It was meant to be a break from golf. An extended camp in the west of Scotland, but in planning a route home, we felt some magnetic draw towards the Welsh coast, and so found ourselves pitching up half a mile from the warm shore of Cardigan Bay. It made no sense, this tangential diversion from the diagonal line that runs between Glasgow and London, but it felt like the right thing to do, the right place to see.
Camp was made, hot tea brewed and enjoyed, and then a walk, down the road and through the local golf course to the beach beyond. As we make our way over the links, waved patiently across by a pair of golfers perched on some hidden teeing platform in the midst of the waving fescue, I can barely keep my eyes on the path as I scan turf corridors all around.
I struggle to remember when I first became aware of Borth & Ynyslas Golf Club, but it was certainly fairly recently. It had, I suppose, long been in the shadow of its illustrious neighbour, Aberdovey, and perhaps the very story that sharpened my attention - a Golf Quarterly article outlining the efforts of a number of associated societies to try and save an ailing club’s finances - came out of that relative anonymity. After all, if the club and the course were better known, perhaps they’d never have been in that position.
But the Club is old - golf was first played here in 1876, with the first 18 hole layout mentioned nine years later - and has a history that is full of interest and intrigue. So for three mornings on the trot I would stride across the track that dissects the course and walk up and down the sea wall, alternating my gaze from the flapping silks atop bending flagsticks to the crashing waves of the Irish Sea and back again.
As the dog sought some vigorous exercise before the heat of the August sun arrived, chasing another disobedient ball across the pristine beach, I would carefully pick up litter from the previous evening’s sunset audience. It felt good to be quietly clearing debris from this wild coastal outpost, the satisfaction of doing the right thing even when no one else is looking a rewarding start to each day.
As my watch slowly approached the hour when the rest of the world might start moving, I would spot Borth’s two greenkeepers, moving quietly across the property to sweep the dew off the fine leaves of the sward ahead of play. It is now fifteen years since I walked away from greenkeeping, but barely a week passes without thinking of the day to day gratification of that role. It is a job in which, at the end of a shift, the fruits of one’s labour are evident for all to see and enjoy, and where it is possible to stay closely in touch with the changing of the seasons; with the endless, unhurried cycles of life itself.
On the third and final morning, I spotted a familiar silhouette - the lone golfer - heading down the second fairway to my right. In his leisurely walk I thought I detected the same sense of tranquility from a dawn loop that I cherish so, and as we nod at each other in passing, his eyes tell me that he is in the same enchanted state that these natural sporting theatres bestow on me on a regular basis. Back in those halcyon days of tending the course, it was a daily occurrence, this feeling of connection with the land; now I see only glimpses of it in the occasional early game or in dog walks such as these. I glance down at Betty, her brown eyes beaming above panting lips, and I know at least she gets what I am on about…
All too soon, our holiday is over and we head back to the cluttered suburban streets of home, but Borth has got its teeth into me, and I start making plans. A golfing friend lines me up with a contact at the club, and within six weeks I am back on that road west, my spirit light with anticipation. The intervening period has brought some badly needed rain, but out here on this narrow shingle spit no moisture is retained for long, so while there is certainly more green in the mown turf than in August, late September’s fairways still offer a supremely traditional feel, each iron shot squeezing the ball from tight, firm lies.
As it turns out, the forecast for my Friday morning game is so appalling that even the hardy locals laugh at the prospect, and so, from the sun-drenched balcony of Aberdovey’s fine clubhouse, I call the Borth office that lies just across the Dyfi estuary, and gain permission to come twelve hours earlier. With the light starting to fade as I check in, I have barely two hours to explore, but I love to play fast and so this window not only offers enough time to get round, but a bit of spare with which to take a few photos, and gaze lovingly at the marvelous simplicity of this ancient course.
By contrast with most other courses in the modern game, Borth’s presentation is rustic - perhaps even scruffy to some people’s palate - but to me it is all the more charming for its authentic feel. I know how hard the small team must work to get the greens rolling the way they do with limited resources, but at the same time it feels sustainable, this - a course prepared with none of the cosmetic frills one finds elsewhere that add nothing to the raw golfing experience, but which result in fees that push this pastime outside the financial reach of many.
By contrast, the charges at Borth are remarkably reasonable, but this is the way many of the great links courses came into being. Turf maintained on a shoestring budget; the ingenuity of the architect and the skill of the greenkeeper clearly visible without the distraction of elaborate, wasteful mowing patterns or unnecessary course furniture. Each hole has just a set of tee markers, a cup with a flag in it, and the brilliant legacy of Colt’s post-war re-design to entertain the customer, and the result is golf in its purest form. The very essence of golf, you could say.
When you factor in sweeping views across the vast beaches and the imposing backdrop of the mountains behind, the mesmerised look on the face of that single golfer back in the summer heatwave is understandable. It is easy to overuse such terms as awesome, but in the golden light of another glorious late afternoon on the far edge of Wales, there is a definite sense of awe that pervades my every step. As I leave the last green the sun is falling fast towards the sea to my right, but it strikes me that even if I carried on playing through the night and well into tomorrow’s storm I would not tire of this place, or this version of golf.
Soon afterwards, I am heading home, and I note the same reluctance to leave this place that was present after our few nights camping here. Borth suits me, and I think I suit it, but there’s a sadness that something this precious had to face some hard times, and I feel as if I want to stay longer and do something, help protect it for the next generation and beyond. How can it be that the sort of golf that is played across this links - wild, primal, delightfully simple - is alien not only to swathes of non-golfers out there, but also to a great many of those under the influence of a different, more sanitised version of this golfing spell? How much poorer would my life feel without these trips to the links - where golf and nature and adventure are bound in some fine alchemy?
As the coast disappears into the dusk behind and I start to climb into the hills and through the interior of this beloved land, I find the antidote to this puzzled feeling of melancholy, and it lies in the celebration of these recent developments. Dozens of caring golfers - from the many volunteer locals to the members of four visiting societies - harnessed the power of their communities to help the club sympathetically modernise, and in doing so kept this evolving story of golf on the links at Borth going. I like to think they did it not because they felt they ought to, or so they could tell other people they had, but because they felt deep down that they had to.
It was the right thing to do, and though it offered little prospect of personal gain, there was a more profound reward waiting for them as the club once again started to flourish. There is a certain sense of fulfillment that appears when by some small act you manage to make the world a better place, and I feel it in the tiny gesture of collecting litter, and in the careful repair of every pitchmark and divot. I hope that those involved in the development plan that has helped this part of our shared golfing heritage feel that same quiet satisfaction in their kindness, for they surely deserve it.
So while it is a wrench to leave Borth & Ynylas behind, I know full well I’ll be back, and my heart is warmed with gratitude towards those “Friends of Borth” who bothered to put their money where their mouths are, to help preserve something special for the rest of us to discover. The oldest stretch of golfed land in Wales, but perhaps all that has gone before is just the prelude, for when golf is this much fun, at this price, in a place like this, it ought never to face anything other than a stable and prosperous future. And for Borth and I, this feels like just the start of our story…
With grateful thanks to Borth & Ynyslas GC, Athole Marshall & Stuart Lloyd, and to the many volunteers, members, visitors and societies, for all you have done to keep this gem shining. The efforts of those “Friends of Borth” - namely the supporting members of The Old Uppinghamians, The Senior Golfers Society, The MCC and The Royal Regiment of Fusiliers - have made a huge difference to the club’s position and reputation.
And a final, particular mention to the architect Bruce Charlton of Robert Trent Jones Jr’s practice, who gifted the club invaluable help and insight, not to mention time. The world of golf is a better place for it!
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I was at Borth just a few days ago and completely agree with your sentiment, Richard. The weather wasn't kind but didn't mind at all (well...maybe a little bit, nobody likes getting wet). I think you've summed it up perfectly - it's the simplicity of these grand old courses that makes them special. The small 'quirks' that are dead giveaways that this is a course 'of its time' ; crossing the road after one hole - that actually made me smile.
And just one other general point on courses in Wales - such amazing value for money. Thoroughly enjoying my trip around the north at the moment.
Me and my pals are regular attendees for Royal St David's Open Week. Worth considering as they run a very comprehensive programme of events for all levels of ability. Their new course manager is improving the conditioning on what is a very strong track too. After DDGC it should be on your list.