Wetter Than a Fish — What I learned with 96 Hours in Pinehurst

Chapter 1: The Most Exciting 120 Feet in Golf

“Should we have a putting contest down the hallway?”

These were the words that stopped us in our tracks as we pondered our next move, weary from several failed attempts to play the game that brought us to Pinehurst, N.C. on this rain-soaked weekend in February.

It was the third day of our four day golf trip through the sand hills of North Carolina, and like the soil beneath us, we were beginning to take on water. This sinking feeling was tough to shake — how could the four worst weather days in months land on the exact weekend of our long-anticipated trip? I felt ashamed to be thinking that way, we were lucky enough to have a few days here and I was determined to make the most of it. But still, doubt creeps into the mind, turning bad into worse. Why now, why us?

Rain be damned, we were here to play golf.

We were warming our bones in The Deuce for a few hours now, discussing the intricacies within each pint of local beer, blindly guessing at flavor profiles and pretending to know the slightest thing about craft brewing. Small puddles had formed beneath our barstools, running off our duly-tested rain gear and dripping onto the floor. My beanie, once light and warm was now morphing into a cold, heavy helmet.

Eight of us had come to Pinehurst, most of us as strangers to another, with only one or two common denominators in the group. The bond that joined all of us, though, was the game of golf.

That morning, Sunday, we had played our second full-round since arriving to town on Thursday night. Two inches of rain and four hours later, we found ourselves back on campus at Pinehurst, doing what we could during a washout — sampling all the beer on tap.

This bar, wonderfully perched behind the 18th green on Pinehurst #2 had become our headquarters, our home base for decision-making and general commiserating as the freezing rain continued to beat down outside. Unfortunately for us, our safe haven had a last-call, and in February, that call comes at 5:00 P.M. As we pushed our stools away from the bar, we exchanged curious glances through the windows, soaking in the moments and breathing in the damp air. Through the front doors and into the hallway awaited the simplest, and arguably the most enjoyable 120 feet of our weekend.

With the blessing, or at least the half-acknowledged nod of the security guard posted at the entrance, we dropped a few golf balls and rolled some putts down this storied corridor; right by the locker rooms, beyond the glass-encased drivers and wedges of Pinehurst victors-past, underneath the framed smiles of Payne Stewart, Tiger Woods, Michelle Wie, Martin Kaymer, and many others.

Our renegade putting contest in the halls of the clubhouse won’t go down in annals of Pinehurst history, but it made unsuspecting staff members laugh, and it brought us unforgettable memories, hanging in time and space, not likely to be replicated anytime soon.

This may not have been the scene, or the moment, or the feeling that we thought we’d get when we arrived a few days earlier, but the elation of something as simple as putting down a hallway at Pinehurst told us all we needed to know about the inherent magic of this place.

Eight new friends, determined to squeeze every last drop out of this trip.

~ Two days earlier ~

Chapter 2: Pine Needles

“You just got Rossed”

With cautious optimism, we started our four-day excursion through Moore County, N.C. at Pine Needles, a fabled design of legendary architect, Donald Ross. Thanks to a variety of weather apps and an endless supply of meteorological opinions within our group, we acknowledged it was going to be a wet front-nine. Nevertheless, we were determined to power through. Armed with a box of hand-warmers, two layers of rain gear, and positive attitudes to boot, we shuffled to the first tee for what would be a stern test of both golf and spirit.

The starter, Alan, showed us to the Ross Tees where we looked upon the beautiful par-five stretched out in front of us, ready to receive whatever opening tee-shots we could muster in the cold damp air. A yard sale of items scattered about the tee box; snow gloves, extra towels, steaming cups of coffee, and eight chilled, but eager golfers. One by one, we launched our golf balls towards the mist-hidden fairway ahead. Our drives seemed to hang in the air that morning, which is ironic considering they didn’t travel very far. Still, those few moments lingered as if time itself stopped to watch. Several fortunate drives splashed down in the damp fairway, others fell right and left amongst the pine trees, and so began our four day affair.

Despite numb fingers and cold noses, our collective mood couldn’t be shaken. We came to compete — against each other, the golf courses, and the game itself — no television cameras, or fans, or anyone else in the world would care about our little golf trip, but to us it was everything.

On the first green, an unfortunate member of our group was baptized into the Church of Ross via a lengthy birdie putt. Instead of nestling close to the pin for a routine par, it rather slowly wandered just past the hole, meandering off the putting surface and settling deep into the green-side bunker. There’s a lonely feeling that comes with swapping a putter — which you’ve just used — for a sand wedge. That was our first real taste of the double-edged genius of these historic green complexes found throughout this tiny, sandy hamlet of North Carolina.

The round came to a close several hours later, with our two teams splitting the day’s points. Our experience at Pine Needles felt like a true test of golf, with plenty of options off the tee, challenging approaches, and some of the most interesting greens any of us had played on before.

Still, it’s difficult to adequately capture the soul of Pine Needles through words. The entire scene seems lifted from a half-century prior and placed here in the present, given no context about what golf looks and feels like in 2021. Every detail, from the smell of the fireplace in the clubhouse, to the sound of laughter in the lounge, to the unassuming practice green, all add up to an experience unlike anything else in modern American golf.

It comes without frills and fanfare, quiet in appearance yet demanding at the same time. Pine Needles will stick with me after leaving, not just as a stout example of how a historic design can remain relevant through generations, but as a nostalgic reminder of a forgotten era when things, perhaps, were a bit simpler, slower, and sweeter. I absolutely love this place.

Chapter 3: The Cradle

“Let’s just do that again for the next three days”

Enough has been said about The Cradle, Gil Hanse’s 10-acre, nine hole short course, but it truly was a highlight of our time in North Carolina. After duking it out at Pine Needles that morning, we made the executive decision — once again thanks to our weather experts — to head directly to Pinehurst to get a spin around The Cradle before dusk. Saturday and Sunday were looking even worse than Friday, so we wanted to take advantage of whatever window Mother Nature offered us. We donned our favorite sports jerseys, threw two wedges and a putter into Sunday bags, and walked down to the first tee. In keeping with a growing Pinehurst tradition for those playing The Cradle, we amassed an eclectic mixture of outfits, from Patrick Ewing’s Georgetown basketball jersey, to Sean Taylor’s retired #21 Washington football jersey.

It would be an understatement to say the world needs more of The Cradle and less of the private, ultra-exclusive. I can’t think of a better way to introduce kids, or beginner golfers to the game than a fun and quick loop around a nine-hole course like this one. Different in many ways, but similar in spirit is Winter Park 9. Nestled into a sleepy suburb north of Orlando, WP9 flips traditional golf course doctrine upside-down, and opens the game up to anyone curious enough to play. I’m encouraged by the trend towards affordable and accessible golf experiences for all levels of players. In a quick poll of our eight trip participants, all would agree The Cradle provided the most laughs and variety of our weekend.

A few near aces, a handful of birdies, and some sick triple-bogeys later, we had made the most of our first day. I felt so at ease, enjoying the simplicity of 80 yard wedge shots and maniacal putting greens as the sun set. We handed back our loaner bags, packed the cars, and headed for Pinehurst Brewing Company for some much needed sustenance.

Chapter 4: Dormie Club

“Do you have any extra golf balls I could borrow?”

I’m not a great golfer, but I typically know how to keep the ball in front of me for most of the round. On Saturday morning at Dormie Club however, I would soon discover that with prolonged exposure to the elements, all feeling in my hands, and associatively the club-face, disappear quickly. By the sixth hole of what would be our rain shortened round, I was turning to my playing partners begging for old rocks in their bags. After losing tee shots on holes two, three, and four, I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever actually get to see this course — one I had been looking forward to since the trip came together. This isn’t a knock on the design of Dormie Club, I just couldn’t keep anything on the planet during the brief time we spent on the property. Nine holes after my first drive, and it was over. This was a new kind of defeated feeling, one I don’t think I’ve experienced on a golf course before.

Earlier that morning back at our condo, the writing was on the wall. Today was going to be absolutely brutal, probably the worst weather day, relatively speaking, of our quick stint in North Carolina. The excitement of playing Dormie Club however shook away whatever doubts we had about our ability to handle the conditions — that, and the fact that Dormie goes fully private on May 1st, 2021. This Coore & Crenshaw beauty was at our fingertips, ready for her last three months of play from random hackers like us before entering anticipated hibernation, only to be seen sparingly by a national membership henceforth.

We had to give it a shot, and this morning, time was of the essence.

Arriving on property, I got the feeling of being dropped off at summer camp as a kid. I was filled with excitement and curiosity as we navigated our cars down rough, sandy roads, winding through pine forests and over streams. Where was this place?

The road emptied out into a clearing, and we were greeted with a modest trailer, temporarily acting as the pro-shop and restaurant, while construction of the not-so-modest, real-deal clubhouse was well underway up the hill. Impressive as it might eventually be, we weren’t interested in the digs, only the course itself.

Fully loaded up on ham and egg sandwiches, breakfast blend K-cup coffee, and a handful of free tees, we piled into carts and followed the assistant pro to the temporary driving range, a duckling like procession across the property, splashing our little hearts out.

It’s not an exaggeration to say the opening hole at Dormie Club is one of the only I’ll truly remember playing that day. Mother Nature teased us for a few minutes, allowing us the slightest reprieve of rain to stand atop the first tee box and enjoy the beauty of this handshake, downhill par-four opener. We pegged our small white golf balls, threw our 460cc driver heads at them, and away we went.

From what I’ve seen, and Dormie Club only reinforces this observation, Coore & Crenshaw are experts at nestling green complexes into the surrounds, seamlessly transitioning from fairway to putting surface and allowing ample opportunity for players to fly or run the ball, depending on their angle and situation. These greens were, in a word, fantastic. As simple as it might seem from the tee, the first hole could be played in so many different ways, an exciting change of pace from normal rounds of driver-wedge back home.

Despite my lackluster play and uninspired attitude through the first few holes, I genuinely loved being at Dormie and having the opportunity to see world-class golf course architecture laid out in front of me. The third hole for instance struck me as a perfect match-play hole, ideal for putting pressure on an opponent with a well-placed drive or a green-in-regulation. The two-tiered green complex was outstanding, and could offer a wide array of pin placements.

The seventh hole, a remarkable par-three, measured out at 207 yards that day. In the pouring rain, with nothing to lose, I pulled driver — an astonishing choice considering my accuracy issues this day — and hit my best shot of our nine-hole round. A small cut right at the pin, crashing into the new pond forming on the front of the green and settling 15 feet from the hole. Golf, what a game.

After the seventh, it was clear — we’d face standing water on almost every green from here on out. The tide wasn’t turning in our favor, and neither was the radar, so group consensus led us back to the pro-shop to beg for another shot at this gem once the greens re-appeared. On our way back in, just in case we didn’t get a chance to come back, we drove past every hole on the second nine, playing them in our minds and imagining the shots we’d hit.

There was a feeling of mystery, watching an empty golf course reveal itself through the rain-spotted windshield of our golf cart. The holes whirled past us, each one seemingly stronger than the last. Our tour crescendoed at seventeen, challenging would-be players with the boldest sand hazard on the course. We drove up the hill to the eighteenth tee box and took a last look at Dormie.

As we stacked our damp golf bags and wet shoes in the car, a few guys were just pulling into the impromptu parking lot outside the trailer. This foursome had just arrived into town with the same idea as us, and they faced the same circumstances. They rolled down their windows, took one look at us, and exclaimed we were all they needed to see, they’d try again before May.

It was barely 11:30 A.M. on Saturday, but that was a wrap for Dormie. We were off to enjoy more breweries and barbecue, if nothing else.

Chapter 5: Talamore

“Nobody is going to the driving range, just tee off right now”

Sunday morning arrived, and with our window of weather opportunity severely hampered the further we went past 11:00 A.M., we had a decision to make. We had two real options at golf on Sunday: we could play Pinehurst #8 mid-morning, or Talamore before 9:00 A.M. Battered from Saturday’s washout, we couldn’t stomach the idea of starting and not-finishing #8, and without any real pre-determined excitement in Talamore we figured we’d at least give it a shot, for a fraction of the cost. All things considered, we had a great day, but looking back I regret the decision to not give Pinehurst a chance on Sunday.

Truth be told, a big part of me felt terrible for giving up on Dormie Club the day prior. In my heart, I didn’t feel like a fair-weather golfer, but the choice to quit was eating at me. Still, I continued to justify our decision to leave, telling myself standing water on the greens and plugged golf balls in the fairway was enough to call it a day.

All signs were pointing towards more of the same for Sunday, and we weren’t prepared to roll the dice on a costly round, knowing what was lurking around the corner. So, we loaded up and arrived at Talamore for what would be a surprisingly dry and fun day of golf, against all odds. Being able to hit full golf shots and roll putts was enough to help us forget about everything else.

Our experience at Talamore was perfectly enjoyable, a course that would be better than most of our daily tracks at home, but yet somehow felt out of place here in the sand hills. The course is woven through a neighborhood, with many holes lined with condominiums. I try not to judge a course based on my made-up ratios of homes-to-fairway proximity, but it was a notable variance from the other courses we’d see. I don’t think I’d send anyone visiting the Pinehurst-region to play Talamore specifically, but it was a suitable option at a reasonable price-point, certain to answer the mail for a group of golf trippers like us.

The course itself exhibits a handful of fine holes with variable design features and exciting greens from architect, Rees Jones. Talamore requires more of an aerial strategy, with many forced carries and front-greenside hazards. What Talamore lacks in width and angles, aspects of course design most architecture aficionados assign value in, it makes up for with large and unique green complexes, capable of rewarding solid approaches and challenging a player to get down in two from afar.

The rain finally moved in on our last hole of the day, a fitting ending to our second full round of golf in three days. We had time to kill, and there was no better place for us to kill it than The Deuce.

Chapter 6: Thistle Dhu and The Deuce

“I’m wetter than a fish, but what else are we gonna do?”

A few familiar faces were walking towards us, strutting proudly past the statue of Payne Stewart, dripping from head to toe, pull-carts in tow. The same group of men who, just a day prior at Dormie Club, took one look at us from the parking lot and called it quits were now strolling in from their round on Pinehurst #2, laughing as the sky continued to fall down. The joy on their faces was mixed with their obvious relief to be under the cover of the clubhouse portico. They stopped and told us all about their round on #2, and the disappointment they felt to give up on playing the day before. Their remorsefulness about skipping Dormie altogether was contagious, as I began to feel the same way, wishing we had instead chosen to play Pinehurst #8 instead of Talamore that morning and just dealt with whatever Mother Nature had in store.

Despite my second-guessing, I learned a great lesson from these four men, twice my age and weary from the six mile walk they just finished. The experience isn’t just the golf you play, but the memories you inherit from the time spent together. Did they play well? Surely, no.

But would they ever forget playing Donald Ross’s masterpiece on that February day? Absolutely not.

They shuffled inside and into the locker room. I smiled and looked across the 18th green, tucked under Payne Stewart’s guarding shadow, here, the scene of so many great American golf moments. A new outlook on our unlucky circumstances set-in: cold hands will warm-up again, clothes will dry out, but some things can’t be replaced with a rain check.

My spirit rejuvenated, I recruited two of my friends and headed out into the pouring rain; a date with Thistle Dhu, the 18-hole putting course at Pinehurst, awaited.

With more than 120 years of history beneath our feet and not a soul in sight, three of us, smiles beaming from ear-to-ear, began one of the more unique golf matches I’ll remember. Several new creeks ran across the massive putting green, each capable of carrying a golf ball several feet in the wrong direction. With confidence I can say we navigated Thistle Dhu differently than any of the thousands who came before us, aiming not for pins or predictable lines, but instead hitting putts with unimaginable force towards the nearest body of water, hoping to hitch a ride with the currents. Once again, I had been shown fun comes in the simplest of forms, and you’re never too old for a putt-off. Thistle Dhu translates to “this’ll do” in spoken english. There’s no better way to sum up a ramble around the best miniature golf course in America.

“Should we have a putting contest down the hallway?”

The magic of Pinehurst was alive and well as we rang in last-call at The Deuce. I was happier than I’d been all weekend, filled with the energy I’d been searching for all along, and grateful for these moments that would last a lifetime. The next morning we’d play Tobacco Road, and for the first time since arriving here, nobody cared about the radar.

Chapter 7: Tobacco Road

“I’ve never been more excited to lose a golf ball”

Tobacco Road architect, the late Mike Strantz, is famously quoted as saying, “I don’t care if people think my courses are too hard.” This mantra is emblazoned inside the yardage book for anyone who considers complaining about the experience waiting to greet them. For the eight of us, who four days earlier spent more time cursing the weather than playing golf, Mike Strantz’s challenge was most welcome — as long as the course was open, we didn’t care how difficult it was.

The heavy air was downright moody as we gathered on the first tee box. In front of us, massive hills sitting on opposite sides of the fairway framed a landing area seemingly the size of a car. For those of us playing Tobacco Road for the first time, our eyes would continue to deceive us, irrespective of the secrets the yardage book divulged.

We let loose our drives, hoping for the best as they flew closer to the not-so-friendly-bumpers on this bowling lane of a golf hole. It was immediately apparent, we were in for a wild ride — best embrace the boldness or suffer the consequences. By the time we reached my favorite hole on the front-nine, the short par-four fifth hole, I had started settling into the craziness of everything. The scale, the imagination, the trickery — everything about Tobacco Road exudes the purest spirit of golf’s creativity.

Trust in numbers is essential here. Having your finger on the pulse of your game and understanding what shots you can hit, and those you cannot, will guide you to an all-time day at Tobacco Road. I found the course to be both incredibly fair and consistently challenging at the same time. I never felt to be in a position where I was forced to hit an uncomfortable shot — another option always seemed to be in-play. On nearly every hole, Strantz sets up multiple perspectives for a player to consider, urging them to play bold and capture birdies, or play safely and have a good look at par and bogey. Hesitation is punished however, with massive hazards lingering near the bravest lines of play.

It’s hard to measure up Tobacco Road to anything else I’ve played, but the comparisons are out there, from Lahinch to Enniscrone, Carne to Cruden Bay. What’s obvious is this: Tobacco Road belongs in a league all her own, especially in America. Within our two foursomes, we had a career-low score, a career high-score, and an endless supply of laughter and rekindled joy for the game. We saw everything from eagle to triple-bogey, zero lost balls to buying more at the turn.

Unequivocally, it’s my favorite course I’ve ever played. Not because I played well — I didn’t — but because it made me feel like a kid again, discovering the joy of his first wiffle-ball homerun in the front yard, or the first time he rode a bike without training wheels. The spectrum of emotions experienced at Mike Strantz’s masterpiece are sure to bind generations of golfers together through eternity.

Closing Thoughts

Our trunks slammed shut for the last time on this trip. Wet golf bags, muddy shoes, and crisp new polos thrown into the same vessel, this time pointing not towards another course, but home. We had come together for different reasons; for the love of the game, or a chance to see old friends, or maybe even just an excuse to get away for four days. Eight golfers, gluttons for punishment, each of us justifying our reasons for being there, each of us facing the harsh reality of an uncontrollable forecast.

What did we walk away with in the end? New merch from the various pro-shops, a few soggy scorecards, and a venmo request for the bill? Or was there more to this story?

I left Pinehurst with a fresh perspective on time, and an appreciation for camaraderie; for embracing the kindness of strangers, and returning positivity to others; for not taking the gifts in front of us for granted, and making the most of every opportunity. I’m beyond grateful for the four days spent in the cold rain because I’ve finally come to understand, the journey is the reward.

~RJK.