All golfing sons carry around that hope that someday they’ll get to take a trip with their fathers, where the conversations stretch a little longer and the golf means a little more. Last month, I got to cash in that hope. I met my dad in the lobby of the Rusacks, where he walked in with a smile on his face to where you knew it was either his first time or 20th. From there, we were set for a week wandering through Fife and East Lothian.
It was his first time in Scotland, so day one was all about giving him the lay of the land and letting the town tell the story. We strolled through St Andrews, and I offered him my version of a St Andrews handshake, a fudge doughnut at Fisher & Donaldson and into The Dunvegan for a pint. Somewhere between the sugar and the lager the sky cracked open, revealing a rare blue November sky that felt sort of as if Scotland was apologizing for its reputation. Leaving the pub, I told him to pay attention as we rounded the corner. And then there it was, St Andrews revealing itself in front of us like a painting. Golfers tapping in on eighteen, couples in jackets and formal dress strolling into the R&A. The whole scene comes together with a wild combination of history and everyday life, where a sense of formality and welcomeness coexist in balance. We stood there for twenty minutes as the sunset in St Andrews, the first real moment of the trip and first reminder that the ground beneath your feet is the same ground every golfer dreams of walking.
Our turn on the Links came the next morning. We hurried out of bed and down to the New Clubhouse, half expecting nothing, half hoping for a miracle. Instead, we got breakfast overlooking the Old Course and a 10:00 tee time on The New course. With our bags slung over our shoulders, we wandered across the course toward the first tee, ready to shake hands with whoever was joining us. But no—our first round in Scotland would be just the two of us. A father and son 2-ball on a cool, dry morning in St Andrews. We were around in under three hours, and Dad rolled in a casual birdie on eighteen, just like we drew it up. Stopping at The Jigger Inn for the obligatory pint on the way back, we spent the rest of the night doing what golfers do: replaying each hole shot by shot.
Our short time in St Andrews was up, and soon enough we were packing up and heading south toward East Lothian. But before we crossed the River Tay and left Fife behind, there was one stop we just couldn’t miss. Elie isn’t far – a short twenty-five minutes from St Andrews – but it feels like stepping into its own little universe. A small seaside town with character, and home to one of the most joyful and peculiar golf courses I’ve ever played. A par 70 without a single par 5, though you never feel like anything is missing. Somehow the place strings together eighteen unique holes, each one with its own quirk. I walked off the final green already replaying half the round in my mind, and I haven’t stopped since. Elie feels like a club you could play the rest of your life without ever growing tired of it.
From there we hopped a train east, riding along the coast toward what might be the second home of golf in Scotland, North Berwick. The town itself has a true postcard feel, and the depth of golf is undeniable. North Berwick West Links sits right there in the middle of everything and just a short drive away you have Muirfield, Gullane, and Dunbar. It feels like every direction you look in Scotland; another great course is sitting there by the coast. We settled into The Nether Abbey with another Scottish lager and looked forward to what this chapter of the trip had in store.
The next morning, we finally got what Scotland had been threatening all week: a wet morning in Gullane. After days of generous weather, the rain felt almost overdue. As we trudged up the second hole, climbing the famous Gullane Hill with heads down, the clouds thinned and the light slipped through. By the time we reached the 3rd tee, Edinburgh and Fife appeared off in the distance. It was a pleasant surprise, and a reminder of where we’d been in just a few short days. Today, we were happy to relinquish our status as a 2-ball. A friend of mine joined us, a Scottish transplant who’d moved to Edinburgh a couple of years earlier. We spent the day catching up, enjoying a beautiful day on a spectacular course.
When we reached the crest of Gullane Hill again on the 17th tee with the town spread out below us, I felt a great sense of gratitude. From a half-serious conversation more than a year earlier to standing here now, in Scotland, at the end of the journey, having walked some of the finest links golf has to offer. To be there and sharing it with special people is a memory worth holding on to. The thrill of planning a trip in its infancy, watching it become a reality and finally realizing all the things you hoped for is a feeling all golfers should experience, and one I look forward to again soon.
Griffin Rush
It was his first time in Scotland, so day one was all about giving him the lay of the land and letting the town tell the story. We strolled through St Andrews, and I offered him my version of a St Andrews handshake, a fudge doughnut at Fisher & Donaldson and into The Dunvegan for a pint. Somewhere between the sugar and the lager the sky cracked open, revealing a rare blue November sky that felt sort of as if Scotland was apologizing for its reputation. Leaving the pub, I told him to pay attention as we rounded the corner. And then there it was, St Andrews revealing itself in front of us like a painting. Golfers tapping in on eighteen, couples in jackets and formal dress strolling into the R&A. The whole scene comes together with a wild combination of history and everyday life, where a sense of formality and welcomeness coexist in balance. We stood there for twenty minutes as the sunset in St Andrews, the first real moment of the trip and first reminder that the ground beneath your feet is the same ground every golfer dreams of walking.
Our turn on the Links came the next morning. We hurried out of bed and down to the New Clubhouse, half expecting nothing, half hoping for a miracle. Instead, we got breakfast overlooking the Old Course and a 10:00 tee time on The New course. With our bags slung over our shoulders, we wandered across the course toward the first tee, ready to shake hands with whoever was joining us. But no—our first round in Scotland would be just the two of us. A father and son 2-ball on a cool, dry morning in St Andrews. We were around in under three hours, and Dad rolled in a casual birdie on eighteen, just like we drew it up. Stopping at The Jigger Inn for the obligatory pint on the way back, we spent the rest of the night doing what golfers do: replaying each hole shot by shot.
Our short time in St Andrews was up, and soon enough we were packing up and heading south toward East Lothian. But before we crossed the River Tay and left Fife behind, there was one stop we just couldn’t miss. Elie isn’t far – a short twenty-five minutes from St Andrews – but it feels like stepping into its own little universe. A small seaside town with character, and home to one of the most joyful and peculiar golf courses I’ve ever played. A par 70 without a single par 5, though you never feel like anything is missing. Somehow the place strings together eighteen unique holes, each one with its own quirk. I walked off the final green already replaying half the round in my mind, and I haven’t stopped since. Elie feels like a club you could play the rest of your life without ever growing tired of it.
From there we hopped a train east, riding along the coast toward what might be the second home of golf in Scotland, North Berwick. The town itself has a true postcard feel, and the depth of golf is undeniable. North Berwick West Links sits right there in the middle of everything and just a short drive away you have Muirfield, Gullane, and Dunbar. It feels like every direction you look in Scotland; another great course is sitting there by the coast. We settled into The Nether Abbey with another Scottish lager and looked forward to what this chapter of the trip had in store.
The next morning, we finally got what Scotland had been threatening all week: a wet morning in Gullane. After days of generous weather, the rain felt almost overdue. As we trudged up the second hole, climbing the famous Gullane Hill with heads down, the clouds thinned and the light slipped through. By the time we reached the 3rd tee, Edinburgh and Fife appeared off in the distance. It was a pleasant surprise, and a reminder of where we’d been in just a few short days. Today, we were happy to relinquish our status as a 2-ball. A friend of mine joined us, a Scottish transplant who’d moved to Edinburgh a couple of years earlier. We spent the day catching up, enjoying a beautiful day on a spectacular course.
When we reached the crest of Gullane Hill again on the 17th tee with the town spread out below us, I felt a great sense of gratitude. From a half-serious conversation more than a year earlier to standing here now, in Scotland, at the end of the journey, having walked some of the finest links golf has to offer. To be there and sharing it with special people is a memory worth holding on to. The thrill of planning a trip in its infancy, watching it become a reality and finally realizing all the things you hoped for is a feeling all golfers should experience, and one I look forward to again soon.
Griffin Rush
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