Ben Nevis

The ascent is gradual at first, then severe. The fairway bends instinctively to the right, demanding a fade, but the lie is often uneven, complicating the geometry. The approach is a shot played entirely against the sky. The green sits perched upon the dunes, repelling anything short and punishing anything long with a terrifying downhill recovery on turf that runs like glass.

Flynn used the topography to create a natural amphitheater, ending the front nine at the foot of Stanford White’s shingle-style clubhouse. It is one of the most recognizable approaches in the game, yet the visual drama is a distraction. The wind whips off the Peconic, turning club selection into a guessing game where the penalty for hubris is a ball lost in the fescue.

Walking off the green, the legs burn from the climb and the ego usually burns from the scorecard. The proximity to the veranda offers a cruel juxtaposition: the clinking of silverware and the murmur of lunch is audible just as one is trying to salvage a bogey from the deep grass.