The Aisla Craig Connection: Why Golf’s Greatest Stages Need Stories Like This

In 35 years covering professional golf, I’ve learned that the best tournaments aren’t defined solely by who wins or what scores get posted. The truly memorable ones—the ones that stick with you decades later—have texture. They have stories. They have soul.

That’s why this piece about Aisla Craig, the 600-million-year-old volcanic plug that serves as backdrop to Turnberry’s Ailsa course, matters far more than it might initially appear. It’s not really about curling stones, though that’s the hook. It’s about why certain golf venues transcend the sport itself, becoming cultural landmarks that mean something to people who’ve never hit a golf shot in their lives.

A Course Defined by Its Geology—Literally

Look, I’ve walked nearly every inch of Turnberry’s Ailsa course multiple times. Four Open Championships broadcast from that layout since 1977, most recently in 2009 when Tom Watson’s magical run at age 59 captured the world’s imagination. Every single broadcast featured Aisla Craig prominently—sometimes as a playing hazard you’re trying to avoid, mostly as that unmistakable sentinel that made you know, instantly, exactly where you were watching.

What I never really thought about—what most golf observers probably never think about—is that this rock isn’t just scenic wallpaper. It’s functional. It’s essential. According to the article, Kays Scotland has been the exclusive manufacturer of Olympic curling stones since 2006, and they’re pulling granite from Aisla Craig itself to do it:

“The island’s Blue Hone granite is used on the stone’s running edge while its Common Green granite, which is resistant to heat transfer and splintering, composes the body of the stone. It’s a formula Kays has spent the last 175 or so years perfecting, with granite that can be found nowhere else on earth.”

Think about that for a moment. The iconic visual that defines one of golf’s most storied venues is simultaneously the raw material that produces the equipment for an entirely different Olympic sport. That’s not coincidence. That’s geology meeting geography meeting human history in a way that most sports venues simply cannot replicate.

The Turnberry Brand Is Bigger Than Golf

In my caddie days with Tom in the ’90s, I learned quickly that professional golfers don’t just play courses—they inhabit them. They become part of the narrative. But certain courses transcend even that relationship. They become destinations regardless of whether golf is being played. Pebble Beach has its seals and its dramatic coastline. Torrey Pines has its hang-gliders and San Diego’s skyline. Turnberry has 600 million years of geological history quite literally standing in the Firth of Clyde.

That matters for tourism. It matters for broadcast appeal. It matters for cultural relevance. When the R&A considers rotation venues for the Open Championship, they’re not just evaluating course difficulty or fairway width. They’re evaluating whether a venue has the intangible qualities that make people want to tune in, to visit, to be part of something bigger than themselves.

What strikes me about this article is how thoroughly Scottish operators understand this principle. Ricky English, operations manager at Kays Scotland, isn’t just running a factory. He’s stewarding a 175-year-old legacy that connects golf, curling, Olympic history, and geological uniqueness into a single coherent brand story. The man produces about 48 stones per week—roughly 12 per day—each one selling for around $1,000, and ships them globally, “from the U.S. to China, Japan and South Korea to Mongolia and New Zealand, even to Antarctica.”

“We have to keep our own quality standards up for every stone. Whether we make a stone for the Olympics or we make a stone for a [curling] club in Alabama, it’s the same quality control, the exact same way of making it goes into it. There’s no difference.”

That’s not just manufacturing speak. That’s professional pride. That’s understanding that you’re not just making curling stones; you’re representing a place, a heritage, and a standard that people associate with Scotland itself.

The Unexpected Crossover Appeal

Here’s something I didn’t see coming: the article notes that Kays actually commissioned a St. Andrews clubmaker to build four hickory golf clubs with Common Green granite incorporated into the bases, and they sold quickly. There’s also explicit acknowledgment of skill overlap between curling and golf—the touch, the feel, the precision required in both sports.

In my experience, golf has long been siloed. We cover golf news. We talk about golf trends. We analyze golf tournaments. But golf doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It shares athletes, shares audiences, shares cultural moment with other pursuits. The fact that Snoop Dogg’s presence on NBC’s curling coverage apparently drove a spike in orders for Aisla Craig-themed merchandise tells you something important about modern sports consumption: people are increasingly willing to follow personalities and cultural moments across traditional sport boundaries.

“Snoop Dog was at the curling. That might have helped.”

English’s wry observation understates something larger: the golf world—and specifically, courses like Turnberry—benefit immensely when their associated brands achieve crossover cultural relevance.

Why This Matters for Golf’s Future

I think what we’re witnessing here is a quiet masterclass in destination management. Turnberry hasn’t needed to shout about its uniqueness. The geology does it for them. Aisla Craig has been doing the work for literally millions of years. All Turnberry, and all of Scotland, has to do is tell that story compellingly.

That’s something worth remembering the next time the Open Championship returns to the Ailsa course. That rock isn’t just beautiful. It’s essential. It’s rare. It’s shared with a sport most golfers don’t follow. And somehow, all of that makes the golf course itself mean something more.

That’s the kind of texture that stays with you.