Several years ago, I had the opportunity to legitimately play a couple of rounds at The National's next door neighbor, Shinnecock Hills. In order to protect the innocent, I won't name names - let's just say I gave some valuable advice on the direction of interest rates to an old Penn chum who was working at an IB (I want to say it was Salami Brothers, but I'm not positive), and he showed his gratitude by hooking me up with a member at Shinnecock.
A brief word about Shinnecock ... quite simply, its an American treasure. There is no better US Open venue and its a great course for the average player. I played 36 holes there over two days with the wind blowing and the course in US Open-like condition. I would rate the two 80s I shot over those two days up there with any sub-70 round I ever shot as the finest golf I've ever played. Shinnecock also inspired one of the funniest (and probably true) lines ever about golf - Lee Trevino's description of the 160 yard 11th as "the shortest par 5 in America".
After my 2nd round at Shinnecock, I took a right out the parking lot and continued on the narrow winding road leading away from the main drag of The Hamptons - Rt 27 - and towards the extremely private National Golf Links of America. When I say extremely private, I mean it. Check out google maps for that area - you'll find Shinnecock, you'll find Southampton Country Club, you won't find The National.
For a golfer, I cannot imagine a greater drive than the road leading into The National. I wish I had the writing skills to describe the beauty, the privacy, the intense golfing spirit in the air as the road meanders among a couple of The National's holes before turning left and running up towards the parking lot and clubhouse.
As private as The National is, there are fine days in the summer when it probably doesn't have more than 20 rounds played on it (and some of those played by caddies/staff after they get off work). The day I was there (a nice day in July, about 4 in the afternoon), the place was nearly deserted. I quickly figured out that I could park in a spot just below the 2nd tee, walk a few feet up a hill onto the tee, and be on the course without anybody from the clubhouse being able to see me. However, pressing business back in the real world prevented me from playing that day. I walked around a few holes and then left.
As beautiful as the drive into the course was, the drive out was gut-wrenching. I had tears in my eyes leaving that place, determined to come back and play someday, but not positive I would ever get the chance. Two years later, I would get that chance.
A friend of my brother's had a house in Bridgehampton and he invited all of us out there for a few days in July. On my first afternoon there - a cool, overcast Wednesday - I drove right out to The National. Again, the place was essentially deserted. I like to start on #1 wherever possible, but this is an impossibility at The National. Its tiny pro shop is located right next to the first tee. Since the place gets so little play, each and every person walking by is sure to get noticed.
From my stopover 2 years earlier, I knew exactly what to do. I parked right below the 2nd tee, skittered up the hill onto the tee, whacked a drive down the fairway, and was off onto the finest course I had ever seen. I played 2 thru 18. By the time I came off the 18th, there were a couple of people milling around, and I couldn't have cared less if I got caught at that point. I walked onto the first tee, played #1 (a fabulous hole), walked down the hill from the 1st green, stuck my clubs in my car, and drove away.
I would very much recommend Golf Club Atlas' description of The National, from where all of the pictures on this post are taken. I will end this post with the same great line from Bernard Darwin as Golf Club Atlas ended theirs ... "Those who think that it is the greatest golf course in the world may be right or wrong, but are certainly not to be accused of any intemperateness of judgment. The National Links is a truly great course; even as I write I feel my allegiance to Westward Ho! to Hoylake, to St. Andrews tottering to its fall.' Indeed.
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