Why this Southern California native says golfing in Scotland feels like home
By Larry Wilson
When you make a trip to the spiritual home of something you do — the Rockies for fly fishing — Huntington Beach or, yes, Santa Cruz or the North Shore for surfing — you are home, too.
And when that thing is golf, and you finally make that trip to Scotland, where in the countryside and small towns everyone plays, or has played, for centuries, bliss is the result.
Bliss, mostly, was the state two West Coast friends and I were in for nine days this July, when we departed from the usual traveler’s fare of museums and cafes and no-doubt lovely cathedrals for golf and golf only.
And maybe, when the sun goes down long about 10 at night, a little whisky.
Rick Gough, a North Hollywood High School English teacher and photographer, and John Harrison, a Portland, Ore. filmmaker, and I met up in Edinburgh.
Then, on a fine midsummer Friday morning we piled our clubs and bags into a Volkswagen van and headed south for our first round, just across the English border, at Goswick, home club of our expatriate Pasadena friend Dan Miller, who has moved to the Scottish Borders region … because he can. A freelance and technical writer, a novelist and golf blogger, his laptop works as well in a cottage above a ducal estate in Kelso as anywhere. He and his wife Vickie and their daughter Emily made us a sumptuous meal centered on grilled local salmon paired with bottles of red Sancerre. They’ve moved to Scotland partly for the Scots, who come into their home after church for evenings of singing. I would move to their country myself on the flimsiest of excuses. We bedded down on couches after a wee dram.
Our first linksland golf, Goswick, had the North Sea lapping at us the whole day. There […]