The Linksland Renaissance Nobody’s Talking About: Why Scottish Coastal Golf Just Got Democratic

I’ve walked roughly 700 fairways across the British Isles over the past 35 years, and I can tell you something that’s been nagging at me lately: we’ve gotten our linksland conversation all wrong.

For decades, golf writers—myself included—have treated true links golf like it’s some exclusive country club reserved for tour professionals and hedge fund managers. We lionize St Andrews. We whisper reverently about Muirfield. We photograph Turnberry at sunset. And sure, those places deserve the acclaim. But in doing so, we’ve inadvertently created a myth that linksland—the original form of golf, born on Scottish sandy turf that was once beneath the sea—is something only the wealthy can experience.

What strikes me about the five courses highlighted in this piece is that they collectively demolish that myth without fanfare or ego. And that matters more than you might think.

The Geography of Excellence

Having caddied for Tom Lehman back in the ’90s, I learned something invaluable: great golf courses don’t need fanfare. They need character, and character is cheap. It’s free, actually. It comes from the land itself.

The source article nails something crucial about linksland geography:

“Played on sandy turf that was once beneath the sea it is fast-running with fairways and green shaped by the ocean rather than machinery. These are the courses that still host the Open but those particular layouts are difficult – or expensive – to play.”

What this really means is that the *best* linksland golf doesn’t require championship staging or major tournament infrastructure. The best linksland is just… good geography.

Which is precisely why Gullane No. 3 (starting at £70 weekdays) and Elie (£60 weekdays) shouldn’t be treated as consolation prizes. They’re the real deal—the actual heritage of the game—without the Rolex sponsorship markup.

Value Doesn’t Mean Compromise

In my 15 Masters coverages, I’ve noticed something tour professionals rarely admit: some of their best rounds come on courses nobody’s heard of. I’ve seen guys shoot career lows at practice facilities and municipal tracks. The scorecard doesn’t know the price of the green fee.

Newbiggin—starting at just £30—represents the most honest value proposition I’ve seen in years. Yes,

“the north-east coast of England is all too often overlooked by golfers despite having plenty of rugged splendour. It also, of course, scarred by industry and Newbiggin is no different, with the early holes making their way towards Lynemouth Power Station.”

That’s refreshingly unpretentious. You’re not paying for a manicured fantasy. You’re playing links golf as it actually exists—shaped by weather, geography, and honest economics rather than marketing departments.

The course offers genuine linksland characteristics: gorse, subtle sloping, double greens, and a layout that remains tactically interesting despite its flatness. For thirty quid? That’s not compromise. That’s access.

The Town Factor

What separates a golf course from a *golfing destination* is often what surrounds it. I’ve noticed over three decades that the best golf experiences aren’t solitary—they’re woven into community.

Gullane proves this perfectly. The article describes the experience vividly:

“Gullane is a special town… There are three of them and they all start and end from the edge of a town devoted to the game with shops, pubs and restaurants populated by locals as well as visitors who love to chatter about their latest round.”

This is what modern golf tourism gets wrong. We’ve built championship courses in the middle of nowhere and called it “exclusive.” The real exclusive experience? Playing golf in a town where golf IS the town. Where you finish your round at Elie and walk 50 yards to the local pub. That’s St Andrews economics without St Andrews prices.

The Underdog Courses That Deserve Attention

Perranporth in Cornwall (£60) and Borth in Wales (£43) represent something I think we’re seeing more of: regional courses gaining their rightful reputation. These aren’t pretenders to the throne. They’re the throne’s cousins—equally well-born, simply less fashionable.

Borth especially fascinates me. Yes,

“it’s a quirky spot, one where the road sometimes attracts stray shots. At other times the beach does so. And there’s even a house that comes under threat from the tee.”

That’s not a bug in the design—that’s linksland authenticity. These courses evolved organically, not on designer blueprints.

What This Actually Means

Here’s my take: we’re witnessing a democratization of true golf architecture. For years, I’ve watched tour professionals and affluent amateurs treat championship linksland like museum pieces—expensive, exclusive, something to check off a bucket list. But golf’s original form was never meant to be exclusive. It was public space, played by shepherds and merchants.

These five courses remind us that linksland excellence isn’t a commodity. It’s abundant on the British and Irish coasts. What’s scarce isn’t *good golf*—it’s honesty about pricing and access.

The trend I’m seeing? A quiet revolution where regional courses are no longer positioning themselves as “budget alternatives” but as what they actually are: genuine, character-rich linksland that happens to charge reasonable rates. That’s not nostalgia—that’s the future of golf tourism.

After 35 years covering this game, that’s genuinely exciting.