By all measures in the eyes of a balance sheet and the general public, Mammoth is a success and likely the most frequent pick for a “favourite” at the resort. For Apogee, its location in South Florida is ripe for people to retire and grow old at, and the green complexes here are really quite something—surfaces that anyone would be happy to grow old at, but it feels distinctly accomodating, as if it’s the exact anthesis to what made Florida golf difficult to grow old at in the first place.
The 10th at Apogee (West) on the left, with the 18th (right) in reverse.
In both instances, the fairways at accomodating enough that there feels very little reasoning to consider which side to come in from, and becomes a monotonous exercise off the tee. True, angles do matter for ~75% of golfers, though those 75% would reasonably be better off aiming at the middle of both the fairway and green and playing the odds from there. Not everyone is one of the TOUR players who now call Apogee home, but if there are acres upon acres of fairway in front of you, what’s the point in chasing angles anyway?
Naturally, while the pendulum was swinging on modern architecture, so too was classic architecture. Tree removal efforts continued to revitalize and bring back the original width and scale of numerous classic golf courses, and for the better. Of the noteworthy golf courses in America, a vast majority began removing the trees planted in beautication projects alongside new layouts beginning to get bigger and bigger (and bigger).
Aronimink Golf Club, host of the 2026 PGA Championship.
Yeah, you can send it. Every bunker seems to be about 300-310 to carry which is thankfully fine. There’s one bunker on 9 [editor’s note: 9 in the tournament routing is 16 on the normal routing] that’s 331 but it’s down 10 [yards] so it’s 320 equivilant and that’s the longest one to try and get over. […] it’s basically open season. I go back to Oak Hill a couple years ago at the PGA, and I tried to play the golf course strategically over the first couple days, and I just realized that these new, renovated old-school classic courses, the strategy is to just hit driver everywhere and figure it out from there. That’s sort of the strategy for this place this week.”
-Rory McIlroy on Philadelphia Cricket Club (Wissahickon)
The above quote from Rory McIlroy came on a Tuesday prior to the 2025 Truist Championship, a one-off event at Philadelphia Cricket Club’s splendid Wissahickon course given Quail Hollow, the usual host at this time on the TOUR schedule, is hosting the PGA Championship the week after its usual slot. Like nearly every somewhat-affluent club in America, an extensive renovation/restoration brought back the original golf course at Wissahickon, with Keith Foster’s 2013 work bringing back this darling A.W. Tillinghast golf course (which just snuck into the newest GOLF Magazine USA Top 100). It’s not a frequent venue of the PGA TOUR, never hosting prior to this, and it’s not a usual stop for any of the USGA’s events. With that said, the comments do somewhat reflect the status of tree clearing efforts at not just Wissahickon, but across America: if the strategy is to just “send it” on all these classic, renovated golf courses, has the plot been lost?
Of course, one could reasonably think this is damning enough for a rollback alone, and the Thursday of the event provided more evidence for a rollback. If the strategy is there is no strategy, it’s not too far-fetched to think the equipment has gotten out of hand with a much-needed pulling-of-the-reigns from the governing bodies of golf potentially looming. Yet, this is also partially on those who made the decisions to de-forest golf courses in America. While new builds continued to get bigger and bigger, so, too, did the playing corridors of the classic golf courses in America.
The aforementioned 16th at Philadelphia Cricket Club (Wissahickon), with 100 yards (!) from the left tree to the right out of bounds.
The old idea was to have golf courses as free from trees as possible. This notion, no doubt, was imported from Scotland because when golf was first taken up in the United States we knew very little about the game and modeled our courses on those of the Scotch which were, for the most part, built along the seashore where there were no trees.
-William Flynn
The above picture of the aforementioned 16th at Philadelphia Cricket’s Wissahickon course, the one hole Rory mentioned is a bit longer of a carry off the tee. At the second bunker up the left, the fairway is 36 yards wide, a very reasonable size for a fairway, though the closest tree on the left to the Out of Bounds on the right exceeds 100 yards (!) total. Removing the bunkers from the equation, that’s nearly 55 total yards of mantained rough lining the entirety of the hole, and with Out of Bounds right, the aiming point would become the bunkers anyway.
Tillinghast’s Philly Cricket is a proportionatly sized golf course, and it provides a captivating golf experience tee-to-green. However, with the trees removed and mantained turf replacing it, Rory’s comments about “sending it” reflect the mentality of not just the modern day professional, but many of the junior golfers growing up, and the low-index golfers at most all clubs. The truth about width is, the architecture needs to be able to reinforce what the width is trying to say. Fairways can be big and wide, as long as there’s reason to play to each part of the fairway. That is particularly on the green complexes, which have to establish what the strategy is in the first place and enforce that concept. Shinnecock Hills, even with the USGA’s continued debachery, only works because the green contours are severe enough and the conditioning is generally firm enough that the angles do matter. It’s a wide golf course, but often times, Flynn’s winged greens suggest playing to the edges of the greens to get the ball close and have a chance at birdie or par.
No better example captures Flynn’s thought-provoking design than the 18th green, where the dogleg left par 4 often asks you to play way to the outside right corner to have the best angle coming in.
Merion is another superb example, where, even without trees, there is enough emphasis off the tee to be able to support golf architecture without trees (or, largely without trees). The British Isles, with the constant wind and firm surfaces, mixed with the prospect of finding native grasses off the tee, provide a compelling examination of one’s game. The difference between native grasses/fescue and mantained rough makes all the difference here: in essence, with modern clubs and a modern driver, anyone who can consistently make reasonable-ish contact can forget about the fairway and play between the edges of the hole (either defined by native grasses, trees, or other).
Tree removal is a very, very good good thing, with still work to be done on the subject. St. Goerge’s Golf & Country Club in Toronto is a superb Stanley Thompson design in desperate need of some tree removal efforts to open up the landforms, and Riviera could also do with a bit of a snip. Realistically, though, very few golf courses in the Americas have both the conditioning, but more important, the architecture, to support the barren, expansive presentation without trees. By no means am I asking or ranting to stop the cutting of trees, but at various golf courses like Wissahickon or Aronimink, there could be more emphasis on keeping just ~slightly more trees, but it 2 that make all the difference, or 20.
The 11th hole at Philadelphia Cricket Club’s Wissahickon course, or the 4th hole for the 2025 Truist Championship.
Perhaps trees are not the way to go, either: Toronto Golf Club, a superb Harry Colt design under the watchful eye of Paul Scenna, has continued to be the leading example of tree removal in Canada. For one, the property itself is dramatic enough that with each tree removed, the property begins to shine more and the assets of the site are revealed with each pass of the chainsaw. Secondly, though, the introduction of native grasses has helped keep Toronto Golf Club an interesting, thought-provoking experience.
There are no trees in play for well-struck shots, and tree removal has revealed some of the magificent landforms on site. Yet, missing a shot could still see having to negociate with an odd tree or two, or more-so-than-usual, fescue grasses. There is no acres upon acres of mantained rough here even when the holes are on flatter portions where one could reasonably make a case: instead, the golden browns of Ontario break apart many of the holes.
Toronto Golf Club’s addition of native grasses not only provides a good challenge, but is aesthetically pleasing.
By no means am I advocating for the death of tree removal efforts or trying to inflict a mass planting effort at Golden Age courses. Certainly not at Philadelphia Cricket Club, which is a delight to play and one of the better day-in, day-out golf courses in greater Philly. What I am saying is moving forward, being selective in which trees to remove and which to keep ought to be a toughtful, spirited endevour to help provide both the chance of a heroic recovery, and penalize—ever-so-slightly—the shots that sail way too far off-line. You want to inflict the slightest bit of inconvenience to the greedy and make people think twice about bashing driver. Thinking back to the 2025 Masters, Rory McIlroy’s win was exciting, in part, because of the up-and-over shot from the trees on the 7th hole early, and swooping hook around the trees on 15 that set up an easy birdie. Augusta National’s ethos has evolved from a romantic outtake on strategy (a brilliant one, at that, with the original Augusta National’s concepts revolutionary) to a sporting venue in the same ilk as Fenway Park or Madison Square Garden—of which trees are fundamental to the drama and excitement come Sunday. Augusta National’s foremost responsibility is to put on an entertaining show and identify the best player that week, and trees have become crucial to that examination.
There is still width and angles at Augusta National (not to the same extreme it once was, and truthfully, there could be a bit more on a couple key holes), and the decision-making that brings is fundamental to any great golf course. If, at any point, those angles become obsolete with zero reason to play to them to gain an advantage, or the preferred angle is actually best-suited from 15 yards in the rough, then there is something wrong. What Sand Hills and Pacific Dunes and other modern masterpieces do so well is that yes, the fairways might be large by consideration (and bigger than a place like Wissahickon or Oak Hill or any of those classic golf courses), but there’s no “buffer” between the fairway and the native areas. The fairways may be 70 yards wide, but they aren’t 70 yards wide with 25 yards of extra space on either side.
I am not saying every course needs to plant a lot of trees. I am saying we should think twice about when to tear them down.
Photo credit: CBS Broadcast
Circling back, Cabot Citrus Farms (Roost) is a breath of fresh air because trees are seen as an asset, not a liability. They are fundamental to the golf course, but used sparsely and effectively to make a mark. Much like any other hazard, if they were overused—like rows upon rows of trees would be—and it becomes a tedious examination of simply a checkbox of “did you hit the fairway, or not?” Rather, those trees add an element of strategy to the golf course, and see trees for what they are: a potential additive, when done correctly.
Places like Philadelphia Cricket Club, Aronimink, or Oak Hill do not have trees baked into the ethos of their architecture, and it’s not a fundamental crux of the strategies presented. Yet, trees ~could be a part of the narrative when missing shots, which, to their credit, they are and on various holes it is possible to end up behind a tree.
As beautiful as trees are, and as fond as you and I are of them, we must not allow our sentiments to crowd out the real intent of a golf course, that of providing fair playing conditions. If it in any way interferes with a properly played stroke, I think the tree is an unfair hazard and should not be allowed to stand.
-Donald Ross
Ross’ quote specifically mentions “a properly played stroke,” which is important to consider on a Golden Age course. Layouts like TXO, Austin Golf Club, and Cabot Citrus Farms (Roost) might choose to include trees, but Golden Age architects rarely did (Tillinghast and Flynn being a couple of the exceptions). There still needs to be room to play, but having a select amount of trees help steer the golfer to the middle is never a bad thing and something to consider moving forward with future restoration projects and tree removal efforts.
Oakmont’s approach to architecture is more than suitable to do without trees.
For the record, this is not some tree-hugging lunatic angle, nor am I ninety-five years old and upset Andrew Green or Hanse/Wagner cut down trees at my home club; anyone who has played golf with me knows I can get a bit chaotic off the tee, and my game personally benefits from less trees. I do think that golf courses like Harbour Town (Dye, South Carolina) and Royal Colwood (Macan, British Columbia) ought to be recognized for their unique characteristics within their respective landscapes, and if minimalism truly is working with the landscape provided, would that not include trees, if they are native to the site?
The paradoxical nature of trees is there is no “right,” just varying degrees of it. If you say cut all trees, all of a sudden, a place like Sahalee—for all its shortfalls and Rees Jones mucking about there—loses what makes Sahalee, well, Sahalee. Or Harbour Town, for that matter. Tree removal at Golden Age golf courses is a tedious project to undertake, because much like restoration efforts, there is a sliding scale of what fits the bill for “restorative” versus simply “renovative.” The truth is, each golf course is a case-by-case basis. There are a handful of great properties with really stellar architecture that can support no trees. The Lido, as one, would be incredibly unusual with trees planted on the golf course, and the sheer scale and size of the golf course is a determining factor of the head-spinning optionality there. The reality is, though, most golf courses in the modern era do not have the architecture to support no trees, if the idea is to be both relevant to ~every skill level, as the original intentions were for most architects. If the pendulum swung too far towards the championship-calibre/low-handicap player in the era between World War Two and Sand Hills, it is not inconceivable to wonder if the pendulum has swung too far the other way in present day. With that, there probably is a middle ground: when trees are thoughtfully placed, they can (and reasonably do) help reinforce the concepts of strategy. That could be 2 more trees, 5, or maybe 20, but moving forward, we need to think about what trees we cut, and be strategic in the ones we keep.
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