Part 1 Building a golf course – how to
I’m the youngest by 9 years. I went to golf at the weekend with mum, on Saturday, and both on Sunday during the season.
The old course, 4 miles out, was closed and lost because of a land lease problem, not nice neighbours, and long drop toilet insensitivities.
But before that loss happened and for about 3 months that year I helped build the new golf course in town.
My part in all of this was picking up sticks, and as one pick up was like the previous, and might be like the next, I won’t tell you how it is done nor how I did it. There may be no right way. Later, I went and got part mechanised, I had a rake.
It had been planned, drawn up, and the western boundary cleared for some width using two or three passes of a dozer blade and this clearing was outside the 180 yards marks from the then river level. This patch of bushland, between the clearing and the river itself was left, natural, nice.
Machines came in, three , and picked up the bigger trees, holus bolus, or trees were sawn and the sawn pieces picked up and moved back down the clearing to the paddock which would become the parking lot. That whole swath of ground was cleared like that, four fairways worth, and the clearing was widened from the top end back to the starting spot using the tractors to pick and carry and the residual branches and rubbish were stacked in a line which approximated the mid line of the fairways.
This wasn’t just cleared rectangles, those fairway clearances had shape, curves, angles so that the whole width, eventually, turned for you as you progressed along its length, and not unlike the meandering watercourse just over there. No cart path, no, you walked them days, most carried their clubs, the men, and some had ‘trolleys’, several were wood, yes wooden frames with axles and wheels purloined from a wool bale trolley.
After several weeks, and several days work in each week, the site looked quite like a golf course, minus everything golf, of course.
After several months, part time though, the Shire machines came along and went back to the start and ripped up the ground to clear it of roots and a root rake, two raked the roots back into a line along the centre of the fairways, eleven now, and this was collected and burnt off site using their trucks and loaders. There was a rush, seven days a week for two weeks, to get the other areas done, before rain, and ready for seeding. The whole area cleared was disced, then raked, then rolled, and low points, tree holes mostly, had dirt tipped into those and raked, rolled until everything was flat. There are no hills, or anything, down or up, except where the fairways cross a warrambool ana branch, failed river bed if that helps you understand.
Kikuyu was the choice of grass for the course. The putting green (oiled) surrounds of 14 holes were done first, with both seed and cuttings on the outside. The cuttings struck but the seed strike might have been miserable. The grass cover became contentious and appears to have resolved itself with some flat leafed native forb that spread quickly and galloped away with mowing and super applications, it looked like green lino, seriously. It gets damaged during play, and stays that way for a time. Most players, it was supposed to be all of them, carry a bucket of repair soil. This is clay dried and fined through a sieve, my job sometimes, sieving. Two spoonfuls of fertiliser to each bucket could be added, shaken to meld it, and tipped in to their holders, paint tins with handles were popular.
Again, this loading in of the repair soil was my job sometimes. I waited at the first tee for that hour as they teed it up. You learn swear words there. I offered to check and fill their repair buckets, not too full because of balance problems with their buggies. An adult supervised this, tee off and me.
Our town was in a swamp with the river touching then leaving the north east corner of that swamp.
It, the town, had a high levee around it but in exceptional years it was a human camp surrounded by flood with roads in and out built on road beds elevated above the waters or, as they used to, drive along out of town on the rail line, also elevated and between two rivers, and a creek that was a river once.
It’s about a mile north to high dry ground, but south, east and west, holy cow, it was about 27 miles of expansive water, with sheep in it. The egg lady in town lost all her chickens, to pelicans, this once.
Not everything was done, completed, that first year. 14 holes were done and installed. You played 8 and 9 twice after playing 15 and 16 twice. The local rule was, ‘players ahead have right of way’ meaning players on 15 could play 15 next or 8 next, if they wanted. Sounds vitriolic but sensible, on 15? Allow those on 8 to repeat or those on 8 to play 15 and circle back to aid the playing flow, as if numbers on the course caused a choke!
Some of the area designated previously as available for the course was withdrawn and consequently, four holes were built between the club house (it was still a club shed for three years) and a bend in the river, a par 3 out and a par 5 in, but twice, quite nice and this is the area I played on after rounds were completed and important talking and eating and drinking was the go. Just me in the late afternoon and evening cool, mum’s clubs, 6 woods and an 8 iron and her spindly legged buggy. I might stop for a cutlet and some cake twice and the last round, nearly dark, I would hit 5 or more along the fairway to the club shed and lights. I bought mum a box of twelve balls, wrapped in soft paper, each season to replace the ones I dirtied, buffed, cut and lost mostly. I still have one box.
Electricity came quickly to the shed and beer machine, a sub from the trunk to the railway yard.
Water and sewage came in a trench ripped in from the back fence of the swimming pool, two passes, then scooped out with a new fangled bucket loader, dust and noise a favourite thing. Separate pipes for either of course.
The entrance road was improved as a last thing, elevated with dirt borrowed from the installation of the new silos nearby, lucky, and high. The club house had to wait, for a change of government actually, people, non-golfers mostly, elected a man who would arrange payment for that. A rodeo arena got cancelled. I have not seen the course since it was completed, it was flooded (pre covid) and I was frightened of being scooped up by a pelican.
Later, while still single I worked a machine for an architect who did some work on the Murray, renovating golf courses, and twice we stopped before completion because the owners, a local corporation, needed money for other things.
We went slowly, thoroughly, methodicaly and bit by bit, imagining that our money would be used elsewhere often. It was a simple matter of smoothing over what we were trying to do and the course was returned to working, both times. I got paid, but not sure the architect did get his share. Another job, was a mowing on a farm, amongst the cattle, of 9 holes on improved pasture, which became 18 holes, in three go’s at it. Really nice at the end. The architect joined a firm in Europe after that.
So, that is my golf course architecture and construction exposure.
More from Pestwac (Tony Moffat) can be read Here.
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Retired in Pemberton WA with Anne and (today) a non-going SUV and a m/c
01/02/26 update: We have a new Hyundai now
