Golfadelphia

Know what you’ve got when you see it and know when to quit – Bill Coore

If we are to preserve the integrity of golf as left to us by our forefathers, it is up to all of us to carry on the true spirit of the game - Ben Crenshaw

There’s a section at the Philadelphia Art Museum I always spend the majority of my time when I find myself there. On the second floor at the east end, it’s the impressionists. Some of the paintings take me to that time and place, I feel like I’m in the tavern or at the lily pond, everything about to spring to life any moment. Trees blowing in the wind while the church bells slowly gong, melodically. Then there’s the abstract. That’s a different story altogether but Vonnegut wrote at length about abstract and how it is largely up to those viewing the art to come up with their own interpretation of it. There is no reality anchor like with impressionism, or even cubism. Abstract interests me because it’s a different experience every time based on a variety of factors, such as how I’m feeling that particular day or even how I remember a particular piece last time I saw it. Golf and art, these are two things Philadelphia does very well.

The feeling I get walking through those annals of art at our treasured museum is how I feel playing the golf courses of Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw. It’s like sitting in a boat softly gliding down a stream. The impressionism is the setting that they’re always able to accentuate instead of manufacture while the abstract is the structure of play, leaving it to the golfer how best to go about it. There’s nuance and subtlety for those paying attention yet beauty and elegance for us all.

This all largely escaped me the first time I came upon one of their designs. That was Kapalua Plantation in Maui when I was just starting to take golf a little more seriously. Essentially, I only knew the views were tremendous and the tour played there and not to pay attention to how many balls I would lose. Yet playing it, I started realizing that the size of the course (I was thinking about scale) was fitting for the immense hills and views, which at times seemed like I could reach out and touch the ocean. I started seeing that the ball would roll so that where I initially aimed and landed it mattered much less than where it would end up. This led to a bogey at the last, which I was happy with yet more importantly, I felt there was some bonding with the land during the round. It was a more transcendent feeling that really, felt like most of why I enjoyed being out there in the first place. That stayed with me for some time.

Almost five years later and now with Golfadelphia up and running, I found myself some where much different than the Maui coastline; the Sonoran desert. Talking Stick North consisted of much different views and gone were the verdant lushness and vibrant Pacific blue that pervaded at Kapalua. Instead, the charred rocky horizon made you really work to find the fascination in the terrain. The dry river beds and native scrub tumbleweed showcased the barren beauty of the desert scape, the seemingly infinite horizon beyond each shot. The strategy and options started to present themselves more as my competency to get around a golf course had improved somewhat since Kapalua. Despite the stark differences between Kapalua and Talking Stick, there was at least one main constant; how I felt after the round. It was that transcendent, peaceful feeling where I was able to meaningfully reconnect with the land. As I wrote about the course almost ten years ago, ”At the Thirteenth green after one of my all time best up and downs, I took my ball out of the hole and realized just how isolated and quiet it was.  Looking in all directions (except back at the fairway), was vast desert with mountains rising in the far distance and wild horses grazing nearby.  Although I was ecstatic about my first birdie of the year, I was more intrigued with how I was able to get a very real sense of the surroundings as they likely existed before this course, or Phoenix for that matter.  To me, that’s part of what Coore and Crenshaw are trying to achieve and at that point, it didn’t matter how the rest of the round went.” 

The most interesting courses are the ones that looked like they were discovered on that property. They don’t look like they were brought there or manufactured there. They look like the property. They have the inherent character of the property. – Bill Coore

Bill Coore has this delightful grandfatherly tone when he speaks which puts one at ease. He talks about his work fondly and mainly by getting into detail about the land and people involved in the project. Rarest of all as it concerns golf course architects, there’s no defensiveness; he storytells more than anything else and focuses on what he and Ben Crenshaw tried to evoke at each project. He doesn’t focus on what criticisms may come or the disagreements with the client or tries to explain away why this hole or that isn’t exactly what he wanted. It’s refreshing. In fact, it’s as graceful as the work upon which he and his partner have laid out there for us to enjoy. Most refreshingly of all, it’s genuine. You get the sense that the man loves what he does and loves talking about it. 

Incredibly, it would be another five years before I set foot on another course designed by Coore and Crenshaw. It was the walking trail leading to the First tee that set the tone. Wood chips, pine and sand underneath softened my steps while the smell of evergreen filled the air. The walk through Bandon Trails that day, with gentle showers coming down every now and then, was enough. The artistry in the design that deeply encapsulated the sense of place as it transitioned from one eco system to another was enough. I fell in love walking off the Eighteenth as night fell. My soul sang and wouldn’t stop. It was more of the same at the Preserve, where the ocean was always the backdrop to the light hearted comedy about the costal hills. Walking away, that same transcendent fulfillment as those before it.  

Coore and Crenshaw became partners in 1986, then did nothing for a long while. A conversion of fate with a touch of irony brought the two together. Coore had worked for Dye, who eventually set him to work permanently at Waterwood National, a course Coore helped Pete and Roy Dye design and build. He was not getting a whole lot of projects when a few prominent developers told him he needed a big name tour pro as a partner. One of them told him point blank that he liked his work but wouldn’t, or couldn’t, bring him on without a big name that could be used for marketing. One of them actually asked if he could partner up with a tour player, who would it be and Coore mentioned Crenshaw based on his past comments of being interested in architecture and based on Crenshaw’s work at Las Colinas. Such was the 1980’s where marketing and housing developments and big name draws were more important than, well, the design of the course. And so it was that the trend of one era brought these two together, whom then carried course design into another era. They eventually met at a potential site, brought together by a developer. The site was close to Coore’s first solo design, Rockport Country Club, so he asked Crenshaw if he’d like to visit, which he did. The two got on famously and their partnership casual at first quickly became more formalized. Crenshaw insisted that Coore’s name be first, just another aspect of the grace and fate that pervades in their work and relationship.

In the wake of the savings and loan crisis, their first four projects never transpired. It would be five years before they would see their first courses built, with Barton Creek and Kapalua both opening in 1991.  Their design philosophy is grounded in minimalism in more ways than one. While they have always adhered to minimal land movement and manipulation, they have also made sure to take on a limited amount of projects at one time. Coore has said they always wanted to build a few good courses. It is this restraint that allows them to pay as much attention as possible to a given project without ever spreading too thin. This minimalism likewise applies to the sites upon which they decide to work. Their selectivity is meticulous, stringent in ensuring the land is indeed suitable for interesting golf without it being imposed upon it. Indeed, there have been famous examples of the duo desiring land beyond the confines of ownership, urging the client to purchase such land sitting just outside the boundary lines. Indeed, a lot of work goes into making it look like a course and its features had existed there all along. It’s an artistic yet exacting process that certainly takes patience yet for good reason. If you want the land to speak, you must listen closely. 

Bill and I love to work with the land, not as in an attempt to disfigure it but to let the landscape speak for itself – Ben Crenshaw

This organic approach to course design extends to their team of shapers and workers. Coore worked for Dye, who was famous for eschewing formalized plans and instead letting the dynamics on site dictate design. This approach carried over to his own practice, which in turn allowed creativity to flourish, all of it growing and developing as a natural extension of the land. The shapers and dozer operators and everyone else are a part of it, adapting to the land as it evolves even during the creation process. Very much a team effort, the artistry is finally conjured, starting at those tectonic plates deep within the terrain, rising forth in all of their own distinct personalities, which are then arranged in a cohesive expression in such manner as they were always intended; nay, destined to be.  Their commitment is to the land and as Crenshaw acknowledged their duty as custodians of the game, that duty leads to bringing forth sanctums where the game can be played and honored, all of it just as the land would want.

After Bandon Trails and Bandon Preserve, I made it more imperative to actually play their courses instead of merely talking about how much I enjoyed playing them. So I started with the closest one to me. Hidden Creek showcases their design style wonderfully. Their organic and minimalist style accentuates the wooded modestly hilly landscape just before the marshy wetlands that fans out in all directions heading to the Atlantic Ocean. A sublime presentation gets more sophisticated the more one spends time on the course, as Coore and Crenshaw took inspiration from the English heathland courses of yesteryear, which includes their slipshod passes at emulating nature that take on an ironic manufactured look. It’s brilliant and sophisticated yet seems simplistic and in many ways, can be. The layers of complexity are there, which reveal themselves over time as the golfer not just walks and plays the land, but starts to listen to it. A relatively early course in their portfolio that was designed at the same time as Friar’s Head in Long Island, Hidden Creek is some how underrated, especially considering how noteworthy it is in encompassing their design finesse.

Kapalua was the resounding success they needed, which translated into more projects. At first, most were renovations and additions to existing courses, which included Southern Hills (1992) Riviera (1993), Brook Hollow (1993) and Shady Oaks (1995). These earlier projects surely contributed to how they approached their restoration of Pinehurst 2. By the time Coore and Crenshaw began walking the course, they also had a number of their own designs to rely upon, which included nearby Dormie Club, that provided creative experience in the same sand hills as Pinehurst. Despite this experience, Number 2 was their most high profile restoration project with the most wide ranging of expectations. Gil Hanse’s restoration of Los Angeles Country Club North in 2006 was the gold standard with respect to restoration work at the time, especially in terms of the simultaneous elevation of membership and championship play. Pinehurst desired a similar effect and aside from their work to Riviera’s greens ahead of the 1995 PGA Championship, this would be their heaviest involvement with a major tour venue. Beyond that, however, Pinehurst 2 was thriving as ever yet desired change anyways. There was the additional pressure of ensuring that even though the course wanted transformational change, its continuous stature remained where it was and if anything, wanted to make sure such stature would grow even higher after the the project was completed. In short, nothing but a command performance would do for the duo.

The COVID pandemic hit yet later that year, had settled down enough for me to continue my quest for more and more Coore and Crenshaw. I found myself in the Sandhills of North Carolina, where I played Dormie Club a couple days before finally stepping foot on the hallowed grounds of Pinehurst 2 on a glorious late fall morn. The sun basked over the fairways, bunkers, greens and native grass, which they had artfully arranged years before. The U.S. Open had come and gone already, the land now with more history deep in its roots. I had not been able to play Number 2 before the restoration but its current iteration became one of my favorite strategic challenges out there. More than most any of his courses, Donald Ross appreciated the never ending pursuit of improvement and change to Pinehurst 2. After changing the greens from sand to grass in the 1930’s, he began the process of restoring the greens to their original size where weather and maintenance practices had shrunk them. Ross was never able to complete that project and passed away. It was at this point Coore and Crenshaw decided to impart their restoration, picking up where Ross left off. It was at this point where Ross had brought the course to the height of its powers and had shown the path in how to make it even better, so C&C decided to follow. Fairway width was restored, all the rough removed in place of native wire grass, which runs counter to the traditional U.S. Open set up of heavy rough and narrow fairways. Yet the USGA accepted the change, recognizing the importance of restoring Number 2 back to its proper identity and realizing the unique challenge it would present to the pros. Punishing rough would be replaced by the randomness of the natural ground and plants off fairway and tightly mowed short grass areas off green. The strategy of the course revitalized while the greens returned to a much more prominent role with restored size and sweeping short grass areas tying in to them much better. The restoration has had long lasting influence on the concept of selectivity in the iteration or period of course the project should focus as well as the importance of fairway areas tie in to the structure of play. For the two of them, an already historic design career just became even more so.

“Time.” – Ben Crenshaw, explaining what leads to interesting course design

Just as I was discovering Pinehurst 2 for myself, on the other side of the country a new course had just opened where Coore and Crenshaw embraced a design concept rarely if ever considered; no bunkers. No sand bunkers at least. The decision was more functional than anything. The windy site would render bunkers a maintenance nightmare but beyond that, the newfound challenge of a ground game fraught with hollows and rough bunkers and sleek contours as the wind sings over the coastal bluff all sounded like golfing heaven. While it was the next Coore and Crenshaw stop on my journey, the project came several years after their work at Pinehurst 2 and several other notables, including Streamsong, Cabot Cliffs, Sand Valley and Lost Farm. Their portfolio continues to grow, free of repetition yet consistent in depth and soulfulness. Sheep Ranch demonstrates their willingness to explore uncharted territory at a time when they could fall into a comfortable rhythm of style that veers towards redundancy. There were several challenges with the design here. Originally set up as a casual respite by Doak, Jim Urbina and Don Placek as thirteen holes when they built Pacific Dunes, the idea was to play to different greens from various tees however they wanted to go about it. Faced with transforming the property to an eighteen hole course as part of the Bandon collection, Coore and Crenshaw needed to figure out a routing on the compact piece of land that could accommodate the throngs of resort guests as opposed to a small group the original concept was intended for. Views would not be a problem but rather, how to best utilize the land and accentuate its unique character amidst the strong surrounding natural elements. The result is the most fun and strategic ground game at Bandon. Sure that’s almost out of necessity but also emphasizes the point just how wide-ranging such a course is. And yes, time is a dominant concept here. Time in the sense the course plays from past eras where deftness of touch and resolve against the elements were valued playing traits over lengthy brawn and the ability to impersonate a lawn dart on approach shots. And time in the sense that the course is settled within the terrain as if it would within the course of time, accommodating the fierce wind that runs through it. Finally, time in the sense that the course is situated for the long game, as Crenshaw envisioned. The design is fluid, contemplating the fickleness of the elements in molding the landscape, over time. They have not designed a course in the UK and Coore sees that as one of the more important missing pieces of their journey. The links playing components walk hand in hand with their style so grounded and so artistic in the natural elements and surroundings. Indeed, course architecture is in need of renditions of links by Coore and Crenshaw, in the UK and elsewhere. This cannot be emphasized enough. Sheep Ranch is a strong and as of now, the best, representation of their style and ethos thriving in such a setting.

Ben and I strive for uncertainty – Bill Coore

Mind you, part of their appeal is instilling links design concepts in other types of settings. Their adherence to the terrain is a cornerstone of their style with no apter example of this than Trinity Forest. The most recent of their courses I have played, fifteen years removed from when I fledged my way around Kapalua. I would say wiser but we all know better. Perhaps not wiser but certainly more adept at appreciating the subtlety and differences within their portfolio, especially after visiting another one of their courses earlier that summer. We’ll get to that in due time. Here, the site is flat, devoid of trees other than those surrounding the perimeter (the namesake forest resides there) and sits relatively high up since it is built on a landfill. Because of the landfill, Coore and Crenshaw were not able to dig in or below the ground nor could they plant any trees, so they needed to stay at the surface and any added features would be above ground. As Coore noted, “The focus had to be the rumpled ground created as the landfill settled over the decades and we tried to highlight those features.” A new strain of Zoysia was created just for the course, a shallow root hybrid that imitates fescue (fescue was used at Sheep Ranch). This uncorked the firm and fast conditions fitting for the site. It may seem to the golfer that his ball is lost in the horizon because of the vastness beyond when in reality it very well could be the ball has simply ran out of view. Like Sheep Ranch and Talking Stick to some extent, Trinity was a project where their canvas for creativity was some what limited and confined, as opposed to the freedom and space they had at other projects. Yet they thrived anyways. A different set of circumstances within which to work leaving the only option to look to the ground, the duo was right at home regardless.

The course plays like a links even if it is not in the traditional setting for one. Wind is prevalent here because of the lack of trees and how the ground sits higher up than normal. There is not much on the horizon that helps the golfer focus so he must set his own foot on the land to understand its intricacies, which he will need when the wind comes calling. One could see how this largely barren, rasping wilderness is transposed into the design. It has opportunity for those who earn it and that means understanding what the land does and where it goes, then using skill to one’s advantage. The bunkers are milestones, the features and mounds almost a lifeline for the golfer to some how mark his way. The prairie links here is sublime. It all makes you start getting creative with shots and decisions because the course seems to invite it, or at least provide the temptation. The layers of subtlety Coore and Crenshaw exhibit through their work is staggering and Trinity Forest is yet another of quite a bit of depth and substance. While the land and how it’s used is typically transcendent in one way or another with respect to their projects, here it is more specific. It is the terra firma. One must recognize and appreciate its complexity. Considering what it was beforehand, the project is truly transformational. The depth and versatility of their work is certainly on display here, creating a modern links masterpiece.

The two gentlemen gazed into the unknown. What they discussed, if anything, is between them. They had walked the land for years yet they knew there was always more to learn. At some point, they would have to decide. That decision could be one of the single most critical points in post Golden Age golf course architecture. Or it could be a cautionary tale. Relatively early on in their partnership together and looking into a lot more unknown then they likely realized, Coore and Crenshaw likely took comfort and refuge in such seas of uncertainty in the one place they could always find it. The land, always with the land. The decision was finally at hand, whether they knew so much was on the line or not. . . . what eighteen holes are we going to use?

The Sand Hills of Nebraska. Learning that such a place existed had far reaching implications for me. I drove through Nebraska when I moved from the west to east coast and it was flat as all get out all the way to Omaha and then more flat all the way to Iowa. I couldn’t believe there were majestic towers of sand in the same state, ideal for golf. It all reverberated with me and generated a wealth of enthusiasm for course design, realizing the rich natural gifts out there that were respected and preserved yet harnessed for an even deeper and more sophisticated appreciation. The remoteness, commitment to nature and spartan beauty was such a contrast to most of the heavily sculpted, well manicured golf courses that dominated the scene back then, with their miles and miles of paved cart paths. It all spoke to me even when reading about it and looking at photos. The places golf can take you.

The course was a revolutionary concept for its strict adherence to sense of place. The sand hills were indeed extraordinary in their scale and beauty yet were relatively unknown because of their remoteness. The closest town to the course is Mullen with a population of 500, then North Platte which is more than an hour away. In many ways, the course would be a shrine to the remarkable natural surrounds but not just as something to look at; the golfer was to be immersed into the landscape as if the course had been there all along in one of the most profound celebrations of terrain. And the people would need to commit to a considerable journey in order to get there. The success of the course and its ideals depended on people making that journey time and time again.

Dick was doing the proverbial field of dreams – Bill Coore

Dick Youngscap is a Lincoln developer who felt he could form a course and club in the right way that would make it remarkable, sustainable and revolutionary. A month after purchasing thousands of acres in the Sand Hills, he hired Coore and Crenshaw to survey the land and that introduction is all that was needed. The two would constantly visit over the ensuing years. Their patience and talent carefully studying the land, how it all connected and formed and moved together. How wind and light graced it, as well as how the elegant waves of undulations suggested directions of movement. The land was composed of sandier soil than many other areas, which made it less suitable for cattle grazing and more ideal for golf. This process yielded 136 potential golf holes. These holes were not contrived, invented or willed upon the land; they were just there. So with the entire concept of journey golf and the welfare of the club on the line, not to mention the firm’s burgeoning design reputation, the time was at hand for Coore and Crenshaw to settle upon the eighteen holes that would comprise Sand Hills Golf Club. These eighteen needed to best account for a natural and flowing routing that was able to incorporate the volatile wind while ensuring it could be walked, remained varied and the green sites were well guarded strategically. And so, as two stood next to each other and looked out over the hills as they had done countlessly over the last few years, they began to converse in those relaxed drawn out tones and went about it.

The course is one of the best in the world. In terms of evoking a sense of natural wonder, it is the best. In terms of minimalism, it is the best. The meticulous routing recognizes the absence of prevailing wind in turning about in the hills, allowing versatility. The structure of play is marvelous in how it rises and falls in drama, pleasantry and toil. Yet above it all, Coore and Crenshaw managed to bring that structure to the same scale as its immense natural features. The presentation on scale is likewise extraordinary. The dunes are massive and serve as bunkers and the holes make their way about them splendidly. The golfer is tempted to take them on in many instances and if they end up in them, could have to take a ladder down into their depths I’d gather as deep as 50 feet or more on some occasions. The horizon is always at hand, always adding to the scale beyond. This scale fits within the same grandeur it looks when one is taking in its sites from high atop the ridge or down below one of the valleys. It is one of the rare instances where one can take in a glorious view of the landscape, then continue that very same experience within it.  It is also what Coore and Crenshaw didn’t do that must be commended as genius. Fully aware of the naturally gifted site, there may have been temptation to try and do more in pursuit of a course that measured up to the eliteness of the site. Instead, they embraced the site and kept as light of a touch as possible, at least in some respects. The routing of it all, in both selecting the final holes from so many and then ensuring those selected were the best in all respects, deserves study and attention for ages to come.

The journey continues. Coore and Crenshaw continue on, as do I. They create them, I make it a point to visit them. The newly opened Cabot St. Lucia, Cabot Cliffs, Friar’s Head, Lost Farm, Colorado Golf Club and We Ko Pa; those and others await, each its own work of art in their natural environs. The duo conjures the beauty and fascination of nature incarnate. Their artistry is wide ranging, from mellow low profile to majestic inspiration, yet all of it much more intricate than its presentation. Some how, they arrange the playing structure to match the natural feng shui so that the golfer is immersed into that setting. Their designs are portals to the respective eco-systems, connecting the golfer to it. That connection to nature is distinct and profound. Coore and Crenshaw let the land speak on its own, which starts with them listening to it and in turn arranges the design so the land can speak to the golfer. For those like myself who hold a deeper, perhaps even existential perspective of the game, their designs stir the soul. There are senses and feelings playing their courses that are unattainable elsewhere. Ultimately, they make you feel grateful you’re a golfer, getting to experience such things at various points of this world. It is more than simply being able to look out upon it; Coore and Crenshaw facilitate a relationship between golfer and nature. Their style and ability to do so will go down as legend.

There are three photos of various golf courses that made me swear to pursue course design as long as I could swing and perhaps longer. The Eighth fairway at Prairie Dunes, the Eleventh at Camargo and the Sixteenth left bunkers at Sand Hills. The latter was unlike anything I had ever seen in golf. As I continued to study Sand Hills, however, it was the First that captivated me more and more. The opening tee is the gateway into the hills, where the entirety of the journey is before you. And what an opening it is, generally regarded as one of the best par 5’s ever created. I found myself on that opening tee, at last. It was a personal milestone. In golf, the desire to experience is usually not enough. A myriad of circumstances must all line up for the golfer to see himself in particular places, no matter the desire, passion or the rest of it. Yet the passage of time matured and refined, to some extent at least, leading to a deep appreciation for the now. A culmination. The coastal cliffs of Maui, the Sonoran desert, the tidal dunes of the Pacific Northwest, the New Jersey shore woods, the Carolina sand hills and Texas high prairie, all led to the here and now. It was time. I walked up and placed my ball. I looked out to the horizon. When did the french horns start playing? The ball soared into the clouds before floating down into the hills. “Is this Heaven?” I asked to no one in particular. An answer came, from some where.