By Sam Baker
In July the Open Championship, which began at Prestwick Golf Club in 1860, returned to St. Andrews for its 150th Anniversary edition. Most golfers can only dream about a pilgrimage to St. Andrews. I was one of the lucky ones when that dream became a reality for me nearly 30 years ago and now I have the good fortune to spend some time in the Auld Grey Toon every year. Despite my many visits, I still get a bit of a tingle when the road from Guardbridge bends past the Eden Estuary and I can see the university spires looming in the distance.
But the St. Andrews that tugs at my emotions was not the St. Andrews which hosted the Open. Mine is a centuries old public golf course where any hacker who can scrounge up a handicap card saying he’s a 24 (she’s a 36) or better can apply nearly a year in advance for a tee time that costs less than $200. Or play at the last minute on one of the nearly 5000 tee times which are assigned each year to a daily lottery. Or walk over to the first tee of the Old Course where you put your name on a list to fill a group that reports to the starter with less than a full compliment for four golfers. My Old Course plays at barely 6000 yards with a premium on strategy over strength. My town offers every kind of accommodation from a dirt cheap hovel to a hotel so luxurious as to be featured in the old Life Styles of the Rich and Famous. My choices for eats range from take away fish & chips to Michelin stars. Drinks are available from inexpensive pints in a student pub to single malts costing more per measure than a handmade Savile Row suit. In short, despite some concerted recent efforts to over-commercialize it, my St. Andrews remains the spiritual home to all golfers regardless of wealth or standing.
The St. Andrews of the Open Championship? Sadly, the whole town gave way to commercialization, privilege and a tee time monopoly which sold Old Course times immediately following the Open for upwards of $2000 per golfer. The course was closed to the average golfer for a month so it was in pristine condition for the pampered professionals, their entourages and the corporate sponsors when they arrived. Its length was stretched to more than 7000 yards with at least three tees that are located on land which has never been part of the Old Course. Every accommodation, even the most modest, required a seven night minimum stay at prices that were several multiples of normal rates. The best seats in the viewing stands, the best tables in the restaurants, the corporate chalets and the parking places in the same postal code as the course were all reserved for the privileged classes. The masses stood around the course viewing much of the action through periscopes, paid uncommonly high prices for decidedly common food and drink from temporary vendors and fought traffic driving in for the day or took the bus from the nearest train station.
Still the work a day Scots, God bless ‘em, love their golf and St. Andrews so much they came to the Open by the tens of thousands despite their secondary status. In truth, it was their very presence more than any other factor that gave the St. Andrews Open that special feeling which kept it from looking like just another overly corporate event on the PGA Tour. So forget the Open, dream of the day you’ll go or return to St. Andrews and know that your experience will be far more authentic than what you may have seen on the telly.
My Top Ten Authentic St. Andrews Experiences
10. Enjoying a late breakfast at a window table in Rusacks Hotel watching some groups tee off on the 1st while others finish on the 18th.
9. Taking a walking tour of the castle, university and cathedral ruins with June Riches, a university faculty wife who for 20 years has been explaining how St. Andrews was the ecclesiastical centre of Scotland long before it was the home of golf.
8. Visiting the R&A clubhouse and viewing the Old Course from the Secretary’s balcony.
7. Dining in front of the massive fireplace of the Inn at Lathones, a 400 year old establishment on the Largo Road.
6. Sitting at the bar of Jigger Inn, listening to stories from barmaid Antoinette who has met everyone who’s anyone who ever came to town, drinking a pint and eating a bowl of Cullen Skink, the traditional Scottish fish stew.
5. Drinking single malt while conversing with Old Tom Morris, authentically played by David Joy his great grand nephew.
4. Being guided around the Old Course by one of those wizened caddies John Updike describes in his New Yorker short story, Farrell’s Caddie. On my first time round the course, George and I were locked in a titanic struggle. One up on the 16th, George hits his drive into the Principal’s Nose and says to his caddie, “Angus, let me have my 8 iron. I think I can get my ball over the lip and onto the green”. Angus says, “Nay, George. Hit your sand iron, wedge onto the green, one putt and you’ll still be one up on Sam with two to play.” George replies, “No, give me my 8”. Angus responds by slamming the sand wedge on the ground near the bunker, walking away and telling George over his shoulder, “George, I got more %$@# money ridin’ on this game than you do. Hit the sand iron!” George hits the sand iron, wedges to about 10 feet, sinks the putt, haves the hole and wins the match one up 18. Angus, with a knowing smile, accepts a generous tip from George and collects even more from my caddie who I haven’t seen since.
3. Drinking a pint after your round with your caddie in the Dunvegan where you are photographed with the proprietress, Sheena Willoughby.
2. Driving blindly on the 17th over the sheds of the Old Course Hotel. Many years ago my friend Luke, a golfer of modest skills, was told by his caddie to hit his drive over the “r”. Luke asked, “Haven’t you been paying attention for the past 16 holes. I’m a 22 handicapper. I need a whole word not just a letter!”
1. Standing on the first tee in front of the R&A Clubhouse, hearing the starter say “Play away please” and hitting it pure.
Sam Baker is the Founder & CEO of Haversham & Baker Golfing Expeditions, the leading provider of international travel to America’s country clubs and their members. A consummate foodie, Sam’s once single digit handicap seems to grow with his waistline..


