So Shane is over for a few days, for another dose of the heathlands. We’ve played together a bit in Ireland - around Dublin where he lurks, and in Donegal - plus a bit over here. As well planned in his golf as he is for his Firm and Fast podcast, the itinerary is tight, and takes in some significant headlines. Thirty-six at Sunningdale is a ticket many cross vast oceans for, and The Berkshire and St George’s Hill deserve every plaudit they get, and they get lots of them.
But I am pleased that he is keen to look beyond the top tier, for the glory of the home counties shines brightest in the division that sits quietly beneath those famous old tracks. He will start on the heath at Liphook, and wrap up by doing laps around Mildenhall, and I am thrilled for those appointments, as I suspect he will love them.
My chance to play a role comes on Wednesday, and - with Shane every bit as willing to be up with the sparrows as I am - we are on the road early, battering south. The one glimpse of the sea we can manage on his voyage is at Hayling, and as we glance down at the links from the sun-drenched deck of the clubhouse, we know that Firm and Fast will be on the menu today, for the playing corridors inhabit every shade from green to beige before us. Dry, hot summers like this will test the fine grasses as much as Hayling will test us, which is a great deal, even without much breeze.
Our car park swings last for a hole or two but then we find some form, and charge through the early holes, our golf balls bouncing and bobbing and bundling along. On the thin strip of soil that the course has to play with, the turf is admirably stubborn, and though it looks parched, it plays like the golf of my dreams. Resistant to our irons, flattering our woods, the turf is as unyielding as anything I’ve played so far this year. In the semi-rough, the fines offer a slight crunch underfoot, and beyond that the seed pods of Hayling’s menacing stands of gorse are popping as the heat builds around us.
I love watching people discover with fresh eyes the places I love, and Shane’s eyes start to widen as the course builds in drama near the turn. The eighth - with its deceptive glimpse of a flag over a dune - charms him, then the ninth with its teasing drive and that long, exacting approach. The tenth is a masterclass in design - a hole that dares you to be bold, but that can smell a player’s fear, it seems. And it goes on, and by the time we drop down to the elusive thirteenth green and begin the homeward stretch, he seems as mad for Hayling as I am, for it has so much of what the game ought to offer, and avoids plenty of what has been added elsewhere. It is natural, and wild, and rugged.
The second half of the day is set for Pulborough - West Sussex Golf Club - and after half a dozen years away it all comes flooding back as we leave the main road and take the little track that trundles in behind the clubhouse. Since I was last here, fairway irrigation has been installed, but as we track north-west up the first, sampling a couple of bunkers on the way, we can see that it is being used sparingly, and thoughtfully, as the turf is superb here, too.
The rollercoaster, bunker free second reminds me how important the course’s undulations are, while the stunning third - ominous hazards punctuating a pine forest backdrop, with a dangerous target up ahead - is reminiscent of a sandbelt aesthetic, to Shane’s eyes. Pulborough is so very pretty and the marvellous bunkers are central to this, with their blend of clean edges and clumps of heather.
But though it is not long, and has a degree of quirk in the routing - three par 3’s in four holes early on - the course’s honest challenge floods back to me, too. At the eighth, my tee shot fades out right to leave a tricky pitch over the cavernous trap, and though I hit it well, and have an outside chance of a three, I shall not need to putt for, as we scan the runoff at the back for Shane’s fine iron shot, it occurs to us that there is one place to look that is hidden. As he approaches the hole, I suddenly know that he will find his ball in there - his third hole-in-one - and I am torn between by delight for my friend and some indignant self-pity that I am still barren on that front, and no longer three up.
It is the first ace I have witnessed, and it is pleasing that it came from such a fine stroke, but it unsettles me and I chop and hack my way around from hereon, just about clinging on to the early lead that was dented by his miracle. But in between shots I still remember to gaze at this glorious setting - heather and flashed white sand punctuating the wonderful turf corridors through this rural landscape - and the next few days are spent ruminating on the somehow modest feel of these two quiet wonders.
They are so different from each other, Hayling and Pulborough, but then again they are different from everything else as well. Hayling is its own links in style and location and feel, and Pulborough with its effortless cadence through the pristine heath seems like the benchmark for how such courses could look and play. They each walk to the beat of their own drum, and driving home it occurs to me how often golf clubs or courses yearn to be like all the others, and it never quite works.
There are dozens of courses that Shane could have checked out this week which try just a little too hard to impress, that put a bit too much effort and money into things that really don’t matter, but it feels to me like these two are a breath of fresh air by comparison. It’s inspiring to see, and though I sleep like a log after our efforts, my dreams are full of the jangling masts of boats bobbing in the Solent, and the splash of coarse, white sand on deep green grass. And I wake in a hurry to get my next golf organised, exhilarated by Hayling and Pulborough, and with the hunt for my own, inevitable ace only intensified by Shane’s.
It’s a funny world we live in, but wonderful things can happen. And golf seems to me to have more than its fair share of such miracles. Hayling and Pulborough fit that description.
