The Linksland Secret Golf’s Gatekeepers Don’t Want You to Know

After 35 years of covering professional golf—and having spent formative years lugging a bag for Tom Lehman across some of the world’s finest layouts—I’ve watched something troubling happen to linksland golf. It’s become mythologized. Sanitized. Locked away behind velvet ropes and four-figure green fees.

The Open Championship venues, those hallowed Scottish and English courses that host majors, have calcified into bucket-list destinations rather than playable golf courses. They’re museums now, more than anything else. And that’s created a narrative problem: that real linksland golf—the genuine article, with its windswept fairways and ocean-carved contours—is something only the wealthy or the fortunate few get to experience.

What I find refreshing, then, is that this narrative is completely false.

The Linksland Abundance Nobody Talks About

The British coast isn’t a scarcity of accessible great golf. It’s an embarrassment of riches. The source material makes this point elegantly: “The coast of Scotland, England and Wales is blessed with a variety of standards and prices.” But here’s what strikes me about that observation—it’s not just about variety. It’s about a fundamental disconnect between what recreational golfers think they need to experience and what’s actually available to them.

I’ve walked Muirfield and St Andrews more times than I can count. Beautiful courses, genuinely world-class. But I’ve also played rounds at courses most American golfers couldn’t name, on stretches of coastline that rival anything you’ll find at an Open venue, for a fraction of the cost. The dirty secret? The golf is often just as good. Sometimes better, because you’re not battling crowds or overthinking every shot.

Consider Gullane No. 3. A weekday round runs £70—that’s roughly $85-90 depending on exchange rates. For that price, you’re getting a James Braid-influenced layout in one of golf’s most storied towns, with views across the Firth of Forth that would make most resort courses weep with envy. The article notes that

“Just to play golf in this neck of the woods feels special and to make the journey up and over the hills is terrific fun. In all directions you see golfers swinging and yet you rarely hear them such is the isolation.”

That isolation is a luxury you won’t find at famous venues, no matter how much you pay.

The Quirk Factor: Where Character Lives

What’s genuinely fascinating about the five courses highlighted is their individuality. These aren’t cookie-cutter championship venues designed by committee. They have personality.

Perranporth, down in Cornwall, is described as

“a test that feels like a golfing rollercoaster. There are vast sandhills and sweeping fairways, blind shots and dramatic views, rolling greens and tee boxes in the dunes.”

Tee times start at £60. That’s remarkable value for a course that demands imagination and rewards creative shotmaking—which, in my experience, is what separates good golf courses from great ones.

Then there’s Borth in Wales, a course so charmingly eccentric that

“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.”

I’ve played hundreds of courses, and I can tell you that quirk isn’t a bug—it’s a feature. It’s what makes a round memorable. It’s what you talk about 20 years later.

The courses that get written about endlessly—the ones that charge premium fees and host tournaments—often sand down these rough edges in the name of “consistency” and “fairness.” But fairness isn’t why we love golf. We love it because it’s unpredictable. Because it surprises us.

Value That Extends Beyond Price

Here’s what the pricing breakdown really reveals:

• Gullane No. 3: £70 weekday, £125 to play two courses in a day
• Perranporth: £60 tee times
• Elie: £60 weekday, £75 weekend
• Newbiggin: £30 (described as “an absolute bargain”)
• Borth: £43 starting fees

What jumps out isn’t just the affordability—it’s that you’re getting authentic linksland golf at prices comparable to a decent municipal course in most American cities. Having caddied in the late ’80s and early ’90s, I remember when these courses were genuinely a working golfer’s playground. That tradition hasn’t died; it’s just been overshadowed by the major championship venues.

The value extends beyond green fees, too. These are golf towns—places where the game isn’t a luxury add-on to a resort experience, but the actual fabric of the community. Elie, Gullane, and towns along the coast host real golf cultures. You’re not paying for Instagram-worthy backdrops or celebrity endorsements. You’re paying to play golf in places where golf matters.

A Word About the Industrial Edges

I should note that Newbiggin, on England’s north-east coast, doesn’t shy away from its industrial heritage. The course “makes its way towards Lynemouth Power Station,” which might sound off-putting to some. But in my experience, golf’s most interesting courses often sit at the intersection of human geography and natural landscape. The tension makes the golf interesting. It tells a story about the place.

That’s not a weakness—that’s authenticity.

The Bigger Picture

After 15 Masters and countless weeks covering the PGA Tour, I’ve learned something fundamental: the best golf experiences often happen when expectations are lowest and discovery is highest. Professional golf, by its nature, is about perfection. But the golf that matters to most of us is about something different. It’s about weather and friends and shots you couldn’t have imagined taking 10 minutes before you took them.

The linksland courses described here—from Scottish Fife to Cornish cliffs to Welsh coastlines—offer exactly that. They’re waiting. They’re affordable. And they’re far less crowded than the major championship venues everyone assumes they need to play.

That’s not a consolation prize. That’s the actual thing.