Kiss Me, I'm Jewish

You'd think it were an Irish holiday or something...

In a remarkable coincidence, both golf.com and Links Magazine have published slideshows of the best courses in Ireland.   The latter is the superior list in the opinion of this blogger, as they list only true links and capture deserving lesser-known gems such as Rosses Point and County Louth (Baltray).  The former, in contrast, includes several inland courses as well as overrated and overpriced Old Head.

But the pleasure is in scrolling through the photos on a cold late-winter morning.  See if you agree:

Tralee, in County Kerry, an Arnold Palmer design.  Palmer has always said that he designed the front nine, ceding credit for the back nine, which routes through massive dunes, to a higher authority.

The 11th hole at Ballybunion, which famed writer Herbert Warren Wind called "The finest seaside course I have ever seen."

Since we're all Irish today, I'll also link to this Thomas Dunne piece in Links Magazine (h/t John Garrity) about Carne and Rosapenna.  The latter I discussed extensively back in the Mesozoic Era here, though Dunne indicates that while the recently acquired St. Patrick's property, approximately 370 acres, is sufficient for an additional 36 holes, the family may only build 18 or 27.  

But my primary interest in the Dunne piece relates to Carne.  If, as likely, you've never heard of it, here's the background:

Carne? Who or what is a Carne? There are a couple of reasons for the obscurity. First, it’s a relatively new facility: The original 18 opened in 1995, the final design by the popular Irish architect Eddie Hackett. Second, and more significantly, is the location. Carne is way out there on the coast of County Mayo, in the “Gaeltacht” where Irish is or was the predominant language (the club’s official name is “Gailf Chursa Chairn”). It’s a beautiful place that, historically, people have been hell-bent on leaving. A major center of the potato famine, Mayo’s population decreased by nearly one-third in a single decade (1841–1851), and the long-term legacy of mass emigration remains a regional challenge to this day.

I'll remind you at this point that the Sainted Little Irish Girl™ is, in fact, a County Mayo girl.  Her mother was born and raised in a little townland called Errew on the outskirts of Ballycastle.  In fact, the words "County Mayo" can't be uttered without instinctively adding "God bless us all," a reference to the all-consuming poverty of the area.  As my mother-in-law says repeatedly, "You can't eat the scenery."

Back to Carne, which the bride and I played twice in 2007. Dunne makes the following point:

In the way that legendary breaks like “Jaws,” off the north coast of Maui, or “Mavericks,” near San Francisco, are magnets for big-wave surfers, it’s a certain kind of golfer who is attracted to big-dune links courses. They’re hardy and fun-loving, more accepting of quirky design, and, perhaps, a bit more interested in pulling off heroic shots than strictly adhering to a card-and-pencil mentality. 

Scotland has its share of big-dune designs—Donald Trump’s new layout in Aberdeen is just the most recent—but the west coast of Ireland is its equal. There’s Lahinch, of course, and bruising Enniscrone, and Robert Trent Jones Sr.’s intense Cashen Course at Ballybunion. But the Big Daddy of them all is Carne, which this past summer opened a new nine that should quickly gain renown as one of the best big-dune circuits in the country.

That's my point in blogging about it, though I'll beg to differ with Dunne as relates to Scotland, which has precious few big-dune courses.  The only place you can find them is on the East coast of Scotland, and I would add the delightful Cruden Bay and Royal Aberdeen to the short list.  

Our first round at Carne required a 90-minute drive from the cosmopolitan town of Westport through dramatic peat bogs.  The drive was so spectacular that I declared Carne to be my favorite golf course in the world in its parking lot, an assessment that unfortunately did not survive actually playing the course.  One obvious reason was the rather pedestrian first nine, though that problem is likely solved by the opening of the third nine, called the Kilmore.  Here's Dunne's take on the new nine:

The modern Irish economy is driven by tourism, of course, and for 25 years Mayo authorities and Carne’s tireless director, Eamon Mangan, have dreamed of securing the club a place on the traveling golfer’s northwest circuit. Plans to develop a third nine date back more than a decade, but it was in 2010 that the project got going when the club hired a young Scottish architect named Ally McIntosh. 

McIntosh’s first objective was to tighten up the routing. “When you’re dealing with land like this, you want to do as little as possible,” he says. “There’s drama galore, but you have to make the course walkable.” This was no easy task: Not only did the architect have to contend with what existed of the prior work, but the best hole corridors were nested inside Hackett’s original 18. Once the routing was resolved, McIntosh set to work on providing ample width (another challenge, due to the severity of the dune slopes) and reducing the number of blind shots. With a small excavator as the primary earthmover, however, shuffling dirt was a long and difficult process. But in golf architecture, it’s not uncommon to see virtue borne of necessity, so working within a set of strict parameters, McIntosh, Mangan, and their team were forced to make smart choices in order to find the best, most natural holes. 

It’s safe to say they succeeded, as the new nine (known as the Kilmore) presents an array of memorable holes within the grand and chaotic dunes. Among them is the 3rd, an adventuresome downhill two-shotter. Brave drives down the right are rewarded with a big forward kick, while bailouts to the expansive left side of the fairway will face a more complicated approach—from this angle, the shoulder of a massive dune holds the green in a defensive embrace. The snaking par-five 5th probably will be the most controversial addition as the second shot must play around or vault blindly over a high ridge. Another test of long iron or fairway wood play will be found at the 7th, a par three of some 230 yards.  

My favorite, though, is the mid-length par-four 8th, where the green complex seems to rise from the valley floor like a primitive dagger. With its upper-right shelf ringed by confounding slopes, the action doesn’t stop once on the green. Indeed, some early observers believe the Kilmore greens stray too far toward the wild side, but the contours are nothing that golfers familiar with bold putting surfaces—from C.B. Macdonald’s to Tom Doak’s—would find beyond the pale.

To be honest, I had my issues with Hackett's second nine as well, as it was so severe as to be virtually unplayable.  I always thought that they needed to soften it up a bit, as there often seems to be no logical place to set down your ball.  But the dunes are spectacular and one simply needs, as Dunne indicates, to not let the scorecard get in the way of enjoying the journey.

Switching to travelogue mode, we did have two unique experiences at Carne.  In traveling throughout Ireland (and Scotland) one plays at times allocated to visitors, so the opportunity to play with locals is not available.  Carne, however, is somewhat less formal (or more chaotic), which suited us perfectly.

On our first round, we caught up with a youngster named Jonathan Padden and played about seven holes with him.  His explanation for being on the golf course on a school day was unconvincing, but we greatly enjoyed his company and he was utterly fascinated by some of my more modern equipment, particularly my hybrids (of course I let him hit a couple).

I would imagine that Jonathan is quite the good stick by now.  

On the day of our second round, the course was horribly backed up and the starter suggested that we'd enjoy the day more as a four-ball, so we ended up playing with two gentlemen from nearby County Sligo.

They proved to be delightful company, as we spent most of the interminable round making fun of German woman playing in front of us.  The gentleman on the left was curiously named Carthage, and I've never before or since heard that old Tunisian city-state used as a name.  Carthage also introduced us to the Rock Shandy, which became my refreshment of choice after play.

That's all the Irish content for this day.  My only remaining obligation is to wish my Little Irish Girl™ a Happy St. Patrick's Day.