'Waste bunkers' no more.

This massive 'waste bunker', running the length of the 16th fairway
at Harbour Town, wasn't always this well-manicured.

The term 'waste bunker' came about in the late 1960s during construction of Harbour Town Golf Links, where the PGA Tour's RBC Heritage tournament is being contested this week. "I'm not certain whether I or a member of the construction crew coined the phrase," course architect Pete Dye writes in his book Bury Me in a Pot Bunker.

"During construction, I was checking the course one day and spotted the local sewer patrol fighting a losing battle with a broken pipe near Harbour Town's border," Dye continues. "With raw sewage about to pour over the area, I suggested the workers pump it into a long, narrow depression that was to be used for a bunker. As the waste water filled the bunker, somehow the term waste bunker was born, and it has been used to designate such areas ever since."

This is an interesting piece of golf history. But, like other Pete Dye stories, I wonder if it's altogether true. Dye originally designed his 'waste bunkers' - at Harbour Town first then later TPC Sawgrass, and elsewhere - to be rough, rugged, unkempt, sandy areas that weren't raked, sometimes filled with gnarly clumps of grasses, and played through the green. When Harbour Town and Sawgrass originally opened for play (in 1969 and '83-ish, respectively), you could ground your club in Dye's 'waste bunkers'. So, the raw sewage story aside, 'waste bunker' still seems very appropriate to describe these sandy, unkempt areas that were literally designed be wastelands of sorts.

Regardless, Dye's original vision for those so-called 'waste bunkers' has disappeared at Harbour Town and Sawgrass - where The Players will tee off in a few weeks. Basically, the PGA Tour decided it would be more appropriate for tournament play to clean-up those 'waste bunkers', rake 'em and simply play 'em as bunkers according to the Rules of Golf.

You'd be amazed to see photos of Harbour Town and Sawgrass in their early days. Both courses were much more rough-hewn before the Tour mandated comparatively meticulous maintenance. I was fortunate to get a look at some very early photos of Sawgrass during a visit to  Bobby Weed's office a few years ago. Based in Ponte Vedra, Florida (where Sawgrass is located), Weed's now a successful golf course architect in his own right. Back in the early 1980s he was working for Dye. Weed worked on the construction of Sawgrass and, for a stint, was the course's superintendent. In these old photos, Sawgrass is almost unrecognizable. The course's aesthetic transformation is basically the equivilant of turning Pine Valley into Augusta National; ironically, Dye originally designed Sawgrass to the the anti-thesis of Augusta.

Harbour Town's look has changed over the years as well, but thankfully these aesthetic transformations have not altered the fundamental brilliance of two of the game's most revolutionary golf course designs.

It's all about the greens.

Detail of the 14th green at Augusta National.

Putting greens to a golf course are what the face is to a portrait. The clothes the subjects wears, the background, whether scenery or whether draperies - are simply accessories; the face tells the story and determines the character and quality of the portrait - whether it is good or bad. So it is in golf; you can always build a putting green. Teeing grounds, hazards, the fairway, rough, etc., are accessories.

- Charles Blair Macdonald.

We admire many remarkable golf holes at Augusta National these days, but the old Fruitland Nursery wasn't exactly an ideal site for golf when Alister Mackenzie and Bobby Jones surveyed the property back in the early 1930s. Mackenzie's routing makes remarkably intelligent use of a property that's incredibly steep in spots, for one; and, his discovery of those sites that are now the 12th and 13th holes is considered genius.

Whereas the layout of holes is the foundation of Augusta National's brilliance, it's the greens that really make the course. Not only do greens chock full of this kind of character present challenge and provide playing interest, they often make for more dramatic shots than otherwise. Take Louis Oosthuizen's albatross, yesterday, for example. The slope and contour of the 2nd green took Oosthuizen's ball from the centre of the green all the way over the far right side of the putting surface, and into the hole: brilliant drama that you don't see at a 'typical' course where green after green is simply pitched back to front.

What I like best about the greens at Augusta National though is, they reward well-played strokes but, at the same time, severely penalize golfers who miss in the wrong spots relative to the day's hole locations without necessity of using other hazards (an overabundance of bunkers and water for example) to present challenge and playing interest. Golfers must study and learn the intricacies of the greens at Augusta National to have success there. I guarantee it wasn't a fluke that Oosthuizen pitched his ball where it landed at the 2nd hole yesterday. With the right spin on it, Oosthuizen definitely knew how his ball was going to react to the ground there, having made a study of that particular green throughout last week.

When a course requires study - rather than just an effective swing, shot after shot - golf rises to another, far more fascinating and enjoyable level of recreation and competition.

Augusta National's greens didn't happen by accident, either. A lot of intelligence, thought, planning and artistry was required to create them. Almost a century on since Augusta National was originally designed, we're lucky those greens have provided important lessons to golf course architects and unparalleled excitement each year during the Masters Tournament.

A few 'game changers'.

The 2nd hole at Huntercombe (from www.golfclubatlas.com).

Earlier this week, a golf writer asked: What do you think has been the biggest 'game changer' in golf course design through the years? 

There are a number of 'watershed' moments in the history of golf course design that I think qualify as 'game changers'.

First is the work of two-time Open champion Willie Park Jr. at Sunningdale and Huntercombe, on the outskirts of London (UK), at the turn of the 20th century; 1901, to be precise. Park's work at these two courses proved, for the first time, that courses comparable to the classic links could be constructed on inland sites. His work there, more or less, instigated a period of remarkable work lead by Englishman Harry Colt.

A few years later, beginning in 1910, Charles Blair Macdonald began creating the National Golf Links of America, out on the eastern tip of Long Island, New York. NGLA was the first truly great course on this side of the Atlantic to compare favourably with the best courses throughout the British Isles. Macdonald had traveled to the UK to study the best courses there, then implemented many of those time-tested design concepts (through his own interpretations) at NGLA. It was NGLA that set a new standard for golf course architecture in the United States, instigating the so-called Golden Age of golf course design, between the wars, in North America.

I also think Augusta National was a 'game changer'. The concept behind its original design, devised by Bobby Jones and Alister Mackenzie, was revolutionary. Loosely modeled after the Old Course at St. Andrews (Jones' and Mackenzie's favourite course), ANGC was designed to achieve what remains the 'ideal in golf architecture' - that is to present a course that challenges the world's best golfers but, at the same time, provides an enjoyable round for all caliber of players. When Augusta National opened for play, during the early 1930s, there was essentially no rough and only 22 bunkers (today there are 44). ANGC was geniusly designed around inherent slope and manufactured contour (greens) without reliance on artifical hazards. Legendary Canadian golf architect Vernon Macan once said (I'm paraphrasing, here): If you want to learn about golf course architecture, all you have to do is read the chapter in Bobby Jones' autobiography on the making of Augusta National.

Essentially, the same principles and concepts established and employed by the likes of Willie Park Jr., C.B. Macdonald, Bobby Jones and Alister Mackenzie remain the foundation of what we understand to be sound golf architecture.

"We're talking about a sport, something that's supposed to be fun..."

#11 at Oakland Hills-South:
The anti-thesis of what Turner's talking about.

An architect should never lose sight of his responsibility as an educational factor in the game. Nothing will tend more surely to develop the right spirit of the game than an insistence upon the high ideals that should inspire sound golf architecture.

- Wm. Flynn (1891-1945).

Last night I listened to episode 4 of an interesting new series of podcasts called 'State of the Game'.

In this episode, host Rod Morri talks golf architecture with guests Mike Clayton and Greg Turner. Both Clayton and Turner are Tour pros turned architects. Clayton has done some great work recently in his native Australia, and now partners with fellow Aussie, Geoff Ogilvy, in the design business. Turner is also a golf pro turned architect, who's doing some interesting work with fellow Kiwi Scott Macpherson. 

Geoff Shackelford has a link to this very interesting discussion, at his blog, here.

One of the most interesting bits of this 46 minute chat came from Turner, who says it's critical that golf architects play a role as educators. (I agree.) Some times it's not easy though. Turner adds: When working at clubs with means, architects are often dealing with people who are successful in their own walk of life and who, in turn, are some times disagreeable with views on golf and course architecture. Many of these people look at golf architecture simply as a way to penalize golfers for erring, he says. And, the more a golfer errs, the greater they think the penalty should be.

Turner recognizes that this is a rational, logical way to think about things, and a reasonable way to run a society. But, we're not talking about running a society, he says. "We're talking about a game. We're talking about a sport, something that's supposed to be fun and enjoyable."

Words of wisdom that more golfers need to consider.

I agree with Turner. A strictly penal approach to golf architecture results in making the game increasingly more miserable for those who are least able to deal with it. Sound golf architecture is not about penalizing poor shots. It's about making golf more interesting, fun and enjoyable.

Bernard Darwin on architecture.

Bernard Darwin.

The greatest golf writer of them all is Bernard Darwin (1876-1961); and, his writings on 'golfing architecture' (Darwin's term) are essential reading for serious students of golf. Whenever I'm asked which books on golf course architecture are most important, I always include The Golf Courses of the British Isles, which Darwin published in 1910. There's also an excellent chapter in his 1944 book, Golf Between Two Wars, simply titled 'Architecture'.

In that particular chapter, 'Architecture', Darwin discusses the philosophies and works of some of the most influential thinkers and pioneers in the field, including John Low, Harry Colt, Herbert Fowler, Tom Simpson and J.F. Abercromby. To my mind, the following paragraph - written nearly 70 years ago - neatly sums up the what is, really, 'modern golf course architecture'. Darwin writes:

They have, I think, generally speaking eschewed the mere punishing of a bad shot directly and for its own sake have rather tried to contrive that it shall ultimately bring its punishment in the subsequent play of the hole. They have not come down like a hundred of bricks on the bad player, who will always have plenty of trouble of his own, but have insisted as far as may be that the strong player shall be set problems. They have held out baits, tempting him with great advantages if he will make a particularly bold and accurate shot and trapping him if it is not quite accurate enough. They have tried more and more to match their wits against the player. They have demanded that he shall do more than hit what he calls a good shot, just because it is hard and clean, and that he shall hit it to a particular place. In their own language they have discarded the penal for the strategic. Many examples might be given from many courses which have been made or greatly altered between wars, but if I had to choose one as embodying the spirit of modern architecture I think it should be the eighth on the New Course at Addington laid out by Mr. Abercromby. The hole, as many people know, is but the length of a drive and a pitch; it is 350 yards or so and the drive runs rather downhill. There is apparently most ample room into which to drive from the tee. The green is narrow, guarded in front by a pond and having one bunker eating its way into the right-hand side of the green and another guarding the left flank. The whole point of the hole is in the angle at which the green is placed. Only the player who holds his tee shot well to the left-hand side, almost skirting the rough, is ideally placed for his second, having the length of the green in which to pitch. He who goes straight down the middle or drives to the right is faced with a shot which it is intensely difficult to keep on the green. An apparently simple hole is in fact extremely subtle.

Unfortunately, the New course at The Addington (1933) no longer exists; but, you can read about, and see some of Abercromby's original 1912 design there - the Old course, which is located just 13 miles from the centre of London, England - here, at GolfClubAtlas.com.

And, for more on Bernard Darwin, click here. 

The importance + appeal of diversity.

The 18th green at Harbour Town Golf Links.

One of my favourite courses in the world, which really ignited my interest in golf architecture as a kid, is Pete Dye's Harbour Town Golf Links, at Hilton Head, South Carolina.

In his book, Bury Me in a Pot Bunker, Dye writes: "In an ironic way, my design concepts at Harbour Town were influenced by the architecture of Robert Trent Jones, in that I took Mr. Jones' ideas and headed in the opposite direction."

While Dye was building Harbour Town, Trent Jones was designing a course down the road, at Palmetto Dunes. Dye took his cue from Palmetto Dunes. In contrast to the long tees, huge bunkers and massive greens Trent Jones was laying out, Harbour Town features mutliple tee positions, tiny greens, waste areas (a term coined at Harbour Town) and abrupt little pot bunkers.

Harbour Town's scale is much tinier, and its profile significantly lower that Palmetto Dunes and so many other courses built during the 1960s; but it's chock full of character and originality. Whether you like Harbour Town or not, it's remarkably original; especially when you consider Dye's concept for the course in the proper context. Bucking every trend of the era, Harbour Town opened in 1969, long before imitators dampened its influence on golf architecture. Some say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but copycats actually diminish originality.

Like Harbour Town, the very best courses in the world are remarkably distinct. This is only common characteristic shared  by the great courses of the world - originality. Take Shinnecock Hills and the National Golf Links of America for example. These two giant courses are literally side by side, out on the eastern tip of Long Island, New York, and couldn't be more different. This remarkable diversity is one of golf's greatest attractions.

As I say repeatedly, there are no standards in golf course architecture; yet we see too many courses seemingly designed to conform to perceived 'standards'. This isn't good for the game, or for any particular course interested in grabbing a larger share of a specific market. Think about it, you don't make a point to visit Paris because it's just like your hometown; and, you certainly don't make a special effort to play a course like Harbour Town because it's exactly the same as your local muni. You make an effort to get to courses like Harbour Town because they are distinctly attractive.

More courses need to be more original, like Harbour Town. In many ways, originality = sustainability.

For more on this subject, read this: Preserving the World's Great Golf Courses.

In his own words: Geo. Thomas on Riviera's 10th.

An incredible photo of the Riviera's 10th, c. 1927, before three
additional bunkers were added to the hole a few years later.
(Irresistibly borrowed from http://www.geoffshackelford.com/;
click on image to enlarge.)

"The poorest of all holes are the short two shotters, where a missed first shot allows a recovery to the green that is only a mediocre shot. By reducing the size of the green, and by tilting it up from one side to the other, or back to front, so as to require a placement on the drive for a shot which can be played toward the higher part, and by making it narrow and long with the opening opposite the carrying trap, it is easy to insist on a fine first shot to make the second one reasonably possible. In other words, if the hole is 300 yards long, and a man misses his drive and goes only 125 yards, he should not be able to reach and hold the green.

This arrangement is most difficult to accomplish in short two shotters. The more exacting the test, the more skillful will be the golfers developed; but a really fine test for a long player is likely to make the second shot too penalizing for the short man, especially on short two shotters. A partial answer to this problem is found by the new 300 yard No. 10 at the Los Angeles Athletic Club course (Riviera), where the green is narrow, yet opens in the line of the short player, but is raised several feet above the adjacent fairway with no traps near it. This makes it very difficult for the short man to hold the putting surface unless his drive is an exceptionally long ball. This practice may be varied on holes of different lengths by the size and shape and facing angle of the green, and it does away with traps. However, it could only be used occasionally, and, therefore, is not a complete solution for the short two shotters."

- George Thomas, from Golf Architecture in America (1927).

Ever hear of High Pointe?

High Pointe, from Doak's infamous book 'The Confidental
Guide to Golf Courses' (1996).

The educated taste admires simplicity of design and sound workmanship for their own sake, rather than over-decoration and the crowding of artifical hazards.

- Tom Simpson, 1927.

Three golf courses immediately come to mind when I think about those that really inspired me to pursue a career in golf course architecture at a relatively young age: Donald Ross' Essex, in Windsor, Ontario, where I grew up playing; Pete Dye's Harbour Town Golf Links, in South Carolina; and High Pointe. 

Opened for play in 1989, High Pointe was Tom Doak's first solo design. After reading Doak's treatise, The Anatomy of a Golf Course, shortly after it was published in 1992, I excitedly rushed up to Traverse City, Michigan to see and play High Pointe. The course was a revelation. So much that's talked about, and now practiced by many in golf course architecture - working with the land, designing holes to give maximum advantage to imaginative shot-making, bringing a Scottish approach to maintenance and fescue grasses to North America - began, or was at least resurrected on this side of the Atlantic at High Pointe.

Doak has since risen to the top of our profession. The popularity of his subsequent design work at places like Pacific Dunes, Cape Kidnappers, Barnbougle Dunes, Ballyneal, Sebonack, The Renaissance Club, and Old Macdonald - compounded by the recent, and terribly unfortunate closure of High Pointe - has rendered his first course a fond memory for those of us who learned about, and experienced it early on.

I'm no fan of the term 'minimalism'. It's used too frequently and often incorrectly these days. In a modern context though, the now popular 'minimalist approach' to golf course architecture began at High Pointe. As he describes in his infamous book The Confidental Guide to Golf Courses, Doak opted for "the least possible disturbance, even in building the greens" at High Pointe. As a result, the course was an incredibly natural looking one, with every hole simply draped over the existing landscape. High Pointe was without contrivance.

Instead of over-decorating the course with bunkers, Doak smartly used natural slope and contour to present playing interest and challenge at High Pointe. His goal was to utilize "steeper undulations for the fairway landing areas and green sites, so that the golfer would be forced to consider the slopes in playing the hole(s)... and counteract and minimize the bounce of the ball." This idea was contrary to what was going on in golf course architecture pretty much everywhere else at the time. So many courses built during the 1980s and '90s involved flattening out borderline slopes in the interest of 'fairness' rather than using them to advantage. When a course is flattened out, golfers tend to approach every hole the same. Boring.

As a means to emphasize the importance of considering slopes and contour in playing the holes at High Pointe, Doak also elected to grass the entire course with fescue. At the time, many experts thought this idea was simply foolish. Now it seems every new course we hear about - from Sagebrush to Cabot Links - is being planted with fescue. Doak's aim was to promote a firm playing surface at High Pointe, but also to create a course that could be playable under less-than-perfect conditions so that, as he puts it, "the budget could be kept austere and the green fees affordable". This philosophy is even more applicable today than during the late 1980s, considering current economic conditions.

Doak's 'experiment' at High Pointe was gutsy, if not a complete success. I understand much of the fescue disappeared or was eventually eradicated over time, for example. But, looking back, his 'experiment' was a revelation, and inspiration to a generation of future golf course designers, including myself. High Pointe encouraged 'out of the box' thinking, illustrating some innovative and interesting possibilities for golf archtiecture and course maintenance moving forward.

Most important though, High Pointe was a fun course to play; and, its simple appearance yet complex challenges were an incredibly beautiful contradiction to what golfers had come to believe golf course architecture to be over the previous three decades and more, before High Pointe.

Some influences.

On-site at VGC, January 18.

It's been an interesting week at Victoria Golf Club. Over the past few years, we've had great success remodelling bunkers and making other improvements to the course during the winter months. Victoria is usually quite mild this time of year. Our luck ran out this week. A freak winter storm wreaked havoc over the past few days, shutting our job down.

I've been working on other things in the meantime, including the beginnings of a comprehensive tree plan for VGC. I also spent some time yesterday answering questions from a golf writer planning to pen an article on young golf architects, under the age of 40. One of the most interesting questions posed was: Which designers have influenced your philosophy and whose work, among your contemporaries, do you admire?

Inevitably, having worked along side him for a decade, Rod Whitman has greatly influenced my philosophy and understanding of golf course architecture. Rod has extraordinary talent for the two most important elements of golf course design - routing and contouring golf holes. From a construction standpoint, Rod taught me how to effectively implement design ideas on the ground, which is incredibly important. Ideas are one thing, knowing how to get those ideas on the ground is an entirely different proposition.

Philosophically, I’ve been greatly influenced by many of the same people as Rod. Studying the works and writings of men like Alister Mackenzie (author of Golf Architecture and The Spirit of St. Andrews), Robert Hunter (The Links), Tom Simpson (The Architectural Side of Golf), and (Victoria's own) Vernon Macan, who wrote prolifically and brilliantly on golf course architecture during his lifetime is a very important part of an education in golf in general, and course architecture in particular. It sounds a bit cliché these days, but I’m mostly, and unabashedly influenced by the greats of the so-called Golden Age of golf design, between the wars.

(As mentioned in a recent post here, I continue to be amazed that eighteen of the top-20 courses in the world, according to GOLF magazine, were built during the pre-World War II era. The others - Pacific Dunes and Sand Hills - were designed by Tom Doak and Bill Coore and his partner, Ben Crenshaw.)

Dave Axland, who’s been Coore and Crenshaw's main man for some 20 years now, has also been a big influence. Dave’s an old friend of Rod’s. He worked with us at Blackhawk Golf Club and Cabot Links. Dave is a super-talented golf archtiect in his own right. He and his partner, Dan Proctor, are designers of the great Wild Horse in Gothenburg, Nebraska. Both Dave and Dan have been integral contributors to creation of a number of outstanding courses designed by Coore and Crenshaw as well, at places like Sand Hills, Friar's Head, The Plantation course at Kapalua, Bandon Trails, and Chechessee Creek Club. Dave's helped me tremendously over the years, specifically with construction, costs and scheduling issues. In this regard, Dave's one of the most selfless people I know.

Among contemporary designers, I have to include Doak as well. Reading Tom's book, The Anatomy of a Golf Course, back when I was 18 (when it was first published, in 1992) provided a tonne of insight and inspiration. This is the first book anyone interested in golf course architecture should read. It's a wonderful summary of all of the classics by the likes of Mackenzie, Hunter and Simpson, discussed in a modern context. Tom was also very helpful when I was bold enough to contact him on several occasions as a young man seeking some advice on getting into the business. Gil Hanse, too. I have great admiration for Gil’s work. Coore and Crenshaw rightfully get a lot of praise for their attention to detail, but from what I’ve seen by Gil and his partner, Jim Wagner, they deserve equal praise. Visit Boston Golf Club, Castle Stuart, and their recent restoration of Los Angeles Country Club's North course (with Geoff Shackelford) to see what I mean.

Moreover, Gil is a very interesting, thoughtful, courteous, engaging, and impressive guy. Much like Bill Coore (and my friend, Ron Prichard, too). If I were to advise a young person interested in the business of golf course archtiecture to model themselves after any two people, it would be Gil and Bill.