Epic journey timed to perfection

If timing is everything then last Friday’s 10-hour round trip from Troon to Inverness was inspired. A day later and this particular pair of intrepid golf geeks would have been heading to Castle Stuart for a spot of land-sliding as opposed to watching the Scottish Open.

As itineraries go this one was adventurous. To make it from our start point in the south west to the Highlands capital and along the Moray Firth (think Lahinch to Larne), plus take in a day’s tournament golf was always going to cause sleep deprivation.

Fact is, the good lady and I had heard so many great reports about the new links layout at Castle Stuart, we thought we better check it out first-hand, despite the extra mileage involved – 440 miles to be precise.

Another curiosity was the chance to see a links course stage a leading European Tour event, for outside the British Open they are few and far between. Should the momentum after Rory McIlroy’s US Open win carry through, it may not be too long before our own national championship moves to a northern links and it wouldn’t be hard to pick out the (two) obvious venues.

The brightness at 4.45am of a July morning was a revelation; it’s not a part of the day previously experienced while vertical – and conscious.

After stepping onto the 5.24am train at Troon we arrived at Castle Stuart at 10.30am wearing T-shirts; no need for wet-gear as the sun split the skies.

Having stumped up the £30 for daily admission, we immediately made our way to the focal point of Castle Stuart; the art deco-style clubhouse, complete with monster putting green out front.

From such a height it’s an absorbing panoramic expanse. Below, the first hole points left and the adjacent 10th tee points in exactly the opposite direction along the coastline. It’s a stunning layout, and though fairways are wide open, each hole becomes more interesting the closer they get to the green.

As the day wore on, dark menacing skies delivered on their promise and then some. The clap of thunder served as the preamble before organisers were left with no option but to sound the claxon and get everyone off the course as the heavens opened.

This is no agronomist speaking here, but immediately the course design and suitability of the terrain became the hot topic of debate around the tented village, as punters took shelter with pint in hand and began the process of getting wet from within.

There’s no doubt the drop offs on parts of the course are severe. The descent from clubhouse to the first and 10th tees must be at least 100 feet as pathways zigzag their way down the slopes. The deluges, particularly on Saturday, made it easy to see how the landslides occurred.

But it’s hard to see how any course could have coped with these freak conditions, let alone this new kid on the block; the supposed trailblazer of the north and new driver of Scottish tourism in the Highlands.

The Scottish Open fast became a damage limitation exercise. Saturday’s prompt announcement to make it a 54-hole event was a no-brainer for a Monday finish was never an option heading into the week of a British Open.

Earlier on Friday, we took the opportunity to watch the back nine (his front nine) of Graeme McDowell’s 64 for his a share of the lead at 11-under. Viewing was at a premium as punters were six and seven deep behind the ropes. It was the same with Pádraig Harrington, Phil Mickelson and home favourite Paul Lawrie in the group behind.

The 3pm weather delay afforded the perfect opportunity to sample the tented village and a fish supper, but knowing play would resume at 5pm, we soon set off for the far reaches of the course around the fourth to take in our last piece of action. Darren Clarke was one of the first onto the course and began warming up in front of a deserted fifth green.

It was surreal being at a high profile tournament and literally the only two spectators on this part of the course for the masses had yet to spill-out from their places of shelter. We had Clarke and his group all to ourselves up until the ninth tee when the claxon sounded again and play ended for the day.

Sympathy must be felt for the organisers looking to make their big impression as Castle Stuart is tremendous addition to these parts. They can only hope their luck with the weather gods improves for the 2012 and 2013 editions.

For these two drowned rats it was time to catch the train back to the ranch. Running the gauntlet between Glasgow’s Queen Street and Central Station on a Friday night, now that’s a sight to behold. Quite how David Attenborough would analyse the native species as they spilled out of watering holes is anyone’s guess.

First train out, last train home, miles of stunning links trodden, plus scoops and dinner in the tank, was 20 hours in the making. A day later and it would have been a wasted journey.