LinksMag | 20years | Retro Revolution


20 Years: Retro Revolution During this magazine’s 20-year history, minimalists like Ben Crenshaw and Tom Doak have altered golf’s landscape
By Ben Wright Easily the most important development in golf course architecture since LINKS began publishing 20 years ago has been the renaissance of minimalism. But whereas minimalism in the past was dictated by the lack of machinery that makes major movements of earth mere child’s play, its rebirth has emerged on the grounds of aestheticism, allied to some much overdue belt tightening. On arrival at Augusta National Golf Club for the first time in the mid ’60s, I marveled at its pristine perfection, more easily achieved when money is no object. But to a Britisher brought up largely on true links layouts, it also somewhat smacked a trifle of artificiality. Augusta National was not the only example. While I wondered at the design subtleties of horticulturalist and rose grower George Thomas at both Bel-Air and Riviera, there was still a touch of the ornamental garden in both these great Los Angeles layouts. The current movement largely began with Sand Hills in Nebraska, the minimalist masterpiece of Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw that opened in 1995. I have not played it, but I have pored over scores of photos, which have been a source of total wonderment to me. But that is hardly surprising, since Crenshaw respects the history and traditions of the game like no one else I have ever met. Minimalists tend to be like that. But more so than Coore and Crenshaw, Tom Doak, whose company is aptly named Renaissance Golf, is the hero of the new minimalist movement. Long before Doak achieved his design breakthrough with Pacific Dunes in Oregon, he turned the small, insular world of course architecture on its ear by publishing the truly outspoken The Confidential Guide to Golf Courses, now out of print and selling for $650. The book made Doak a host of enemies. In assessing some 800 courses on six continents, he frankly damned many with what victims considered viciously unkind comments. Doak makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t give a rat’s rear end about what other architects think or do. He is his own man with his own philosophy based on his minute study of the great old British courses, along with an apprenticeship under Pete Dye. Doak, Crenshaw and several others are reversing the path of many of today’s architects who have turned on its ear the notion of the great designers of the Golden Age that golf is a ground game. In turning it into an airborne game, they have largely made their expensive and beautiful courses rather fussy and even stereotyped, and not much fun for the very ordinary hackers who can afford to live on, and play them. At my 1995 Cliffs Valley design in Travelers Rest, South Carolina, I shaved the fairways down and left open virtually every green to a pitch and run except three par 3s. But new superintendents fond of excessive watering have combined to destroy the original concept, and it’s a crying shame. Well, at least I contributed to the minimalist concept by moving the least possible dirt on what was a cattle farm.

20 Years:
Retro Revolution
During this magazine’s 20-year history, minimalists like Ben Crenshaw and Tom Doak have altered golf’s landscape

By Ben Wright

Easily the most important development in golf course architecture since LINKS began publishing 20 years ago has been the renaissance of minimalism. But whereas minimalism in the past was dictated by the lack of machinery that makes major movements of earth mere child’s play, its rebirth has emerged on the grounds of aestheticism, allied to some much overdue belt tightening.

On arrival at Augusta National Golf Club for the first time in the mid ’60s, I marveled at its pristine perfection, more easily achieved when money is no object. But to a Britisher brought up largely on true links layouts, it also somewhat smacked a trifle of artificiality. Augusta National was not the only example. While I wondered at the design subtleties of horticulturalist and rose grower George Thomas at both Bel-Air and Riviera, there was still a touch of the ornamental garden in both these great Los Angeles layouts.

The current movement largely began with Sand Hills in Nebraska, the minimalist masterpiece of Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw that opened in 1995. I have not played it, but I have pored over scores of photos, which have been a source of total wonderment to me. But that is hardly surprising, since Crenshaw respects the history and traditions of the game like no one else I have ever met. Minimalists tend to be like that.

But more so than Coore and Crenshaw, Tom Doak, whose company is aptly named Renaissance Golf, is the hero of the new minimalist movement. Long before Doak achieved his design breakthrough with Pacific Dunes in Oregon, he turned the small, insular world of course architecture on its ear by publishing the truly outspoken The Confidential Guide to Golf Courses, now out of print and selling for $650.

The book made Doak a host of enemies. In assessing some 800 courses on six continents, he frankly damned many with what victims considered viciously unkind comments. Doak makes it abundantly clear that he doesn’t give a rat’s rear end about what other architects think or do. He is his own man with his own philosophy based on his minute study of the great old British courses, along with an apprenticeship under Pete Dye.

Doak, Crenshaw and several others are reversing the path of many of today’s architects who have turned on its ear the notion of the great designers of the Golden Age that golf is a ground game. In turning it into an airborne game, they have largely made their expensive and beautiful courses rather fussy and even stereotyped, and not much fun for the very ordinary hackers who can afford to live on, and play them.

At my 1995 Cliffs Valley design in Travelers Rest, South Carolina, I shaved the fairways down and left open virtually every green to a pitch and run except three par 3s. But new superintendents fond of excessive watering have combined to destroy the original concept, and it’s a crying shame. Well, at least I contributed to the minimalist concept by moving the least possible dirt on what was a cattle farm.