Playing (on) the Old Course at St. Andrews

Earlier this week, the Old Course at St. Andrews finished hosting the 144th British Open. Scotland, of course, is the birthplace of golf, which has been played at St. Andrews since the 1400s. As one of the two sports invented by Scotland, golf looms large in the nation's sporting psyche and draws many thousands of visitors each year to play its famed courses.

The most famous course, and by far the biggest draw, is the Old Course in St. Andrews. Sportscasters intone solemnly about the Old Course as the "home" of golf. Experts expound on intricacies of Scottish winds and dreich weather, of devilish sand bunkers, of the blind tee shot on the "road hole" at the 17th. Golfers make pilgrimages to the Old Course, scheduling trips a year in advance to secure a coveted slot to play.

Crazy old man seizes the flag on the 17th hole.

Many folks don't realize, however, that it's easy to play a round on the course.

{Ed.'s note: Really? Easy to play a round?}

Okay, that's not quite true. It's easy to play around on the Old Course. We've been to St. Andrews three times, and each time have frolicked on the links.

Yep, the Old Course is actually a public park

On most Sundays, the Old Course is open to the public. Which means you can wander around freely. Take a picnic. Walk the dog. Sunbathe. Throw a frisbee.

Bring a ball and let your dog roam (under control).

The right of the public to enjoy the links goes back to a charter set out by an archbishop in the mid-1500s. It's a "right" with limits — for the other days of the week, obviously, the course is reserved for golf — but nonetheless you have a good chance of showing up on Sunday and finding the course open.

The Royal and Ancient Golf Club at the first tee.

Locals and tourists alike stroll the course on Sundays. Some use it as an easy shortcut to get to the beach just beyond its edge. Others play fetch with their dogs. A handful take guided tours, either for an hour (my choice) or up to three hours. Many are content just to snap photos, smell the sea breeze, and head off for ice cream.

As a surprise to many, the Old Course, as well as several other companion courses in St. Andrews, is not controlled by the Royal and Ancient Golf Club (R&A), which sits at the first tee. Indeed, the R&A is only one of several golf clubs with access to the courses. Even local hotels can offer weekend packages and tee times.

Instead, the courses are managed by the St. Andrews Links, a public trust. Unlike a fiercely private club like Augusta with the Masters course, St. Andrews Links must provide access to any golfers with a sufficient handicap (24 for men; 36 for women). Some tee times are reserved months in advance, but nearly half are won by lottery 48 hours in advance. And it's possible to show up in the morning and squeeze into a duo or trio, who are supposed to "warmly welcome" a singleton or duo into their group.

Heather, hills, and Hell

For the times when it hosts the Open, the Old Course tends to get tamed and manicured for television consumption. But at other times, the gorse and heather are allowed to grow a bit. Scottish courses are generally less trimmed and proper than American courses. The rough is actually rough. With few landscaped trees, the wind can gust and swirl. And the frequent rain can leave spots boggy.

The Old Course can look a bit scruffy.

Moreover, the topography of the land determines the layout of the course. That's the reverse of most U.S. courses, which are designed and then landscaped into place. Scottish courses abound with awkward slopes, inconvenient patches of rough, and undulating greens.

As one tour guide told me, American courses are manscaped for ease and beauty, while Scottish courses are for men.

The most interesting feature on the Old Course, however, are the bunkers. All 112 of them. Each one named.

"The Spectacles." "The Sands of Nakajima." "The Coffins."

"Hell."

The bunker on the 14th hole called simply, "Hell."

The size, shape, and location of many of these bunkers were not predetermined. In fact, many have arisen naturally over the centuries. A good number were created by, of all things, sheep. Before the introduction of lawnmowers, sheep were often used to trim the course. Those same sheep often burrowed down into the sandy soil to escape the hard-blowing winds from the North Sea, a process which readily can be seen on the Isle of Iona's golf course.

Sheep range freely over Iona's golf course, creating their own bunkers as they burrow out of the wind.

Bunker cluster.

Some bunker walls on the Old Course reach as high as ten feet, though most seem to be roughly six or seven feet deep. The bunkers are notorious for golfers trying — and failing — to escape them by trying to hit over the high walls instead of backwards onto the fairway. One of golf's greatest golfers, Bobby Jones, hit into a bunker on the 11th, made four failed attempts to get his ball out, and simply walked off the course. The famed road hole bunker on the 17th is nicknamed "The Sands of Nakajima" after golfer Tsuneyuki Nakajima was tied for the lead in the third round in 1978, only to fall out of contention when it took him four shots to get out of the bunker.

The bunker walls are built with stacked turf.

18 holes and not one more

Until quite recently, the R&A governed the game of golf worldwide, except for Mexico and the United States. (Nowadays, an offshoot of the R&A jointly issues the "Rules of Golf" in conjunction with the United States Golf Association.) Back in the 19th century, the R&A began standardizing and codifying the rules of golf.

One of the most significant reasons for why the Old Course reigns as the "home" of golf stems from its role in standardizing golf courses at 18 holes. In the early days, golf courses could be any number of holes, from five or six to 25 or more. In the 1700s, the Old Course itself was 22 holes, generally played by heading out for 11 holes and then turning around and playing the same holes backward toward the clubhouse. Incidentally, even today there are seven "double greens," which means fourteen of the holes share a green with another hole.

Eventually, the Old Course's first four holes and its last four holes were deemed too short. The members took these eight shorter holes and combined them into four.

The tee marker for the Old Course's 18th hole.

And thus the Old Course settled on 18 holes.

With the Old Course's role as one of the rotating hosts for the British Open, and the R&A's role as the governor of golf rules, 18 holes became standardized across the world.

Go ahead, strike a pose on the Swilcan Bridge

Everyone does it, even the pros.

Built at least 700 years ago, the Swilcan Bridge originally helped shepherds guide their sheep (remember those bunkers?) over a creek. Today, it guides golfers and tourists over the channeled Swilcan Burn on the 18th hole.

Champions at the Open pose on the apex of the bridge, usually with the 18th green and R&A building in the background. Jack Nicklaus bid his farewell to golf atop the bridge. Tom Watson, on retiring after his final round, kissed it.

The pose on the bridge has become an iconic scene, one of the most famous in golf, and of all sports.

You can pose, too.

Conquer the Old Course . . . well, actually . . . er . . . its putting green

So you're not a real golfer, but you still want to play on the Old Course?

You're in luck. To the side sits the Himalayas, a miniature golf course set on the rippling hills of the real Old Course.

Sadly, Nana didn't read the break to the right.

Operated by the St. Andrews Ladies Putting Club, the Himalayas gives you a taste of playing the real course. Truth be told, making putts on the Himalayas is harder than putting on the Old Course itself. No joke. Your putting line may break both left and right, along with ascending a hill and trickling down the far side. Pin positions change daily, and the crew seems to delight in ensuring no one will make a hole-in-one. Be ready for three putts. And four putts. And five.

Okay, maybe a six, too. Ahem.

Grampa Bill didn't make this putt.

{Ed.'s note: C'mon, admit it. You needed more than six.}

Fine. I got a frickin' eight on a hole.

The shame.

Unsurprisingly, this unorthodox golf grip does not lead to good putting.

What'll it cost you to play a round of either nine or 18 holes? All of £2. Note that kids under the age of six are only allowed to play nine holes — which, if you've ever played golf with a toddler, you'll agree is plenty.

St. Andrews is one of Scotland's most charming small towns. It has a gorgeous beach; a fabulous set of cathedral and castle ruins; an ancient university spread through town; cliffside views; a small aquarium; and, of course, golf. For many, the Old Course is a draw all by itself. Whether you walk the entire course, merely pose for a photo-op on the Swilcan Bridge, or play a round on the Himalayas, a stop at the "home of golf" is a must-see if you're visiting St. Andrews.

Mattie in Scotland

Mattie visiting Jedburgh Abbey.

Our beloved dog, Mattie, passed away last week. I am devastated.

Conquering the playground.

The end came quickly. Two weeks ago, her only symptom was an upset stomach. When diarrhea persisted for a few days and her appetite diminished a bit, Kate took her in for some tests. At that point, however, Mattie was still her same playful and perky self.

Within two days, Mattie was showing signs of discomfort, vomiting a little and even whimpering a bit in pain. That same day, her test results started to come in. We knew she had cancer, and needed further tests.

Mattie normally slept at the foot of our bed, but that night she wanted to sleep downstairs. I slept there with her.

By the next afternoon, a Saturday, we took her to the university's veterinary hospital, where Kate is a professor of pathology. Over the next 24 hours, Mattie was diagnosed with hepatosplenic lymphoma (liver, spleen, bone marrow, possibly elsewhere), an aggressive cancer which doesn't respond well to chemotherapy. Additionally, she suffered from pancreatitis, GI inflammation, and some blood clotting issues.

By the next day, she had stopped eating. Although her pain was manageable, she was deteriorating quickly. The following morning (last Tuesday), she was nearing the end, and we had to euthanize her. Though the cancer was the root cause of her illness, ultimately it was a variety of secondary effects which did her in.

A blustery winter morning on the shores of the Moray Firth in northeastern Scotland.

We had hoped to stabilize Mattie during her hospital stay, to see if we could eke out a few weeks or months of time. Let her come home, take some walks, perhaps even go for a hike or two. Though chemo was not likely to be of much help, we were prepared to spend the money anyway to see how the cancer responded after a first round. {Ed.'s note: In veterinary practice, chemotherapy for dogs is generally not pursued as a cure, but instead as a management of the disease.} Unfortunately, we never got the chance.

Hiking on the Isle of Skye.

Mattie (short for Matterhorn, a mountain in Bern, Switzerland) was nearing her ninth birthday which, for a Bernese Mountain Dog, is bang on for the average life span. Given how active and spry she was, however, I truly expected to have more time with her. Perhaps not years more, but nonetheless a long span of time. Instead, she went from vigorous and spirited to organ failures in less than a week.

Jackson misses his dog, but has not completely grasped the concept of death. We took him into the hospital to say a final goodbye. After she was euthanized, we had him see Mattie again while we explained that she had died. By doing so, we were hoping to make her death a concrete fact for him. We explained that we won't see her again; she could no longer see or breathe or play or eat or walk; that she was gone forever. When we have our discussions —which he initiates every day, at least for a few minutes — he nods and says he understands. But then some days he'll ask when Mattie will come home from the hospital, or wonder if she needs a toy to play with. Death is not quite as concrete a concept as we had hoped, though I suppose that's natural at his age.

Goofy dog trying to get attention.

I take solace from knowing she led a good and happy life. Her last 15 months — her time in Scotland — were among her best. She no longer had to wait through a workday until we got home. Instead, she had both Jackson and me around full time. We enjoyed numerous walks and hikes. The cooler weather allowed her to lounge outdoors year round, unlike our years in North Carolina when the summer months meant mostly air conditioning and early morning walks. Since Scotland is more dog-friendly than the States, Mattie came more places with us: restaurants, stores, hotels, historic sites.

Crossing the famous Swilcan Bridge on the Old Course in St. Andrews.

Someday I'll write more about wonderful Mattie. She was my first dog. At the moment, it feels like I could never allow myself another.

For now, here are more pictures celebrating Mattie's life here in Scotland. These are some of the images by which I will always remember her.

Posing briefly outside Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye.

Grungy after a hike in Mugdock Park outside Glasgow.

Photobombing at the Machrie Moor stone circles on the Isle of Arran.

Reenacting when the giant, Fingal, tethered his dog at the stone circles.

Christmas morning with a new bone and sock monkey.

Kate took this selfie at Neist Point on the Isle of Skye.

Playing on the beach at Chanonry Point. She loved playing in sand, but wasn't too keen about water with waves.

Resting during a hike in Glencoe.

Exploring the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey.

Romping amidst the ruins with Jackson.

A rainy day walk along the Forth & Clyde canal.

At the Armadale ferry dock on the Isle of Skye, a fabulous landscape photographer has his shop. He takes impromptu photos of the dogs who pass by. (Photo by grumpygeorge)

One of our best hikes ever was on the Quiraing at the northern end of the Isle of Skye.

This photo, on the same hike on the Quiraing, is titled: "Pooping with a view."

On a walk with Grampa Bill.

Every so often, Kate took Mattie to work with her. At lunch they would take walks along the River Clyde in Glasgow.

On the banks of Loch Lomond.

We hiked only a few hours on the West Highland Way. It's one of my great disappointments that Mattie won't be able to hike the full trail with me.

An idyllic morning at the ruins of St. Blane's Church on the Isle of Bute.

I could write "a boy with his dog." But really, it was Mattie with her boy.

If you would, just for me, give your dog a big hug. And take her for a walk today, no matter the weather. You may not know until it's too late when it will be your last opportunity.

This blog is inspired by the idea of carpe diem, of taking opportunities to stretch your boundaries and live without regrets. While I would have loved to have had Mattie for longer, I feel good that I was able to spend quantity and quality time with her. I'm not filled with regret about failing to do things with her and for her.

Nonetheless, Mattie's death helps reminds me that we just don't know how the future will turn out. Live the life you want now. Before it's too late.

We miss you, Mattie. Thanks for being a fantastic companion.

First post

We moved to Scotland six weeks ago. Most of our stuff is unpacked. We've bought furniture and appliances and a car, set up a bank account and mobile phones and satellite television. Yet I have a lingering feeling of disbelief. The reality of moving to a foreign country — and not just visiting for an extended vacation — hasn't sunk in. We didn't buy return flights to North Carolina? Our (small) allotment of vacation days isn't being exhausted? We live here now? We live in Scotland? A place with castles and whisky and golf and haggis and tartans?

Culzean "Castle," which is really a seaside country estate built on the bones of an older castle.

Our lives just took a turn onto the road less traveled. As expatriates, we're certainly not unique; a few million U.S. citizens currently live abroad. Moving to the U.K. barely qualifies as expatriating, but rather as expat-lite. Nevertheless, about 99% of American citizens will never live outside the U.S. borders.

Now we're immigrants. We have new cultural and legal rules to learn. I've had half of a year to get used to the idea. Excitement. Pride. Commitment.

Whisky with my haircut?  Well, if you insist.

More strangely: I'm also now a blogger?

Blogging unsettles me. I lean mildly toward introversion. I can barely muster the interest/effort/courage/witticism to post on Facebook a couple of times a month. I enjoy hearing about your life, seeing too many pictures of your kid, reading your amateurish forays into political opinions, wondering about why you're friends with that moron, blocking all the updates about the games you play, hitting "Like" to support big events in your life. However, I'm not especially keen on sharing those details about me.

Yet here is my first blog post.

By blogging, I want to accomplish several goals, whether concurrently or variously or just occasionally. I hope it can help keep me connected to friends and family, to let them vicariously experience our lives in Scotland. Meanwhile, although it is unlikely anyone outside my small circle will read this blog, the possibility exists and so I will try to make it accessible to others.

Blogging also will help chronicle the life of my young son, Jackson. Since I'll be spending most of my time as a stay at home dad, my blog will be filtered through the challenges fun of raising a toddler.

Jackson monkeying around in the fishing village of Anstruther, home of the best chippie in Scotland.

Viewed in another way, if I get hit by a bus, this blog may help little Jack know something about me when he's older.

I'm going to try to share some insight into visiting and living in Scotland, and by extension into visiting and living in the U.K. and abroad generally. We plan on traveling throughout Scotland, the U.K., and Europe. Despite the challenges of setting up life here and my wife starting her job three weeks ago, we've already spent time in the last six weeks as tourists in Edinburgh, St. Andrews, Stirling, and Glen Coe, as well as exploring our home city of Glasgow and environs such as Loch Lomond.

A view down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh.

I'm a history buff and will delve into historical trivia. I'm a musician who hopes to hear great music in the concert hall and find great bands in the pubs. I love museums and architecture and paintings and cathedrals. I'm a sports fan who just this week attended the British Open and a Celtic football match.  I'm a political junkie who will follow British politics, including next year's referendum on Scottish independence. I'm looking forward to describing the myriad flavors of crisps, what it's like to wear a kilt, and just how remote the Outer Hebrides are.

Mattie, Kate, and Jackson posed on the 700 year old Swilcan Bridge on the Old Course in St. Andrews. Most Sundays the Old Course is open to the public for picnics, dog walks, and tours.

And, admittedly, blogging gives me something to do.

With luck, I'd like to inspire you to move abroad. You might have pondered it already. Perhaps dismissed it as impossible. Maybe somewhere in this blog you'll find a nugget to help you.