Norway 2023 – The Road to Lofoten …

…  3000+ miles on a BMW R1250 GS, to play Golf in the Wilderness.

If you are looking for an alternative to The Great Escape this Christmas, Part 1 of my Norway tour to the Lofoten Islands is now available on YouTube:

This is days 1-4 of a 20 day adventure. Most of the footage is taken with an Insta360 – I have hours to edit, so parts 2-4 could be some time coming. In the meantime, please “like and subscribe” on YouTube to ensure you don’t miss the next exciting episode 😉

Lofoten Links – 2023

Regardless of the route you take, Svolvær on the Lofoten Islands is a seven-hour ride and over 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle Center on the E6, Norway’s main north-south highway. Just getting there is an adventure; it is well inside 66 degrees 33 minutes North.

In early March 2020 I travelled with my eldest son by train from Oslo to Bodø and then took a short flight onto the islands for a photography expedition. The Lofotens remained under a blanket of snow and ice, but the sun was making its return. The timing was critical, even more so than we imagined – two days after we arrived home, Norway went into lockdown. Ever since I have been plotting my return.

The Lofoten landscape is one of the most spectacular in the world, whether covered in snow or bathed in crystal-clear summer light; it gets under your skin. Northwest from Svolvær is the island of Gimsøya, its ancient church, Hoven’s lone peak and, in early March, ice encrusted sandy beaches.

The beach at Hoven – Winter 2020

A single-track road circles the northern reaches of this small island where, a few hundred yards back from the beach at Hov, there is a grey, stretched out, low line building in the shadow of Hoven’s 368-meter-tall peak. Facing out to sea, three signs in large arial font declare this is Lofoten Links. Covered in snow, indiscernible from the surrounding farmland, I knew immediately, this was one Golf in the Wild course I was destined and determined to play.

I have travelled Norway by aeroplane, ship, car, coach and train. Returning by motorcycle was the next logical thing to do – if you want to immerse yourself in a landscape over long distance, there is no better way to travel. On Tuesday 27th June 2023, I rode my BMW R1250 GS into the Lofoten Links car park having ridden 1,645 miles and many hours on ferries.

Lofoten Links on a perfect June day.

The clubhouse looks to be modelled on up-market Portakabins with potential for extension and I wonder if this might be its history – extended in parallel with the course which has grown from six, to nine, to eighteen holes since 1998. Realised from the germ of an idea first muted in 1991, the course is now included in a variety of top 100 world rankings, including Golf Digest and Golf World – a remarkable achievement.

The golfing season on Gimsøya is cut short by frost and snow which arrives in October and remains until the following Spring. The compensation is that in June and July, the midnight sun enables tees to be booked throughout the night. It is, by some margin, the most expensive round of golf I have played and a far cry from the honesty boxes of Golf in the Wild – the hired clubs are also in a different class from the mixed set of antiques I hired on Barra. Everything is pristine.

The first tee is across the road from the clubhouse where a gravel path leads you through rocky outcrops and a carpet of wildflowers to a choice of tee positions – tee 61 (6092 m), tee 56 (5499 m), tee 48 (4804 m) and tee 42 (4216 m). I was there to enjoy myself, not receive punishment, the ageing joints providing challenge enough – I elected to use tee 48 and avoid some challenging long carries over water. I know my limitations. I know I am not Viktor Hovland, who in 2022, drove 22 hours from Oslo to shoot an 8-under course record of 63.  At least I “drove” further.

The first and second holes are the perfect introduction, providing the template for everything that lies ahead, not least because Lofoten Links proudly claims the first to be one of the most challenging opening holes in golf. Standing on the first tee, it is hard to disagree.

John and Peter heading up the first

 

This is the view from the 56 and 48 tees, I never looked for the 61 tee, preferring not to dream the impossible dream, nor fight the unbeatable foe. The fairway arcs around the rock-strewn inlet and a narrow band of semi where more boulders await. There is no hiding place, so I played it safe, took a mid-iron to find the fairway and proceeded in a gentlemanly fashion towards the green – I took six. For a golf course that spends half its life buried under snow and ice, the presentation is remarkable with fairways like greens, it seemed a travesty to use a trolley.
The signature hole comes early in the round – the second, Arholmen, ranked one of the best par threes in the world. Again, there is no hiding place, as this image from UK Golf Guy illustrates. I neglected to extract my camera; I was distracted.

 

Hole 2 – Arholmen – the signature hole

 

This is golfing heaven, but in Norway you can also go to Hell, population 1,528. I have written elsewhere about the surprising parallels between the art of hitting a golf ball and riding a motorcycle. I have found more – we like space in front and behind. On this road trip I discovered another type of hell.

Norwegians are master tunnel builders and monuments to their artistry can be found countrywide, even in the remotest locations. To achieve the greatest undersea descent in the shortest distance, they are steep, spiral and extremely cold. On a motorcycle you do not want to be sandwiched between a campervan driving well below the speed limit and an articulated lorry intent on reading the small print on your rear number plate (for the benefit of the lorry driver – golfinthewild.co.uk). On a golf course you do not want to be sandwiched between a rank amateur in front and enthusiastic long hitters to your rear, you want space.

It was at the second I encountered a dejected girl and her misguided partner. She probably had good reason to be miserable, it being patently obvious that she could neither hit a golf ball nor had any idea of golf etiquette, oblivious as she took an age to clear the green while the world patiently waited. I eventually played out the second and they were still there as I approached the third tee. Her embarrassed partner was good enough to let me through which perfected an already magnificent day. From then on, they provided a very effective buffer for the enthusiastic long hitters behind. I had the fairways to myself. Underground, overtaking the campervan proved more fraught.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand
Every Grain of Sand – Bob Dylan

 

Sky and water – the same unbelievable blue

 

My only birdie on the day

 

Nearby Hov is one of the oldest places in Lofoten and once hosted a huge Viking amphitheatre, probably created for sacrificial rituals – harsh punishment for an over-par round. The Viking chieftan , Tore Hjort, mentioned in the Viking sagas, is thought to have resided here and there are various Viking graves in the area, including two on Lofoten Links. It seems the Vikings had a good eye for inviting links land. The far away course at Reay, on Scotland’s most northerly coast boasts the same –  the aptly named Viking Grave, par 3 15th,

I have developed a habit of scoring badly on the front nine and recovering on the back and this day was no different. After 1600+ miles in the saddle, it took time to adjust to walking pace and the coordination required to hit a golf ball rather than balancing clutch, brakes, and accelerator. I expected this and declined the offer of joining Peter and John at the first. This was one day I didn’t want the pressure of an audience. Peter was visiting from Oslo and his friend, John, is a headmaster from nearby Henningsvær, famous for its island football pitch, “the most beautiful football stadium in the world“. Their excellent, controlled drives suggested this was the right decision.

 

The tenth – a long walk from the 9th.

 

My equilibrium returned at the 8th and I started scoring well from the 10th such that I had the confidence to join them on the last two holes. Coming up short at the par 3, 17th, Peter suggested I was working in yards not metres and he may have had a point. A chip and I was still ten feet short, but the long putt dropped, thereby achieving a reputation as a reliable putter – this reputation is confined to Norway.  John lost a ball at the 18th and I had to take a drop from the rough but none of this mattered. Lofoten Links combined with perfect weather had exceeded all expectations. Eventually my golf had risen to the occasion, but again, this was of little consequence – the real achievement was, after months of planning and countless hours on a motorcycle, I had achieved my ambition, playing on the most beautiful golf course in the world. Not so much Golf in the Wild as Golf in Paradise.

The fourteenth – stroke index 2

 

The eighteenth is always tinged with disappointment; the round is over and but for the clubhouse chatter, it is time to head for home. This time, home was over 1600 miles and many ferry rides away and given the magnificence of Norway’s landscape, there was much to look forward to. The next morning dawned dull and damp, as if to emphasise just how lucky I had been. An early start to catch the Moskenes – Bodø ferry is why I abandoned the plan to play under a midnight sun. Just now and then, Captain Sensible wins out. The ride south proved as spectacular as the ride north; it is a country that spoils you for anywhere else. There were no dramas on the return leg other than riding through Germany and the Netherlands under a severe weather warning. Safely home, given the opportunity, I would go back tomorrow.

 

 

Golf in the Wild – Going Home

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Reiss Links

Chapter 4 – The Wick course follows a familiar links format: a north-heading outward eight hugging the landward side of the course, an east-facing ninth par 3 at its furthest reaches and a return nine running south and parallel to the mutinous sand dunes that divide the course from Sinclair’s Bay.  For those members or visitors short on time or energy there is a formally assessed 9-hole, par 35 course which goes north as far as hole five and returns to the clubhouse from holes fifteen through eighteen.
To play this nine is to tread similar ground to the original 9-hole course first established in 1870.
Succinctly named Angle, Cross, Long, End, Bent, Cable, Plain, Tower and Home, the poetry was reserved for the bunkers, not least the monstrous Hades which had to be negotiated from the second tee.
The July 1904 edition of Golf Illustrated describes it as a yawning sand bunker which necessitates a carry of about 140 yards. It is so close to the tee that there is no escape for a topped shot; in it must go, and the player who forgets that extrication is the first duty in a bunker and attempts the heroic is likely to regret his rashness. The carry is, of course, not too much for fair swiping, and once over, all that should remain is a careful approach.
Sadly, Hades is no more; at least not in this world. Also gone is a style of golf reportage that includes a fair swiping within its lexicon, even though it seems a more accurate description of my golf swing than any other I have heard.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home. Chapter 4 – Reiss Links

A different sort of golfer …

…  a different sort of biker.  Durness is the place where Golf in the Wild ends and its sequel, Golf in the Wild – Going Home, begins.  The image of the 8th green shows a ball adjacent to the pin – it will not have arrived in regulation.  The approach has the characteristics of an infinity pool – just fairway and water.  It takes confidence to go for the invisible green, anything long seemingly destined for the briny sea.

The view from the 8th/17th green takes in many highlights of the course: the dunes and the edge of Balnakeil Bay; sturdy Balnakeil House – available for rent to the well-heeled and grubby – it has six bathrooms; the graveyard where lies the Clan MacKay henchman, Donald McMurdo – was ill to his friend and worse to his foe; the 18th tee, which provides such a glorious finish across a rocky inlet and the Clubhouse which resembles a coastguard station, forever keeping watch for those in peril on the course.

The image does not sparkle, it was not one of those days – hazy sunshine turned dreich, but I was grateful for the benign conditions; when the winds blow strong across the Parph from Cape Wrath, this will be an inhospitable place for golf and much else besides.

The view from the 8th green, looking east

It was taken in August 2012 and, sad to relate, I have never played the course since, despite becoming a country member for a couple of years when the club’s finances were stretched. Their secretary, Lucy Mackay, has always been very supportive of Golf in the Wild.  That is not to say I have never returned to Balnakeil and Durness – I have been several times, most recently in 2021 by motorcycle.

The NCA Motorcycle Club at Balnakeil Bay – May 2021

My standard line is that I have yet to fathom how to carry golf clubs on my BMW GS, but as I proved on Barra, dependence on my own clubs is entirely illusory, indeed, my game seemed to benefit from using a mixed set of hire clubs.  With this in mind, I am planning more extreme wild golf by motorcycle – in 2023 the intention is to ride to the Lofoten Islands in Norway and play golf under the midnight sun on Lofoten Links.  I have travelled there by car, sea, ship and aeroplane which only leaves the motorcycle to complete the set.  On my last trip I travelled with my eldest son by train from Oslo to Bodø and then took a short flight to Svolvær.  It was the beginning of March and snow was still thick on the ground – the Lofoten Islands are well within the Arctic Circle such that Lofoten Links will only open from 5th of May until 15th of October in 2023.

The road to Lofoten Links – March 2020

Near Lofoten Links – March 2020

Why post this now? It is all part of the process of making it happen – a commitment to myself, and now, to others. It is about not losing face.

The Stage is Empty – Cullen 2018

I was last here in 1958 or 1959 but let’s just assume it was ’58 for the neatness of a sixty year symmetry.  If I am to return again, I will not have the option of leaving it so long; time is running out.

I have vague memories of the golf course behind the beach; I remember the gasometer dominating the eastern end of the town, now demolished; I remember the string of viaducts that create a theatrical  backdrop to the bay; I remember mithering for a pen-knife emblazoned with a kilted Scot and bagpipes and almost immediately slicing my thumb, blood everywhere; I remember gurning in the holiday photographs, a different pose and face for every occasion; I remember a determination to go in the sea everyday, regardless of the weather and, throughout everything, I remember my teenage sister as unconvincingly grown-up and immensely irritating.  Most of all, I remember the stinging slap to the back of an unprotected leg, my mother the executioner, never my dad.

On the bridge at Cullen House

On the bridge at Cullen House, 1958

All this time gone by and here I am again, standing outside the Bay View Hotel, now a private house, my thoughts no longer centred on pen-knifes and the multifarious ways to irritate an irritating sister. These many years later I am here to play golf but how different it might all have been.  Dad was accomplished at cricket, football and tennis, so why not golf.  If we had walked Cullen’s fairways in the 1950s what memories might we have shared, how often might we have returned.  No first nor final rounds – dad, I hardly knew you:

Two world wars, economic depressions, genocidal dictators, material privations, the ominpresence of death … enduring such stuff is not propitious for the embrace of affective ostentation, for the desire to get in touch with our inner entitlements,  for the infantile need to share our pain,  for the comfy validation of our self-pity,  for the slovenly annihilating of our restraint,  for the quashing of our shame.

Jonathon Meades – An Encyclopaedia of Myself 

Sixty years on, the stage is empty, my audience gone.

On the bridge at Cullen House -2018

On the bridge at Cullen House, 2018

Nothing quite prepares you for the joy of playing Cullen Links.  It may be the shortest of the 84 true links courses in Scotland but the lack of distance does not diminish the test nor the enjoyment.  There are ten par threes, some blind, some long, some protected by rock and some a combination of all three – this is crazy golf on the grand scale and I love it.

 

... at Cullen. The view from the 4th tee.

yard, par 3, 12th - spot the marker post between the rocks.

Golf in the Wild ...