STONY BROOK, NY – Your heart sings every time you step out of the car in the parking lot at St. George’s Golf & Country Club on Long Island. Whatever weight you carry with you lifts, and your cares dissolve as you behold the White Tree stately standing beside the clubhouse next to the tall American flagpole where Old Glory gallantly streams in the whistling wind. From this point, high on a hill, one can look across vast expanses of the property and drink in heady the wine-like essence of their sparkling, indeed enchanting Devereux Emmet-designed golf course, restored to its Golden Age splendor by Gil Hanse.
“It’s enchanting,” explained golfer Bruce Moulton, tightening his windshirt against the building gael. “Absolutely captivating. On a windy day like today, you’ll think your playing on the windswept heaths of Upper England.”
Indeed, there is a feeling of transportation, of escapism when playing St. George’s – rugged, tumbling hills make perfect terrain for golf. It’s astonishing that this tremendous acreage sits within a Long Island town. It’s like finding an emerald lying in the sidewalk of 55th street between 6th and 7th Avenues. One minute you’re in Stony Brook, the next you’re 100 years in the past, hitting low punch shots that bounce once or twice in front of the green before bounding on and filtering slowly to the pin for a birdie op.
Here’s how it goes the first time you see St. George’s: by the second hole and its majestic shared fairway with 18, your eyes are wide open with the possibility that this could really be something, by the fourth hole with it’s devilish approach to the square green completely encircled by sand and shaggy mounds you know you’re someplace special, and by the tenth hole with its thrilling downhill approach to the roadside green, you never want to leave.
Oh, and by the fifteenth tee, as you look out at the diamond shaped green guarded by a berm and pot bunkers, you’re looking at your watch to see if you can squeeze in another round, and be damned stopping for lunch…
There’s so much that’s memorable about the round at St. George’s besides the shots we just described. There’s the false front green at the first hole, a testy approach shot over a devilish swale right out of the gate with a walk of shame as much as forty yards back down the fairway for golfers careless enough to leave a shot short. There’s the idyllic punchbowl green setting at the par-4 fifth. There’s the visually arresting saddle fairway at 12, a favorite of almost everyone who plays St. George’s. There’s the terrifying, dastardly pitch to the tiny 16th green, hole that clearly demonstrates that you don’t need length to defend a golf course – you need terrain with undulations and greens with internal contour to defend a golf course.
Didn’t the U.S. Open at Merion teach us anything?
And, of course, there’s 17, a Bonhomme Richard of a par-3 that may be pint-sized, but can sink your scorecard faster than the Serapis went down that fateful day during the Revolutionary War. (American history buffs will get the reference…)
By the time you crest the last hill and arrive a the 18th green, with the flag and the White Tree – yes, capital “W”, capital “T” – with the flag and the White Tree standing sentinel over the course as they have for a century, you’re exhilarated. A gnawing sadness also rises, knowing your day is done, but then, like seed germinating after a long winter, the longing grows for the next time you return and behold St. George’s once more.
And that thought will keep you warm for a long time.
