A Gentle Handshake

Or, "Ashridge in all its autumnal splendour"

Autumn always affects me this way. It’s not exactly a melancholic reaction; more like a grateful renewal of the connection with the seasons that I felt so strongly in a childhood spent outside, in gardens and on golf courses and beaches, a connection that was renewed and replenished during a few happy years of greenkeeping.

There’s a warmth in the rolling hills as I drive through the English countryside to this latest bucket list course; the vibrant green of summer slowly turning through shades of red, orange and brown on their way to the ground, drifting gracefully across the roads as they make way for the sparse foliage and stark light of the coming winter months.

This morning saw the first frost, a turning point in another tumultuous year. From hereon, the advance of the dark nights will gain pace and for months the bright, early mornings and fine, balmy evenings of the summer will seem distant strangers, so this lingering, fragile beauty of the fall seems so precious.

It is October in Ashridge, and as I pull into the car park of yet another special club in this land, pock-marked with gems, the sun is struggling to stay above the timber of this marvelous woodland estate through which the course weaves. As usual, I’ve made an art form out of limited preparation, my scant knowledge of the club gained from a handful of conversations over the past few years.

But this is the way I love to gain new leads in this peculiar study of a sport that seems to possess an unrivaled variety of magnificent venues. The footballing cathedrals of Europe offer a similar sense of anticipation, perhaps - the San Siro, Camp Nou. Anfield, of course. Yet inside those great amphitheatres, the pitches are the same, give or take. But golf’s stories - both the amateur and professional versions - play out on all sorts of ground from the links to the downlands, through heaths and parklands. And variety is the spice of life, we are told.

My mind picks up potentially interesting courses like it stumbles upon books to read - not via some bestseller lists, or the latest monotonous ranking, but via word-of-mouth, and personal, meaningful recommendation. Someone will notice my soft spot for Cleeve Hill, for example, and before I know it I’m heading to Painswick, on the gentle whisper of someone who “gets” the sort of golf I love, a kindred spirit. And from there Minch Old, and one day soon maybe Kington, and each time I come away staggered that so much quality exists; that this funny old game has so many wonderful experiences within reach that even the average golfer will never hear of, let alone investigate.

Two golfing acquaintances mentioned Ashridge in passing - both members - and there was a certain hesitance in the description of their golfing home turf that suggested a reluctance to share too much, lest the spell be broken. I knew it had been laid out by the “3 Majors” (Hutchison, Campbell & Hotchkin), a triumvirate whose influence touched some other truly great tracks.

But the real pull for me lay in the knowledge that certain holes had been changed by Tom Simpson, whose renovation work at New Zealand still sparkles for me after all these years, and whose genial eye for the strategic seems matched by not only a gift for simplicity, but also - my favourite part of his mastery - a sense of artistry. Simpson’s few “new” greens at New Zealand sing in harmony with the land in which he shaped them - the masked, flowing tiers of the third green, the teasing temptations of the tenth. Not to mention the cunning, bold brilliance of the seventeenth; a green complex contoured to terrify the expert while quietly encouraging the hacker.

So when I learn on arrival that Simpson’s work at Ashridge extended to a meaningful contribution on eleven of the holes, it is a mouth-watering prospect. We stroll over to the tenth tee to start, and it doesn’t take long to get a feel for what sort of an afternoon this will be. It feels more like June’s sun on our backs as we weave through the back nine, and by the time I reach the twelfth green, our third - gazing with a smile at the mischievous false front, the perilous drop-off at the back, and the treacherous mown hollows on either side of this diagonal target - I am utterly smitten.

We drift through these silent corridors, discovering one architectural delicacy after another, and the bunkering and conditioning continue to impress. Near the greens, which are large and have plenty of distinct shelves and ridges to combat the modern game, a change in mowing lines is bringing back to life all sorts of micro-contours, and the slightest misjudgment results in a fresh set of challenges. But as my host explains, the general consensus of those who frequent this parkland puzzle is that golf is always fun here, regardless of score, or form, and this makes sense to me.

Ashridge is wide open, charming, and though I do lose a ball, it is with a shot that deserved nothing better, a wicked slice. One after another, the challenges line up and look so appealing, so playable - you can hardly wait to hit it, to watch the ball soar above the rich palette of the deciduous canvas through which we travel before falling to the immaculate turf below.

As we near the end of our circuit, the light is starting to fail, and each hump and hollow seems enhanced by the lengthening shadows, Simpson’s own creative flair polished by this gorgeous afternoon. By the time we reach the crest of the ninth’s hill - our closing hole - I am already plotting a return, to let the majesty of this design settle in further, but this distracted train of thought is blown apart by a daunting sight ahead.

Perched atop a steep slope, whose gradient slides all but the boldest running shot hard left into a hellish bunker lurking below, sits a green that dares you to attack. A front-right bunker protects the safe line, if there is one, pushing you to take it all on. The ground falls away behind, running down to an eighteenth green that would feel radical on most other courses, but which seems benign in contrast to this “card-wrecker” of a ninth, as the starter calls it.

To have the best shot in, the tee shot must hug the left-hand side but it feels so tight from the tee-box, and the resulting hole has much more danger and intrigue than a downhill 351 yards ought to be capable of. But again, it is not only the ingenuity of this classic that really catches your breath, but the aesthetics of it. Simpson, the writer and the painter, the clay modeler and the lover of needlework, is at it again. He builds flowing lines and asymmetry into a target that is so courageous, so flamboyant, and yet so natural looking that it hardly seems possible that anything other than Mother Nature would be so bold to build it, let alone stick a flag in it.

Ashridge had me hooked long before our closing hole - the engine was probably still warm when it happened - but in playing it this way round, finishing on this hole as we do, it is nothing less than staggering at first glance. Playing golf here is often said to be like “a gentle handshake”, and today, in the warm, fading hues of the autumn, this description feels perfect. Simpson, the enigmatic craftsman, has a subtlety about his work that seems to suit Ashridge perfectly; between he, the 3 Majors, and this classic English landscape yet another hidden gem is unearthed.

If this is the sort of place that goes under the radar, perhaps the radar is broken, I ponder as I drive home, elated. I resolve to ignore rankings with even more determination than usual, and make more space in my life for both word-of-mouth and for Tom Simpson. For in this method of exploring the seemingly limitless bucket of nuance that golf has to offer, priceless afternoons like this can be found.

With grateful thanks to Ben, Jasper & Louis; the perfect companions. You can find more on Ashridge here and Tom Simpson here, both courtesy of the wonderful evalu18. The Tom Simpson Society is also worth a look, a favourite page linked here, and last but not least, Ashridge Golf Club’s website will show you how to sample such delights for yourself!