THE ISLAND: Elegance From Days Gone By.
By: Nick Edmund

Photography by LC Lambrecht.

It all began with four men in a boat. The year was 1887, in the small village of Malahide just north of Dublin, Ireland. The crew was comprised of a lawyer, a brewery owner and two bankers. They were good friends, this intrepid foursome, confirmed bachelors and golfing addicts. For some time, each had gazed longingly across the estuary from Malahide towards a vast wilderness of sand dunes situated on a peninsula of land just half a mile in the distance, and wondered if it might be possible to create a links course on the spectacular looking site. Naturally with this group, curiosity won the day.

Perhaps back then, in the 19th century, there was nothing bizarre in the notion of men rowing across a sometimes choppy estuary in order to play a round of golf (by land the journey was difficult as well as lengthy). Yet only in Ireland could such a mode of transport continue as the normal means of access to their course until 1973. By then, The Island had experienced an extraordinary and intriguing history. Until recently, both club and course dwelled in a kind of golfing time warp. In many ways, The Island remains Ireland’s most fascinating and best kept golfing secret.

From the instant they set foot on their island sanctuary, the pioneering four realized they had discovered something special. Six kindred souls were let in on the secret and in 1890 it was this group of 10 men, calling itself “The Bachelors,” that founded the club. Within a few years, however, the inevitable happened: Several of the cast got married, so the group restyled itself as “The Syndicate.” A club membership developed and The Island became visitor-friendly. It was this elite body and its appointed successors which ran the affairs of The Island Golf Club for more than 60 years.

Today, writer Jim Finegan eloquently summarizes the attractions of The Island in his book Emerald Fairways and Foam-Flecked Seas. “The Island is a great course, compelling our respect for the testing quality of its holes, winning our admiration for its naturalness, endowing us from start to finish with the unique joy of seaside golf at its best,” Finegan writes. “The world should be beating a path to its door.”

If Old Tom Morris had been aboard that first vessel to The Island in 1887, he would undoubtedly have declared that Providence had intended the site to be a golf course. He didn’t inspect it though, nor can it be surmised did any other architect during the formative years, for none has ever been credited with the initial design. Geographically, The Island is situated close (and is metaphorically overshadowed by) Portmarnock and Royal Dublin; physically, however, the land has much more in common with the rugged links of southwest Ireland. Rather flatteringly, The Island has been described as “the Lahinch of the east coast.”

It certainly possesses more than a hint of that great course’s majesty and, yes, its quirkiness, too. Towering sand hills dominate much of the terrain and when they aren’t in evidence, great swathes of marram grass and tangling scrub run amok. The founding fathers (or bachelors) had no means and possibly no inclination to tame the landscape, thus they built their course amongst—occasionally routing over—the dunes. They cleared the marram grass and the scrub in the areas they designated for tees and fairways and, applying their golfing common sense, let the land dictate the most suitable locations for greens. It all sounds a little crude; but then, it was exactly that. The Island, more than any other links course in Ireland, simply evolved. In spirit, it is more Scottish than Irish.

The evolutionary process continued for the better part of 100 years. The Island’s rippling, crumpled fairways and its small greens that sometimes nestled in dells or atop plateaus, retained their quintessentially natural appearance. Due to a plethora of blind shots, the course was often criticized as being unfair and old-fashioned. But it was brimming with character and undeniably challenging. It had the capacity to tantalize and torment: A golfer would be ferried across the estuary never knowing quite what to expect.

In 1952, “The Syndicate” finally relinquished its control over club affairs and The Island became a traditional member’s club. Despite the body’s near-sinister sounding name, it had run the club efficiently and, if at times a little despotically, generally very fairly. In fact, the members changed little over the next 20 years. But change did occur. By democratic vote the decision was made to build a new clubhouse in a new location—one far from the original site. In addition, the motor car lobby had defeated the boatmen: The Island would be served by road rather than by ferry. And, of course, a new clubhouse meant that changes to the links were inevitable.

In 1973, British architect Fred Hawtree was commissioned to “reorganize” the links. His mission was liberal in scope, for though it required him to retain the distinctive character of the course, he was invited to make whatever changes he considered necessary to “modernize” it. Thus it was a very difficult as well as liberal assignment: The club wanted him to add length to the layout and remove some of the course’s overt blindness, while at the same time enhancing The Island’s unique flavor. In short, he was to redesign and renovate.

Nothing ever happens in a hurry at The Island and it took the better part of two decades for all the changes to be implemented. Eventually it was head greenkeeper Paddy Caul, a celebrated Irish amateur golfer, who was charged with bringing Hawtree’s plans to fruition. The “new course” officially opened in 1990, the year the club celebrated its centenary.

The grand scale of the remodeling made it impossible to please everyone— to this day a handful of members still mourn the passing of the club ferry—but the work of Hawtree and Caul is widely regarded as a major triumph. In addition to some subtle tinkering, seven new holes were constructed. Today the links can be stretched to 6,700 yards and its routing is configured in two loops of nine. The blend of holes is broadly, if not entirely, harmonious. There is a slight juxtaposition of styles: The course commences and finishes with a big, bold par-4 built in the Waterville-like fashion, whereas the heart of the round exudes an air of Prestwick-like quaintness. But the package works. Besides, the drama of the terrain and the capacity to thrill are the course’s two great constants.

On the front nine the variety among the par-4 holes is exceptional. The aforementioned stirring opener is played from an elevated tee to a raised green via a fairway that carves a path between two enormous dunes. The third and seventh holes are equally demanding, the former running parallel to the shore and the latter, a terrific two-shotter played to a green ringed by dense scrub, somewhat reminiscent of Royal Birkdale. In contrast, the fourth, fifth, sixth and eighth are all shortish and slightly eccentric par-4s, the highlights being the magnificent panorama from the crest of the fifth fairway and the extraordinary sunken green at the eighth.

The glory of the back nine is the sequence between the 12th and 15th, a run of holes which tours the tip of the peninsula. It comprises a strong dogleg left to a fiercely defended and sharply sloping green; a superb, long par-3 played over humps and hollows to a green perched precariously on bluffs overlooking the estuary; an arrow-straight par-4 of little more than 300 yards but where the landing area of the tee shot is all of 13 paces wide—possibly the narrowest fairway in golf—and a marvelous roller coasting par-5 that twists and tumbles its way towards a green backed by a range of massive sand hills known as “the Andes.”

Boatmen, bachelors and golfing purists be forewarned: The myriad charms of The Island await your discovery.

Reprinted with permission from

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