By Sean Melia
Entering Charleston Municipal Golf Course’s driveway from the east is a harrowing experience. Traffic zooms past as you time your left turn across two lanes of traffic while simultaneously glancing into your rearview mirror, hoping no one rear-ends you and damages your golf clubs. In many ways, it’s similar to playing a round of golf: worrying about what’s ahead of you, while also peaking in the rearview at the groups and holes behind you.
Every bit of the adrenaline rush is worth it for a chance to see what has been cooked up at Charleston Muni.
As a Bostonian, I grew up enjoying the subtlety of Donald Ross designs. Those designs stand in stark contrast to the Seth Raynor tribute I was about to encounter. Even after doing my requisite homework on Troy Miller’s renovation, I wasn’t fully prepared for the experience.
Seth Raynor, whose template holes are the hallmark of the newly renovated course, is not a golf course architect I know much about. His work didn’t make it up to Massachusetts beyond Dedham Golf and Polo. I have played Yale, too, but a long time ago in blistering cold and wind during college events. The closest I have come to playing Raynor courses are Brian Silva designs, which spot the northeast like freckles on an Irishman. Silva is a renowned designer and also a Raynor restoration master. Play one of Silva’s original courses and you’ll see Raynor’s influence in the greens, although they are nothing like the ones at Charleston Muni.
Our trip to Charleston was designed to be an escape from two weeks of winter weather in Boston. We’d work remotely and mix in some vacation days to wander King Street, eat as much food as possible, see the sights, and sprinkle in some golf. My round at the Muni was my fourth and final round, but it was number one on my list of places to play. Thankfully, the threat of rain one day scared off the locals and opened up the tee sheet. I booked a tee time and crossed my fingers. The rains came over night, but by the time I teed off in the afternoon, the skies had cleared and the course was basically mine for the taking.
The passage of time from my arrival to sticking my tee in the ground on the first hole was roughly six minutes. The quaint pro shop, dotted with shirts, hats, and a sale rack in the middle of the floor, was quiet. Outside, the starter was quick and to the point, “The tee is yours,” he told me 30 minutes ahead of my tee time. The slow, laid-back South Carolina I had started to understand had just sped up, meeting my impatient New England inner-clock.
Charleston is part of South Carolina’s “Low Country.” It’s a city of bridges and overpasses and marshes and rivers and ocean. Water is omnipresent, even walking through our adopted Charleston neighborhood — the weather-beaten houses, some abandoned, offered a reminder of hurricanes and tropical storms that have pounded the city. After a wet month of February (and rain the previous night), the course was saturated; puddles and muddy spots dotted every fairway and tee box.
If the conditions from tee to green were this soggy at most courses, I would have scoffed and been annoyed that I paid money to tip-toe through and around countless puddles. However, during this particular round it simply didn’t matter. I hit my shots, found the ball, and tried again without any bother. My positive vibes could be attributed to the fact that a warming sun was going to accompany me on my final round of the trip, but my pep also had to do with the prospect of what awaited me at the end of every hole.
Even with all the rain, the greens were smooth, firm, and consistent. Each of the greens felt like a mini-event within the greater round of golf, as if I were breaking the rules and stepping onto an art installation at the Guggenheim. The immense first green, designed in the style of Raynor’s Double Plateau, offered a taste of what lay ahead. I was grateful that the hole was cut in the valley near the front of the green between the two large plateaus. Following a thin 7-iron approach sending pins and needles through my fingers, I was in no place to navigate a challenging pin position that required any sort of feel and touch.
The flat land the course sits on provides a perfect contrast to the greens that Troy Miller designed to honor Raynor. Each approach shot generates a touch of anxiety, especially as a first timer. Greens like the sixth, a punchbowl design, was unlike any punchbowl I had seen. I am most familiar with punchbowl greens that sit in the ground and act like a catch basin with an area in the front that will funnel the ball down into the green. In the case of the sixth at Charleston Muni, the green appeared as if the punchbowl was resting on top of the flat ground, forcing the player to fly the ball onto the green. When my approach shot disappeared, all I could do was hope it ended up safely on the green. I didn’t even know it was a punchbowl until I walked onto the green and saw the contours.
Another quirk of Charleston Muni are the short flagsticks, which also change the scale of everything around it. For example, the seventh green rises out of the ground like a monolith at the end of the par-5, with sharp-edged bunkers and steep slopes protecting the green from second and third shots. The red pennant flag just barely makes itself visible, both because of the height of the green, but also because the flagstick is barely tall enough to draw the attention of an NBA scout.
After battling the eighth and ninth holes, the treacherous crossing of Maybank Highway’s four lanes of traffic might be a welcome respite. The eighth is a 210-yard par 3-from the back tees with a Biarritz green, and the ninth is a 450-yard par-4 behemoth that played into the wind. The ninth is a wonderful design: a bunker sits 45 yards in front of the green, but if the player can fly the trap, the ball will (on a dry day) kick forward onto the wide, square putting green.
I was dismayed to see a third golfer join the group in front of me as I made the turn, which in turn made me worry about the golfer behind me. Thus far, the yo-yo effect of the round had been perfect. I could play my full shots quickly, and then allow the twosome in front of me play away as I enjoyed the greens, snapped some pictures, and hit a few extra pitch shots and putts. The single behind me kept the perfect distance in my rearview mirror; it always seemed I was out of his way as he reached his ball for his approach shot. Not once did I wait, and not once did I feel rushed; it was the perfect pace of play, something I noticed in each of my South Carolina rounds.
The 10th hole has the highway running down the left side and a neighborhood street on the other. As we drove by the course the following day, it prompted my wife to wonder aloud if that was a park or a golf course. The Muni does have a “green space” look to it because of the flat land, which begs the question why golf courses couldn’t be both things. There’s no reason someone couldn’t just walk the course or even tote a putter and golf ball and enjoy the greens during an evening stroll (I’d pay $10 for that privilege).
I am sure I will be part of a loud chorus when I write that holes 11-14 are the showstoppers. The only downside to this part of the property is the proximity to the highway. The 11th hole, named Redan, is eye-catching, but I’m not sold on the accuracy of the its design; it looked to me like the mound that’s meant to kick the ball towards the left side of the green was a bit too far left. The purpose of a Redan is to accept shots coming in from the right. In my attempt to try the appropriate shot, I found myself in a tough spot of bother, having to play my second over the front bunker. The design cannot be blamed for my poor execution, and maybe next time I’ll get it right. All that being said, it’s an enjoyable hole.
The star for me was the 13th hole, a Road Hole design that did a nice job of mimicking links golf. Bunkers pock the fairway (no hotel to avoid on this tee shot), and a brave drive to the right offers a far better look at the green than the safer tee shot to the left. The green is massive and it abuts a hazard, so missing long and right is disastrous. But a left miss into the Road Hole Bunker is just as scary (although this rendition of the bunker is far less penal that its Scottish cousin).
The 12th and 14th holes are also solid, both offering challenging tee shots from sections of your bag. At No. 12 (Cape), a confident driver swing on the correct line is necessary to carry as much water as is comfortable; whereas the 120-yard 14th (Short) puts the short iron on display. An uncommitted swing will leave you digging out of a deep bunker or dropping two and hitting three while cursing yourself for not practicing your short clubs enough.
There is a lovely reminder of your locale while playing this set of holes; while the cars buzz westward, they cross the Stono River Bridge. It rises out of the ground and over the marshland that sits adjacent to the property. It’s most striking as you walk down the 13th fairway and reach the green. This is befitting a hole modeled after the 17th at St. Andrew’s, which also returns the golfer to a sense of place when they see the spires and re-enter the town after their adventures out at sea.
Walking off the 18th green at Charleston Muni, any golfer will want more. The thought of an emergency 9 crossed my mind as I headed to the car. Sometimes a golf course is worth visiting for its quirks and wacky nature, but by the time the round is over my battery is on empty. Charleston Muni had the opposite impact. I left wanting more, a pulse of jealousy pumped through my veins because Charleston locals can pull off of Maybank Highway and explore and play their Muni over and over.
Sean Melia works in education and uses as much free time as possible playing and writing about golf. He’s currently trying to play every golf course in Massachusetts, which he writes about on his blog, Stay at Home Husband. His Instagram handle is @StayHomeHusband.
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