The first and second at The Sand Hills Club
On America’s High Plains, towns announce themselves as clusters of silvery skyscrapers rising above the flatness, and only with diminishing distance do the great towers resolve tthemselves into grain elevators. After awhile I knew that the towns were much alike. Along with the elevators would be a railroad grade crossing, a convenience store for gas and Coke, the remains of what once was the center of town, and then more road, much more road.
I have always wanted to see that kind of vastness, grand and unpeopled, always known that I’d never tasted it in the east. When I had a chance to satisfy that craving, along with my more or less permanent desire to play really good golf courses in places that are really hard to get to, I jumped.
The golf was promising: Ballyneal, Tom Doak’s...
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