Quirky Golf in Aberlady
I arrived at Ducks Inn via Uber from Edinburgh after the train from Manchester. About an hour before my tee time at Kilspindie, I checked into my room, got changed for golf, and hitched a ride to the course from the hotel receptionist.
As the card shows, Kilspindie is not a particularly long course. That said, it does not play short. This was a proper introduction to the Scottish links, and quite different from the English links courses I had played in the weeks prior. As the landscapes got hillier farther north, the golf did too.
At Kilspindie, most all the holes can be seen from the high point of the fifth green. I had a perfect day, 65 and sunny, with views up and down the Firth of Forth. Families were picnicking on the beach and dogs were running around just below me. The breeze was coming in from the east and I inhaled the ocean smell with every breath. I texted my dad, is this heaven?
On the tee of 14 I realized I needed to replay the previous eight holes, so I hopped one tee box over to 6, and am glad I did. I had a run of five straight 3s that second time around. At times that afternoon, it felt like I was playing in a dream. But it briefly became a nightmare when I eventually turned into the wind on 15 and 16. At least I played it low and topped it off the tee of 15. But, after walking off the 18th green, I felt it necessary to play the first again to have 27 holes. I walked to the green with only my putter, just three hours after having parred it the first time.
I then stood in the carpark for another person come by, in hopes they would give me a ride. I admittedly had my eye on the single playing a few holes behind me, convinced it would work since the 15th.
After my ride home, I ended my day with duck pate and foie gras appetizer followed by a sea bream entrée and then sticky toffee pudding. I washed that all down with a Glenlivet before retiring to my room, passed the pictures of Louis, Ernie, Darren and Paul holding their Claret Jugs.
After breakfast the next morning, I stopped at the front desk and asked Fiona, the owner’s wife, the best bet for getting to my tee time at Gullane #2 in 30 minutes. After insufficient calls to taxis, she blurted “we are in rural Scotland after all”, rolled her eyes, and offered to drive me to the club.
I checked in at the starter’s shack and he directed me to the first tee, explained the direction I would go, and assured me of some “crackin’ views” once I crested Gullane Hill. There was excitement on the third as I summitted the hill and was rewarded with those “crackin’” views of the firth from a height of land. While there were no holes along the water, the angle the course was laid out atop the hill allowed for views of the water on all holes on this side.
Having a range finder helped on all the new courses I played on my trip. It allowed me to gain insider knowledge that could only be learned from years of playing the course. As I shot my number on the eleventh, I watched a 12-year-old miss a five-foot birdie putt and lose his temper. It reminded me of my younger self. The karma associated with my intrusion was repaid on the next hole. From the middle of the fairway, I zapped my approach at 90yds and then chunked it into a pot bunker. Having waved me through, they were standing right next to me.
By now I had figured out the taxi system in rural Scotland. After my sub-3 hour round at Gullane #2, I got picked up by one of the two local cabbies, Alan. A golfer himself, he was happy to share information about the local clubs. I asked him if he could pick me up in a few hours for my next tee time. I needed to change clothes and eat some lunch before my round at North Berwick.
Alan picked me up at Ducks about an hour before my tee time. I attempted to nap between rounds but ended up staring blankly at the ceiling. I was in complete disbelief that I was in Aberlady about to play a course I had heard about since I was 10. Save for The Old Course, there was not a course I had heard more about from my dad than this one. “It has a wall!” As Alan dropped me off, he told me there was a chance he could play early the next morning at Gullane #3 if I wanted more. I needed more.
When I arrived at North Berwick, families were on the communal putting green, kids were flying kites, and surfers were walking to and from the beach on paths cutting across golf holes. I hit a few putts and was introduced to my caddie, Alan. He had just finished a loop and lit a cigarette as he informed me of the windy conditions. I alerted him that I was not out to set the course record, so I played up a tee at his suggestion. I was not at North Berwick to test my game; I was going for the experience.
This was my only round of my 3-week UK golf trip where I took a caddie. I felt it necessary because I wanted to be entirely focused on my round. I wanted to focus on the golf holes and how they played through the old livestock walls. And for being generally considered one of the “most fun” courses in the world, I did not want to overlook any inch of it.
Alan pointed out Bass Rock, Fidra, and the island that inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Taking a caddie allowed me to focus on the architecture of the golf course; the figure-eight layout, the template holes, and the blind approaches. I wanted no part in carrying a bag. This was my experience.
The wall along “the Pit” hole has been written about for over a century. The stone wall, running parallel to the hole, plays like an inverted burn. The closer one plays to it off the tee, the less the wall plays into the psychology of the approach on this par 4. Play out to the right off the tee and the player must now carry the wall and stop the ball on the narrow front-to-back green. As it says in the course book “don’t argue with the wall – it’s older than you.”
Before my approach, I told myself to breathe, commit, and be thankful for where golf had taken me. In that moment I was the only person in the world playing “the Pit”. I then hit my best iron of the day and two-putted for par. After my thin-to-win blind approach into Perfection, followed by a two-putt par, I got to the Redan.
I will not say much about the most copied hole in golf besides that I committed the cardinal sin of under-clubbing, thinking I could hit the same shot I hit into 13. The miss on the redan is generally long, and it certainly is here. Alan apologized several times but there was no sense in blaming him. I made double, but the sour taste only lasted a hole as I made a climbing putt from off the green onto the Biarritz green for par on 16. Alan and I laughed that it was the only putt I made that day. Besides my hole-in-one years ago, that is the most memorable shot of my life.
I lipped out on 18 for birdie and thanked Alan for a great day.
After my round I enjoyed a pint while looking down the first and up the eighteenth. North Berwick had everything that I love in a golf experience. It was unpretentious yet knew it was world-class. It was quirky but not gimmicky. And most importantly, it was fun. A round that now occupies a slice of my brain that had previously only been occupied by Pine Valley and Merion (East). Alan then took me back to Ducks, but not before offering to take me to Gullane #3 for a 7:44am tee time.
I headed down to dinner with my journal for another outstanding meal of Cullen Skink, a traditional Scottish soup of haddock and potatoes, a duck entrée, and an immaculate chocolate dessert.
After a nip of whisky, I was excited to head up to my room before 10:30 and get a good night’s sleep. As I walked through to leave, Malcolm Duck, the owner, invited me to sit with him and his friends for a drink. Malcolm was grateful for my business and his friends were curious of how I ended up here in the middle of the pandemic. They were impressed that I was doing this trip solo and that I had correctly pronounced the names of their courses. Ninety minutes later, and after three more nips, I was dreading my early wake up.
I woke up the next morning at 7:15am and still managed to get in a shower. Sometimes the hungover shower is exactly what you need, and other times it spits on you and only adds insult to injury. On our 10-minute drive, Alan concluded that I would give him eight strokes. He was annoyed at me on the first tee, saying I should never had paid the six pounds for my round, so he offered to buy me lunch. A shaky putting round gave him an easy victory, but I still birdied the last hole of my trip.
It was important to me to stay in the present on my trip to Scotland. Traveling alone made that easy. I could walk the golf course at my own pace and flag down a ride when I was too tired to keep playing. Meeting fellow golfers neither of my generation or nationality again showed me why this is the greatest game. And to top it off, I had managed to play 81 holes within a 40-hour window under consistent sunshine.
