Have you thought about the moment you first took notice of golf course architecture? If I had to guess, it took place on a golf course. Perhaps you didn’t quite understand what you were experiencing, but you knew it was something special that required further investigation.
Sure, delving into the classics like The Links or Golf Architecture in America is a great introduction to the world of golf course architecture (GCA). Or perhaps a modern classic such as The New World Atlas of Golf is more your style. I recommend one of the earlier green editions if you’re in search of a copy. If you are immersing yourself in the subject today there is much to explore. The vast array of podcasts, newsletters and websites dedicated to the topic (Beyond The Contour included) provide a wealth of information on the subject. But before all of this, there is usually something that lights a spark.
For me, I can distinctly remember the moment. I remember the course. Even more importantly, the exact hole that opened my eyes to something that I could not quite explain at the time. I was about 10 or 11 years old, playing my first “real” golf course after progressing from my local par 3 course. These early rounds took place at Uplands Golf Club, a 9-hole Stanley Thompson design in Thornhill, Ontario. As one might expect, I was a young kid that knew nothing about GCA, or even that much about the history of golf in Canada. I wasn’t aware that Uplands was formerly 18 holes. I didn’t know who Stanley Thompson was and definitely could not anticipate what I was about to experience when first playing the 8th hole (17th if you ask Lorne Rubenstein, more on that later).
Uplands Golf Club
If you are not familiar with Uplands, it is a narrow, relatively short tree lined course that traverses undulating ravine topography with its rumpled fairways and number of small elevated greens. The unquestionable highlight is the 8th hole, a 232 yard par-3 (now 245 yards). This hole plays downhill to a bunkerless green perched into the side of a tree lined hill. The entire hole is tree lined in fact, adding to the intimidation factor when standing atop the back tee.
What a stark contrast from the rather vanilla 70 to 150 yard par-3 with flat circle greens and mild to no land contours—my definition of a par 3 at the time. Even from the front tee, the 8th seemed to be spawned from another world. Devil’s Glen as it was once known is a rather fitting name as I later came to know.
I discovered so many interesting ways to play the 8th. You could take dead aim and try to hold the very small green; or run one up the bank on the right hoping for a good bounce. Laying up was also something I tried on occasion to strategically avoid the steep slope fronting the green.
I’ve always wondered what the 8th was like during its prime… before the days of overgrown trees, patchy tee boxes and public play. Admittedly, I haven’t visited since Golf North assumed operations. Perhaps things have improved, I optimistically tell myself.
The 17th Hole
I thought who better than Lorne Rubenstein to talk about the best hole at Uplands, a former member and well documented admirer of the 8th (I mean 17th). What an enlightening conversation! So many of the great aspects of this hole’s design were confirmed. A reminder how decisive the hole could be nearing the end of a close match. How it could destroy a good round with its extreme level of difficulty. Remember, in the era of the wound ball, the permission wood and the 1 iron, this hole was a formidable test (better days some might say). I don’t even want to consider the challenge with a hickory club and Haskell ball.
Still today, this hole plays like a par-3 ½. The last time I played it, I hit a cut driver on the green. Of course I missed the birdie putt, but I would take a par here every time. On second thought, I might not take that deal as playing this hole is always a thrill.
Since I found this thought experiment to be an interesting exercise, I asked the same question to the rest of the Beyond The Contour team. Here is what they have to say.
17th hole, Lethbridge Country Club — Andrew Harvie
Growing up, I was much more into the tournament and professional golf scene, largely based off my own interests in getting to college golf and beyond and watching local Mike Mezei play high-level professsional golf, all while growing up at the same club I did. But the 17th hole, in the heart of a rather inspiring finishing stretch of golf eventually ending up against the Old Man River, was a fascinating hole even as a child. In fact, this short par 5, of which a diagonal ridge coming from the high side right forced us short-ball juniors to hit it on the screws to get it over, kicked balls left closer to the out of bounds stake. Hitting it left side of the hole was usually dicey, but the ideal drive up the right usually meant a chance to go for it in two, with a green perched above its surroundings (including a fall-off left against the Old Man River and two bunkers short) defending the chance at eagle.
The ball goes a bit too far as an adult to really capitalize on that landform short as you can easily fly it over to the flat portion of the fairway (even if I haven’t been back since high school, it likely plays as a par 4), but so mant events came down to the drop shot par 3, 16th, the risk-reward 17th, and demanding finishing dogleg left 18th with the river all down the left. The strategic merits of having to hit a great tee shot to set up a better birdie opportunity really piqued my interests in what the subject was about, but it wasn’t until my first visit to Banff Springs at 14 years old that I really dove into the subject matter a bit more… and here we are!
1st hole, Rockland Golf Club — Zachary Car
In total, off of the top of my head, the Rockland Golf Club, the course upon which I learned the sport, features merely a handful of fairway bunkers, many of which are not in play. However, two of the particularly troublesome ones come at 1st of the South Course, the best of the three nines at Rockland.
The shorter and bigger of the two is cut into the side of a mound that extends to the fairway and is set diagonally to the line of play. Although now, when I opt to hit driver here, I can blast it well over this first bunker, growing up, when I was much shorter and thus played the forward tees, it presented a head-scratching dilemma, for it was perfectly placed right about where I landed my driver for a few years. I either had to hit a really good one to fly it; or I had to lay back and contend with the fairway wood second that such a decision then left me.
I’m not exactly sure if this hole fueled my fire to learn about golf architecture—in fact, I’m fairly sure that it didn’t—but thinking back, this is the earliest, and foremost, example that I can recall of a hole’s strategic character making a profound impression upon me.
15th hole, Cape Breton Highlands Links – Alex Hunter
Golf wasn’t a priority for me until I finished university, circa 2014. Back then, the main places I played were fine, but nothing too special. The best course in my rolodex was likely Glen Abbey or perhaps Legends on the Niagara. And, if I am honest, those courses were truly incredible in my eyes at the time. They significantly elevated the experience over the local tracks I played. The conditioning and contouring were, at the time, strong highlights for me. Though I am not sure I would have understood what any of it meant at the time. I can certainly appreciate why people like them so much. Of course it wasn’t until I started researching, and eventually playing more architecturally intriguing courses that I started to appreciate the design aspects of golf.
Cape Breton Highland Links has become one of the most influential golf courses for me as an architecture enthusiast. In particular, the 15th hole, a mesmerizing Par 5, captivates most golfers with its breathtaking views overlooking the picturesque bay and inlet of Clyburn Brook, and Ingonish Island. Yet, my true revelation lies in the subtle dance of the ground contours.
The natural undulations of the landscape create a dynamic and ever-changing playing field. With each shot, the course unveils a unique challenge; one moment, you might encounter a generous, moderately flat lie, only to be surprised by the next shot demanding finesse due to a hanging lie. As the fairway unfolds and you approach the green, the brilliance of the design becomes more apparent. The surrounding bunkering and mounding gracefully frame the putting surface, adding both aesthetic allure and a penal dimension. This harmonious blend of natural topography and purposeful bunkering elevates the 15th hole to an architectural masterpiece within the Canadian public golf landscape.
1st hole, St. Andrews (New) — Ben Malach
Having grown up playing golf my entire living memory, this is a tough question for me. However, the first golf hole I remember vividly is the 1st at Banff (current 15th), but I contend that hitting rocks and chasing them down fairways as a 8 year old hardly counts as a study of architecture. Like most kids, the game was more about a personal persuit than anything else, playing lots of golf between 8 years old and my 21st birthday. But, through a combination of my own obsession with score and my attempt to build the perfect swing, I can’t tell you much about the golf courses I played during this era or about golf architecture other than the ones I liked because I scored well on them.
That all changed after a series of circumstances and personal choices had me working at St. Andrews Links.
Spending time on the ancient links led me to fall in love with how simple golf architecture can and should be. Perhaps it might be confusing to pick thhe opening hole on the New rather than a dozen or so famous holes on the Old next door, but by the time I got to the town of St. Andrews, I had read everything about the Old. So much that it became a macro exercise on how to build the most elastic and interesting golf course in the world—which is a topic all to itself.
The wealth of knowledge on the Old course allowed the study of the micro factors of golf architecture more on the other courses at the facility. As such, each golf course—from the New to the Jubilee, Eden to the Strathyrum and even Balgove—is a master-class in how to build different holes across a similar landscape. Among those courses, the hole that I came back to time-and-time-again is the first hole at The New Course. The small movements and using maybe 2-3′ of grade change on the entire hole makes it the best short par 4 I have ever seen.
At 336 from the medal tee and 282 from the foward tee, the interest comes from a rough hwn mound in the middle of the fairway, roughly 250 yards from the back tee, with the green tucked into the base of a small dune. The putting surface, defined by a shelf in the back right and slowly tilting from right to left, is proected immediately by some small land movement around the green and a bunker to the left, primarily now serving as a defence against balls too bold from the tee. Further, a bunker lurks some twenty yards short of the surface, meant only for the boldst of lines off the tee and dominating the field of view for tee shots out to the right.
Especially in golf today, it is cool to see golfers having to think about distance control. Given the windy and firm conditions of St. Andrews, having a comfortable number and likely coming in with a full wedge on such a short hole is the better start to your round of golf than being agressive. Even still, there is not a single day I go without thinking of this hole, and remains one of my favourite pieces in my golf architectural vocabulary.
