A day of remarkable purity at Somerset Hills

Posted by Jamie on 5 July 2010 | 1 Comments | Tags: Somerset Hills, A W Tillinghast, Warren Buffet, National Golf Links of America, New York, New Jersey

I�??m perched at a picnic table out here on Montauk Point �?? right at the tip of Long Island �?? on a beautiful Monday morning, catching up on blog duties.  There�??s not a cloud in the sky; in front of me is a lighthouse commissioned by George Washington Himself, and the Atlantic Ocean; and I�??ve just been for a dip.  Life�??s good.

It�??s with great fondness that I look back on our day last Thursday at Somerset Hills �?? one of the most relaxing and enriching of the year.  After a week down in south and central New Jersey this would be the first of our days spent in and around New York, building towards the climax of our US leg.  After Pine Valley the day prior, and Merion the day prior to that, Somerset Hills was in good company.  As were we.

Our charismatic host was a gentleman by the name of Rory Corrigan.  A well read, cerebral chap, Rory was an equities salesman in The City �?? and he did well enough to retire at 52 to a beautiful slice of paradise in the woods outside Morristown.  Rich Oelkers (my partner at Baltusrol; father of Ryan The Great, our host there) put us onto Rory.  I could tell from the email correspondence leading up to our visit that Rory had a sense of humour very much along my wavelength, and that we were going to get on well.  

We left the bar at Pine Valley bound for Morristown, a couple of hours up the road.  On arrival we came across this bear of a man, who identified himself as Rory.  A deeper and more rumbling voice I may never have heard.  The bear led us into his quite breathtaking house and introduced us to his charming wife Debi.  Their twin boys also emerged from the stairwell and we all sat up over a glass of wine chewing the fat.  Our impression of the Corrigans was of a very successful but very grounded family: the sort of family I myself would like to raise when the time comes.

Mike and I awoke to a beautiful morning like this one, and to a fine breakfast that Rory had prepared.  We sat out on his deck overlooking the woodlands below, with a cup of Joe in hand, and reflected.  Mike beat me to it: both of us were thinking that we could have been in New Zealand.  A beautiful spot; no humidity; you couldn�??t hear one car.  The squirrels darting around the oak trees were the only ones that gave the game away.

Somerset Hills was just two miles down the road �?? a shorter commute than we�??re used to.  Dodgy got a rest for the day; instead we travelled in style in Rory�??s Jeep.  Along the way we got a little local history on the area, as well as a few other pearls of general wisdom.  When you�??re in Rory�??s company you can�??t help but absorb the fruits of his readings.

It�??s a quite magnificent piece of property, Somerset Hills.  A long driveway curves gracefully around the perimeter of a few holes on the front 9, and drops you near the top of the hill, overlooking A W Tillinghast�??s masterpiece below.  Behind the pro shop, further up the hill, are a dozen or so grass tennis courts (which by the time we made the turn were swamped with little �??uns decked out in their whites, tearing it up).  The locker room is understated and cosy �?? here they�??re not too fussed about gold plated handles or rich mahogany lockers; they�??ve got everything they need.

On the wall in the locker room is a photo of a famous lighthouse, not too far from where I�??m sitting right now, at The National Golf Links of America.  It�??s iconic in the golfing world, and a sight I hope to see in the next few days.  Anyway Rory�??s grandfather built it.  His father helped too.  Apparently the team that did the work was composed of both Anglo Saxon Americans, and a few lads of Native Indian extraction.  They didn�??t get on too well �?? there were a few fisty cuffs every now and then �?? and so the work was divided to keep them separated where possible: the white guys worked up top (the Indians were scared of heights from memory) and their counterparts down below.  Interesting stuff.

Up by the pro shop we met Adam Machala, the Head Pro, who was to join us on course.  A more affable and gentle natured guy you will not find �?? he was also my partner in the haggle and so I�??m morally bound to say nice things about him.  Which is not hard.  Our caddies were Alex and Evan, two of the best we�??ve had.  (I�??m aware that at this point this blog is gushingly positive and full of superlatives �?? be assured that this is not because I�??m in a particularly good mood, but because really it was a perfect day).

The front 9 sit out below in the pro shop, almost in full view.  They�??ve cleared hundreds of trees here in recent years (I think in part at the direction of their new superintendent, who came from Merion) - something that�??s a big �??no, no�?� in New Zealand.  Aside from improving the course, by all accounts, it also means you can stand at several vantage points and admire Tillinghast�??s genius in its full splendour.  Distinctive bunkering and green complexes are for me the hallmarks of his design �?? particularly those bunkers 40 yards of the green that look like they�??re greenside.  Adding to the character is a racetrack �?? about a mile long �?? that runs throughout the front 9.  In days gone by members would bring their horses down and gun round it; apparently there was a spot of polo too.  

We had cool sunshine; a healthy helping of wind; and plenty of laughs.  Adam and I were one up at the turn, and looking dangerous.  

The back 9 takes you into the trees, and past a gorgeous lake.  It�??s also more undulating and requires a bit more concentration.  With the sound counsel of our hosts and caddies, we knocked it around without a care in the world.  On holes like 10, 12 and 14 �?? and 15, 16 and 17, come to think of it �?? you just look around and admire the beauty of Somerset Hills.  Mike and I reflected afterwards that it�??s really the type of course you would never tire of playing.  I asked Rory whether he�??d ever come down here not to play golf, but just for a walk.  In the winter he does, with the dog (ironically named Bear); I would too.

Adam and I held on up the uphill 18th for a 1up victory, much to the dismay of the ever competitive Goldstein.  I�??d left myself a 2 foot downhilll left to right putt for par, which would�??ve been for The Win had Adam not rolled in an 8 foot uphiller before me.  Thank God he did; I didn�??t fancy being put under that type of pressure after such an enjoyable day!

Rory very kindly took the 3 of us to lunch in the Grill, which like the locker room is an understated but tasteful affair.  He was also kind enough to gift Michael and I a souveneir belt each, which will be worn �??most every remaining day of 2010 I would speculate.  I�??m wearing it now, actually.  In the pro shop we met Kylie, a fellow Kiwi, who hails from Great Barrier Island.  These Kiwis turn up in the darndest of places...

On our way out we met Oscar, the gentleman who looks after the locker room and members�?? shoes.  Oscar�??s nephew Oscar was the star of Paraguay�??s most recent victory in The World Cup, something Oscar Senior was quite rightly very proud of sharing.  He showed us a newspaper cutting and all.  On our way out we also met one of Rory�??s friends, a lady named Joan.  Later Rory told us that Joan plays bridge with Warren Buffet (who�??s apparently �??very smart, but bids senselessly...�?�!).

A surreal day indeed.  Rory and Adam couldn�??t have been more affable and generous hosts; Somerset Hills is Tillinghast at his best (quite different in character to San Francisco GC and to Winged Foot, which we played on Saturday (blog to come shortly)); and our golf wasn�??t as bad as it can be.  What more could one ask for?

Late in the afternoon we boarded a train bound for NYC, for a night of mischief in The City.  That�??s another story...

JP