In this edition of Perspectives, Daniel Jones – H&B Marketing & Communications Manager – takes us on a journey to the edge of the Earth with a round at the improbable Cruit Island Golf Club.
“If you lose a golf ball at Cruit Island, it might end up in Newfoundland.”
This sort of wit was common as my colleague, Connor Evers, and I explored the golf courses in Northwest Ireland.
Every time one of us mentioned to a local that we were playing Cruit Island Golf Club, the knowing glint in their eye seemed to say…
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Turns out, they were right.
Most would wager that Cruit Island (pronounced “Critch”) is either 150-years-old or crafted by a golf architect du jour with an eye for adventure.
The fact that neither is true feels right on brand.
The 9-hole course was designed in 1986 by Michael Doherty, the head professional at the City of Derry Golf Club.
Since then, for somewhat obvious reasons, Cruit Island has remained firmly under the radar.
For most traveling golfers, a 9-hole course miles from the middle of nowhere is simply a bridge too far.
Even the most intrepid Irish golfers are likely to see Cruit Island as just another course on their map.
But that’s slowly starting to change…
Thanks to some compelling footage on YouTube, and a course that was seemingly designed for Instagram, the club has become social-media-famous of late.
Connor and I engaged in an unspoken competition to see who could text the other the latest post, story, or video the fastest.
Still, despite our careers dedicated to expertise in golf travel, Cruit Island remained the stuff of our digital daydreams.
That quickly changed, though, when the golfers who rely on that expertise started asking about the curious course in their newsfeed.
Connor Evers sends his drive on the 5th hole at Cruit Island Golf Club.
Marty, our caddie at Narin & Portnoo Links, tried to warn us…
“When you turn off the main road, it’s the longest 5 kilometers that you’ll ever drive.”
As we veered onto the R259 in the town of Dungloe, it was clear that Marty had played a little fast and loose with the term “main road.”
In Ireland, R roads are the sort of thing that would have inspired John Denver or The Allman Brothers to pick up their guitars.
When compared to the average country roads in the states, however, the ones in Ireland seem to be half the width and twice as curvy.
The lane markings are also, in a word, sporadic.
After several miles of real life Mario Kart, we turned onto the unnumbered road from Marty’s warning.
The single-lane path snaked its way up the length of Cruit Island, over an uncomfortably narrow bridge, past a shipwreck, and toward what felt like the edge of the Earth.
The feeling is common on the rugged west coast of Ireland, where it’s hard to fault our ancient ancestors for assuming this was just as far as things went.
Our doubts of finding a golf course at the end of this unlikely road grew with each passing kilometer.
But right on cue, a rainbow appeared just ahead – it would hang around for most of the day – along with a sign that, we assumed, marked our destination.
Fáilte – Gailf Chumann Oileán na Cruite
Success.
We arrived at Cruit Island Golf Club in what could only be described as a sunny hurricane.
Based on the deserted parking lot, we were clearly the only ones who thought golf was a good idea on this day.
An observation that was confirmed by Pat, who welcomed us inside the modest clubhouse.
“It looks to be all yours out there.”
We grabbed a pair of trollies, climbed to the 1st tee, and attempted to hear Pat’s overview of the course through the howling wind.
Despite a lifetime of Florida hurricanes, these were the fiercest sustained winds that I had ever experienced. Sending my entire supply of golf balls to Newfoundland felt like a real possibility.
Pat explained that the entrance road crosses the 1st fairway – because, of course it does – and that the flag straight ahead was actually for the 8th hole. The 1st green, he clarified, was across the road and to the right.
“It’ll all make sense once you’re out there.”
I was content to take his word for it.
As Connor’s ProV1 blew off its tee, the North Atlantic thrashed behind us and the paradox of Cruit Island came into view.
This craggy stretch of earth was clearly perfect, and completely ill suited, for golf.
Connor’s dad made the trek with us… “I have no idea how you guys are playing. I can barely walk in this wind.”
While trudging up the first fairway, in search of our drives and the correct green, I felt a sudden bond with Jim Cantorre.
Despite an absence of any formal training, most Floridians claim expertise in tropical cyclones.
As such, I was sure that we were playing through the remnants of some previously named storm.
When I shouted this to Connor, he held his hand to his ear and shook his head with a shrug; a clear confirmation that my theory was correct.
With the gales at our back, our shots into the 1st green never once considered stopping on the surface.
From there, we marched up a rocky knoll to where we assumed the 2nd tee was waiting. Pat’s confidence in our wayfinding skills proved surprisingly accurate.
The par-4 2nd is the closest thing to an inland hole that you’ll find on the course. It also happened to play directly into the teeth of Hurricane Cruit.
To our relief, the struggle to simply move forward was temporary, as the 3rd hole turned back downwind.
Thanks to a ridge that cuts across the fairway, the rainbow that led us into Cruit Island was the only thing visible ahead.
We blasted our drivers up and over the hill and hoped for the best…
Yours truly at the crest of the 3rd fairway. There’s simply nothing else like it.
It’s here that words start to fail Cruit Island.
The English language has plenty of highly descriptive terms, but none can capture the feeling of cresting the 3rd fairway at Cruit Island for the first time.
The fairway tumbles down to a tiny green. The putting surface is guarded in front by three bunkers and, at first glance, appears to be falling into the sea.
Beyond, a rocky archipelago takes the brunt of the crashing waves, while the peak of Errigal looms in the distance.
We wished those drives a pleasant trip to Canada and practiced our short game in silence for several minutes, unwilling to leave this improbable scene or spoil it with unnecessary noise.
The 4th tee is basically connected to the back of the 3rd green, which means it truly feels like it’s falling into oblivion.
As we sat on its makeshift bench and enjoyed a snack, we were hard pressed to name another spot in Irish golf that topped this one.
If there’s a better bench in golf, we have yet to see it.
Every ounce of content that we viewed before our visit had pointed to the 6th hole as the core memory from a round at Cruit Island.
When we reached the much anticipated par-3, it felt both surreal and totally preposterous.
The tee box is on a thin peninsula that juts into the Atlantic, while the green sits on a similar, if larger, finger of land.
In-between, there’s roughly 120 yards of crashing waves and rocky cliffs, shaped by millions of years by fire, water, and ice.
The hole measures just 137 yards, but thanks to Hurricane Cruit, the number was closer to 200.
Connor launched a 6-iron up into the heavens and it never had a chance. I flushed a hooded 4-iron that sailed to the right edge of the surface, somehow, pin-high.
We goofed around at the green for quite some time, like a couple of kids who were ditched at the local muni for a summer afternoon.
Given the setting and empty course, the moment called for chipping contests, cross-country putts, and a few attempts to land a ball back on the tee box.
From here, candidly, the rest of the round is a blur. But just before it maxed out my available RAM, Connor summed up the experience at Cruit Island…
“I still can’t believe this place is real.”
Connor on the 6th tee at Cruit Island.
We returned to the clubhouse battered and beaming. Pat was still there and offered up some much needed coffee.
“How did you get on?”
This is a common question around golf clubhouses in Great Britain and Ireland. It’s a marvelously efficient phrase that can take on so many meanings.
“How did you play?”
“What did you think of the course?”
“How about that 6th hole?”
“Was it worth the journey?”
“Will you be back?”
As we rambled on to Pat about our adventure on the course, I noticed the knowing glint from the past few days had appeared in his eyes.
Only now, it seemed to convey something different…
“You’re in on the secret.”
Golf at the edge of the Earth.
To be sure, Cruit Island is not everyone’s particular brand of vodka. It requires both extra effort and an open mind to properly enjoy it.
But golfers are an intrepid bunch by nature. The opportunity to chase a little ball at some far flung outpost is one that we’ll rarely turn down.
More often than not, though, what we’re really chasing is the story.
Whether we’re name-dropping trophy courses, or gushing over the place with an honesty box, the thrill of discovery – and the chance to tell our friends about it – is a powerful drug.
Ironically, the more we collect these stories, the harder we have to work to find our next high.
Golf courses at the outer reaches of the Arctic Circle, or the sandy wastes of remote New Zealand, are proof of our delusion.
And yet, that’s what makes the secret of Cruit Island a little surprising…
Thousands of golfers flock to Ireland’s iconic golf courses each year, yet few make the detour to the curious 9-holer at the edge of the Earth.
The ones who do never have to tell you. The knowing glint says it all.
Our free guide includes over 40 pages of valuable insight, plus links to nearly 50 additional resources, on Golf and the Good Life in Ireland.
For more insight on planning your golf trip to Ireland, visit the pages below, read our Ireland golf trip reviews, or have a look through our Yardage Book, where you’ll find answers to many of our most frequently asked questions.
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