The Modern Eden

Tom Doak has distilled the Eden—St Andrews’ High Hole, guarded by the Strath and the Hill—into a wedge shot of terrifying precision. The premise appears benign, but the geometry is hostile. The green complex sits perched and tilted, a lonely shelf exposed to the elements. A ball that fails to hold this platform is not merely missed; it is rejected, cast into pot bunkers or runoffs where recovery requires a surgeon’s touch rather than a golfer’s swing. It is proof that contour and wind, not yardage, remain the game’s stoutest defenders.

This patch of ground anchored the realization that a remote Tasmanian potato farm could rival the Scottish coast. It does not mimic the Old Course in dimensions, but in temperament. The hole acts as a pivot, often playing directly into the teeth of the Bass Strait gales. Here, the yardage book is a liar. The wind turns a lofted wedge into a punching, boring strike that must find friction the moment it lands.

The scorecard offers the seduction of a mere 122 yards. The mind suggests a birdie; the wind suggests otherwise. Three minutes after the tee shot, one often finds oneself standing in sand, hidden from view, attempting to escape a hazard that feels less like a bunker and more like a grave. It is the shortest journey on the course, yet often the most arduous. Ambition here is fatal. Find the center of the green, accept two putts with gratitude, and retreat to the next tee before the wind changes its mind.