Every
so often a new golf course is constructed in a rather remote,
unforeseen
location,
and on the merits of its unusual place and the finer points of its
design, achieves an almost cult-like status among the golf
intelligentsia. The Highland Links, on Nova
Scotia's Cape Breton Island, and Royal Dornoch in northern Scotland
are fine early examples of such layouts, where those impassioned
golfers do whatever it takes to find these stunning layouts. Often,
the trip is worth as much as the reward. Recently, there has been a
resurgence in faraway golf – Bandon Dunes in Southern Oregon and the
private, eponymous Sand Hills Golf Club, in rural Nebraska,
for example. For each, the golf course is the centerpiece, and the
resort and other amenities, simplified and functional rather than
extravagant. When developers Greg Ramsay and Richard Sattler looked out several years ago over a stretch of sand dunes dotting
the northern coast of the small Australian province of Tasmania,
they saw just such a venue, and Barnbougle Dunes was born.
Standing on those
same bluffs today, civilization itself seems unimaginable except for
the presence of the flagsticks whipping in the sea breezes. In fact,
as remote as Barnbougle seems, getting there is actually quite easy,
requiring just a one-hour flight from Melbourne or Sydney and an
hour’s drive from the island’s airport. And once there, one can
pretty much measure the achievement alongside Bandon Dunes’ meteoric
rise to the top of the world’s best. It was Pacific Dunes, the
creation of architect Tom Doak, that truly put Bandon Dunes on the
map and made Doak a household name in golf architecture, and
Barnbougle Dunes is his oft-neglected first masterpiece; the “Doak
buzz,” and the reviews of the course itself, have seen the shores of
Tasmania stormed by golfers from all over the world since the first
tee was opened in December of 2004. In such a sleepy place where
ecotourism and culinary traditions are just starting to wake up to
their own appeal, Barnbougle Dunes is the perfect centerpiece for a
Tasmanian vacation.
The anticipation of
getting there ends up being half the fun. The modest drive from
Launceston (the Tasmania gateway accessible from the major
Australian cities) through the sleepy coastal hamlet of Bridport to
the dunes east of town where hints of fairway and bunker peek out of
the hills, Northeast Tasmania’s pastoral landscape pass by silently
and uneventfully, as potato farming country ought to. Barnbougle’s
intimate clubhouse located on beach offers the appropriate setting
for the course, lying low against the land and warmly blending in.
From there the golf course starts out across the least distinct land
on the property, with the 557-yard (506 meters, as used in
Australia) first hole. The thoughtful hole gives the golfer a chance
to get off to a roaring start with a birdie, but more likely forces
them to bank against making the dreaded six or worse to start. The
hole is highlighted by cross bunkering in a shelf some 100 yards shy
of the green, which offers the visual deception to the first-time
golfer that force the golfer to stay with the short approach to find
the surface. It’s also one the few chances at Barnbougle where one
will play an approach from a level lie
The fourth hole,
‘Homestead,’ offers strong insight into the spirit of Doak and the
land on which he laid Barnbougle Dunes. Playing to 298 yards (271 m)
from the back tees, the scorecard’s distance is deceptive for two
reasons; the prevailing wind plays into the golfer and the cavernous
front bunker cut into the steep hillside short of the green. Only
the longest hitters on the calmest days can consider hitting the
green in a single shot, and the smart play from the tee is to the
wide fairway on the valley floor. The approach is a blind uphill
affair with a short iron, to a wild green that does afford the
golfer the ability to funnel the ball into the hole.
Arguably one of the
most dramatic moments in modern golf comes out of the walk from the
fourth green—up the slope and through a wedge of dunes, the Bass
Strait stretches out for as far as the clarity of the day allows.
220 yards away, a different point comes into focus. Playing down the
hill with a long iron or fairway wood, the shot plays over the ridge
of a prominent dune to a green guarded by a flash of front bunkering
and furrows of land. From this perch, it’s an understatement to say
that the wind will be a factor.
If six is a journey
back to the great dunes courses of Ireland, where the play is
through a gauntlet of dunes and swales to a green set in a shelf at
the end, ‘Tom’s Little Devil,’ the ticklish 121-yard (110 m)
par-three seventh hole, is the emerald or pot of gold at the end of
the trip. Shrug off its soft yardage, and ignore the scant margin
for error that the architect has allowed for here, and a five is
quite easy to attain. The small green sits like a tabletop, fronted
by deep and treacherous bunkering and protected in the back by deep
swales.
Perhaps the best
and certainly the most difficult hole on the front side is the
491-yard (446 m) par-four eighth hole, called ‘The Keep’. With a
dramatic split-level fairway, the hole forces the golfer to make a
decision from the outset; to either take the high road to the left,
or the safer, longer, lower right route to the hole. Either way the
crumpled fairways have the ability to deflect shots hit at their
margins. The approach to the green is uphill, through a saddle to a
generous green that seems to be just a few yards further than the
eye allows you to believe, so an extra club is always best.
On the inward half,
12 is the first standout, another short par four of 279 yards (254
m) which, like the fourth hole, is usually not reachable due to the
prevailing wind. The approach is a delicate one, and the angle from
the left side of the fairway opens up the shot in best. 13 follows
suit at 199 yards (181 m), the back end of a most memorable pair at
Barnbougle Dunes. The hole is named ‘Sitwell Park’ after the famed
green that Doak essential set out to recreate. The massive
undulations means that finding this green, wedged between three very
deep bunkers cut into a hillside, is but one requisite to par.
The 15th tee marks
the eastern point of the property and the manmade estuary on the
right provides a natural boundary for the hole, and a reminder of no
water hazards on the first 14 holes. Against the 16th, a
par three that plays back out toward the Strait, 17 marks a fine
start to the finish of the round. From the last dune before the
beach, this 440-yard (400 m) par four borders the shoreline,
generating a natural drama for this demanding dogleg right. The
further the golfer plays his drive to the outside of the dogleg, the
longer the approach is to the green, whose narrow appearance makes
the falloff left appear even more inviting.
Finishing up, 18 is
the same length as 17, making for a formidable set of fours to
finish the round. The last at Barnbougle borders the water with
spectacular sand dunes providing the buffer in between. The green
site is perfectly situated shy of the dunes that give the hole its
backdrop. Finishing into
the sun, the golfer should be so lucky as to reach the 18th at
sunset to truly appreciate the hues of the humps and bumps in the
fairway that give the course and the hole, in that moment, as much
texture as any golf course on earth.
The risk of
excessive praise for new golf course designs has long been something
the voice of golf has tried to temper: far too often, courses open
to great fanfare before fading to mediocrity after the hype has
subsided. The qualities that separate those that stand up to the
test are tantamount to the philosophy Doak brings to his work. He
has made no secret of his admiration for the work of Alister
Mackenzie, who
counts Augusta National, Cypress Point, and four others—Royal
Melbourne, Kingston Heath, Royal Adelaide, and New South Wales—in
his portfolio, which set the gold standard for golf design on the
continent.
As every great
artist wishes to see their work compared to the masters, the sense
that Doak found special inspiration in coming to Australia to match
his greatest professional influence swells from each knoll and ridge
at Barnbougle. Painted on the land rather than forged into it, it’s
not a stretch to speculate that in another generation, a Doak
protégé will travel to Australia to find the same type of
inspiration from his mentor.
