The American Redan

The fourth at National represents a strict, violent geometry. The strategy is paradoxical: one must aim away from the target to find it. The putting surface falls heavily from right to left, a massive kick-plate that demands a running approach. The high shoulder is the only safe passage. To ignore it—to hunt a back-left pin with aerial arrogance—is to invite ruin in the pit that guards the inside flank. The bunker is not merely a hazard; it is a grave.

C.B. Macdonald possessed a robust ego, yet here, the vanity appears warranted. Though he drew the blueprint from North Berwick’s 15th, he and Seth Raynor sharpened the lines at Southampton. The contours are bolder, the fall-offs more severe. While the Scottish original relies on subtlety, the American interpretation relies on scale. It stands not just as a copy, but as an argument that the student can, occasionally, surpass the master.

On the tee, the eye deceives the mind. The flag waves, begging for a direct assault, but the ground dictates a conservative line. To ignore the physics is to fail the test. The walk to the green is one of silent anticipation, waiting to see if the slope has accepted the offering or rejected it into the sand. It is a hole that exposes the gap between intent and execution, best stomached with a wager on the line and the wind stiff in the face.