You’ve
played the country’s Open courses—the Old Course, Carnoustie and Muirfield,
Turnberry, Troon and Prestwick. You’ve journeyed to Royal Dornoch, stopping at
Nairn en route. You’ve been thrilled at Cruden Bay, battered by Royal Aberdeen
and charmed at North Berwick. You’ve ventured to Machrihanish and struck that
wondrous opening tee shot across a sliver of the Atlantic. Surely you’ve been
there and done it all, right?
No,
you haven’t—not if you’ve never experienced the Machrie, Scotland’s most
extraordinary, most unabashedly old-fashioned and most character-filled layout.
If Machrihanish and Royal Dornoch are properly described as “remote” and
“geographically challenged,” Machrie’s location is “off the charts.” It’s far
off Scotland’s west coast on the Isle of Islay, the most southerly of the
archipelago known as the Outer Hebrides.
Despite
its location, Islay need not be regarded as truly remote, since you can fly
there directly from Glasgow—a quick 35-minute hop—and return in the same day.
Unless you are pressed for time, however, the “fly there, fly back in a day”
visit is a poor choice. Sure, you’ll be able to play 18 holes at the Machrie,
but you won’t see the links at its most sublimely atmospheric, as it invariably
is early and late in the day. To merely walk this layout at such times is an
almost mystical experience. Nor will you see much of what is a spectacularly
beautiful and historic island. And, worst of all—in a Scotsman’s eyes, at
least—you surely won’t get an opportunity to tour one of the island’s
world-renowned whiskey distilleries and sample the famous Islay single malts,
with their distinctive peaty flavors.
But
before you book your next golf vacation, a serious word of warning: If you
aren’t overly partial to blind shots, the Machrie is not the place for you.
Here, in the course of 18 exhilarating holes, you will confront more blind shots
than anywhere else.
Established
in 1891, the Machrie occupies a wonderful setting beside Laggan Bay, over
capricious, heaving duneland terrain. When routing the course, the original
architect, Willie Campbell, took the land as he found it. So many of the optimal
landing areas and putting surfaces are concealed from the tee or fairway, you
might even conclude the degree of blindness was intentional and purposeful.
Presumably the plan was to spice up the usual club selection process by
adding—on top of the ever-present coastal winds—elements of fear, surprise,
confusion and excitement.
This
uncertainty comes into play right away, with a blind tee shot and a blind
approach to a mischievously sunken green on the teasing 308-yard opening hole.
You can see neither the green nor the flag from the crumpled fairway of the
390-yard 4th, and the drive is partially blind at the excellent 344-yard 6th,
which tumbles downhill to a magnificent green set in the dunes. And so it
continues, with the target hidden on approximately half of the tee shots and
half the approach shots (including blind approaches to the final four
holes).
Whenever
the merits of the Machrie are discussed, this topic of blind shots inevitably
arises, “archaic and unfair” typically being the cry of skeptics. We can be
fairly certain, however, that Bernard Darwin would have disagreed. He often
spoke of the “thrill factor” inherent in a blind shot—the joy of making such a
stroke, then running to the crest of a hill to discover the outcome.
The
most celebrated holes include the run of par 4s from Nos. 6 to 9—a fantastic,
roller-coasting sequence—and the ultra-quirky and similarly spectacular
four-hole finishing stretch.
It
is nigh on impossible to compare the Machrie to other links courses because,
like the famous Islay single malt whiskey, it is so distinct. You may conclude
that it is not the best golf course in the world—perhaps not even the finest
course in the west of Scotland—but you will undoubtedly sense that you have
pitted your wits and imagination against a remarkable test of golf.
