Surrounded by Purebreds,
a Lovable Mutt with Bite
Aiken Golf Club
Aiken, S.C.
Rate: $30 to ride 18 (weekday afternoon)
Date: July 22, 2020
Somewhere along the way, the word “scale” became conflated with “big.”
But scale and enormity are two different things. Scale is a measure of proportionality: whether something fits comfortably in its surroundings. Simply because something is big doesn’t mean it has proper scale. Bethpage Black is a huge arena, but its comically small fairways look bizarre against their grand backdrops; it has size, but it lacks scale. On the other hand, a small golf course can still offer scale by fitting neatly into its surroundings.
A view back toward the fairway from the green at Aiken’s drivable par-4 15th hole.
If there’s a better example of this “small scale” than Aiken Golf Club in western South Carolina, then I’ve never seen it. Surrounded by bigger, more famous neighbors — Palmetto Golf Club, Sage Valley Golf Club, and Augusta National all are within a half-hour’s drive — Aiken Golf Club uses the region’s sandy, rolling, golf-ready landscape to perfection. Though it shares its topography with those clubs, it uses that canvas to present something unique.
Aiken is at once both understated and overwhelming. Its short and occasionally narrow fairways loop seamlessly through a sleepy neighborhood, and its small but wildly contoured greens pack more creative punch than far more heralded courses. Aiken makes you work for every single one of its 5,795 yards, but it rewards you with shots and putts seldom faced anywhere else.
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The Fried Egg’s account (and accompanying podcast) of Aiken’s origins summarizes the course’s 108-year history better than any subsequent writer need try. Suffice it to say that in 1995 the club’s owner, Jim McNair, Jr., placed a bet on himself: without the money to pay an established design firm, McNair wagered that elbow grease and a fascination with golf architecture could fuel a total, in-house renovation of the golf course. McNair had never even driven a bulldozer, much less shaped a green. “It took me about a day to figure out how to shape,” McNair told the Fried Egg. “And then, we were off and running.”
That mix of inexperience and passion did wonders: over the span of a four-year renovation, it led McNair toward a design that no one ever would have advised, much less built. But since McNair didn’t know the rules, he broke nearly all of them. In the process, he turned Aiken into a paradox: something revolutionary, but timeless.
Aiken’s tough, uphill par-3 fourth hole is guarded on its sides by sweeping sand traps, and in front by a quirky row of three tiny bunkers.
That paradox slaps players in the face as quickly as they hit the first fairway. The scene is covered in hazards of every imaginable appearance: sweeping sandscapes, tiny pot bunkers — and, in between, sand traps whose shapes I’ve never seen before. Aiken’s wild greens wait for no introduction, either. At the first hole, my approach narrowly missed the green’s left side and rolled down a sharp, three-foot slope into a runoff area. My chip landed about a third of the way to the hole, and I took my eye off it when it was halfway; but a few seconds later, as I picked up my putter to walk on the green, I caught my ball out of the corner of my eye, rolling back to my feet. Two holes later, a long but thin green with four tiers rolls back toward the fairway like a waterfall; any approach past the hole to a front pin is destined to be putted off the green. The greens are navigable, but they demand precision; a few rounds of experience are the real key, but for a newcomer, a second and third look at each putt wouldn’t hurt.
The greens are also slow, but with such amazing undulations, they have to be. And they fit the character of the rest of the course, which is sandy and scruffy in all the right ways — an appropriate fit for its neighborhood, which likewise is sleepy and gracefully aged. The golf course and its community have grown old together: the rare residential golf course that feels like it’s exactly where it belongs.
Even on a scorching, late July afternoon, the course was busy with locals — including my partner, whose sunburned skin, homemade swing, and well of local knowledge betrayed his frequency of Aiken. He told me he’d been laid off since shortly after COVID broke loose in March, and that he’d played the course virtually every day since. He also claimed that he practiced at his house by hitting flop shots off plywood, though, so I don’t know what to believe. But he did offer at least one invaluable insight: “everything breaks toward the railroad tracks” (which lie south of the course, to the left of its opening holes). More than once, my lipouts proved him right; on the par-5 second hole (446 yards from the back tees), an unusually good wedge shot left me a three-foot birdie putt — which I missed low, on the railroad side.
Aiken’s scorecard yardage looks short, but its design fills up the site’s canvas with sweeping bunkers — a reminder that layouts on small properties still can offer proper scale.
Aiken’s short yardage cannot be explained by diminutive holes, though. The third and fifth (“I call this one Dead Man’s Hole,” my partner said, with good reason) both are par-4s cracking 400 yards, and the par-3 fourth (194 yards from the back tees) requires a long, uphill iron shot reminiscent of the eighth holes at George Wright and the Fields. Two short par-4s and three par-3s on the back nine drive down the scorecard yardage, but anyone without a scorecard would never notice it. “Some friends of mine won’t come out here because they say it’s a short course,” my partner said. “But it’s tough.”
The back nine feels less quirky than the front, but it doesn’t get any easier; Aiken’s par-3s are its toughest holes, and two of the course’s final three holes are one-shotters. Separated by the tough, uphill par-4 17th (382 yards from the back tees), Aiken’s three-hole climax is as exhilarating as it is exhausting. Even at the end, Aiken browbeats players with the reminder that short and easy are two different things, and that this course is only one of them.
. . .
The paradox of Aiken Golf Club begins at arrival: parking on the street and a nondescript entrance leave one wondering, “This is it?” Aiken saves its fireworks for the golf course — a design that weaves together elements of courses with much higher profiles: the tenacious greens of Pinehurst No. 2, the lively routing of Mid Pines, the novelty of Sweetens Cove, the walkability of your favorite hometown track, and the right-where-it-belongs comfort of some of Scotland’s most beloved links.
But Aiken’s design isn’t its only inspired quality. McNair’s ingenuity also should be modeled by aging, smaller courses across the country who find themselves outgunned by larger neighbors. A generation ago, McNair decided not to run away from Aiken’s uniqueness, but to double down on it; he couldn’t transform Aiken into another Palmetto or Sage Valley, and he didn’t try. He made something different — and in doing so, made Aiken a testament to its heritage and a model for the future.
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