Tap - Ins

Move over, Rees Jones.

There's a new course in town, and it's unimaginably good, good as in better than 98 percent of the courses in New England, good as in top-notch, world-class, right from the curbside bag service to the last drop at 18 good.

And it's right next to your course at Pinehills, Mr. Jones, right there in Plymouth on the other side of the rolling, tree-speckled, kettle-holed 3,000-acre residential resort that stands to join the list of must-visit destinations for any serious golfer this side of the Catskills.

We loved your course at Pinehills, Mr. Jones. We said all sorts of nice things about it when it opened last year, and we meant them, and we hope to play it again someday soon.

But for now let us take a deep breath and inhale all that is sweet in life because we have just played the second 18 at Pinehills, the layout designed by Jack Nicklaus II, and it brought us to our knees with appreciation.

Three things about the brand new Nicklaus 18 that jumped out and stuck in the memory bank during a Media Day event in June:
o While it's a challenge for good golfers, it's also a fun course for the players of lesser length, people like me who have a bad habit of knocking 3-wood drives to the right about 175 yards up into the rough.

As often as not, the trouble isn't tragic for conservative duffers, just comic. Most of the harsher punishments are meted out to long ball hitters, as they are the ones more likely to land in the US Open-sized long grass, the US Open-thick first-cut rough, the US Open-quality bunkers.

Like the Jones 18, the Nicklaus looks and feels mature for its age, more like 30 years old than 30 days old. Every effort has been made to preserve the soft, natural flow of the land, the big trees that have mingled for generations among the millions of pines, and the Pilgrims 'path that intersects the course, Old Sandwich Road, the New World's oldest ancient way.
o The twin gems at 14 and 15 are two of the shortest back-to-back holes anywhere, at 280 and 144 from the white tees respectively.

As Nicklaus II himself said before the round began, No. 14 is likely to emerge as the signature hole, and it's his favorite to play. At first, you don't quite get that. You come up the hill from the 13th green and you see a skimpy dogleg with six sandy potholes protecting a blind green that is 345 from the championship tees (312 from the blues, 280 from the whites and 251 from the reds). You see a beneficially undulating fairway protected by trees right and left, with a wide landing area whose only danger is to the big hitters who might drive through it and into one of the traps.

It's on your second shot that 14's inner beauty begins to emerge. Even if you have studied the legend in the cart that tells the player where the pins are today, even if you've dutifully consulted with the yardage book you've brought along for the round (as if!), even if you've surfed the Web and checked out the holes in advance, you don't know a thing until you've met the green at 14 in person. Walk on up; it's worth the peek.

Twenty-one yards deep, it is as if two greens have been connected by tectonic shift, creating a teensy little flat in the front and a broad expanse of flat in back, with a double-diamond mogul in between. You'll want to know exactly where the pin is, because if a ball is landed on the wrong level, your birdie chance starts smelling like a bogey real quick.

While many of the greens at Pinehills feature nice big collection areas that can reward or punish depending on the shot, several others threaten long putts with expulsion….Ooops, there it goes! Toss the putter, pick up the wedge, put the pin back in, I'm still away. Fourteen is one of about six of these types of holes.

Even Jack Nicklaus II had some fun with his lack of immunity on this score. His round of 79 (which included a 7 at the 4-par No. 4) prompted him to chide the Pinehills crew about the day's
brutally tough pin placements.

"Who set 'em?" he asked, with a broad smile. "I thought you did!" said a staff member. "I didn't set 'em," came the response. "Maybe John [Tuffin, the head professional] did to protect his course record 73," someone else said.

It seemed as if every ridged green got the hole on its ridge, every hidden green got the hole in the toughest corner, every easy green to hit got the hole about three yards from the edge of a slope into waste area or a bunker.

Take 15, a seemingly simple birdie opportunity measuring 144 from the whites. You look out over an Ice Age-old dent in the earth, a pine-lined kettle valley that presents the golfer with an over-the-tree-tops view of a huge green, 30 yards wide and 20 yards deep, with safe-landing areas right and left, a bunker in front and a gnarly backboard behind.

But try stopping the ball on the camelback in the middle from 144, if that's where the mischievous hole-digger decided to sink his tool. You may hit it close, you enjoy your little tingle, fix your ball mark and walk 17 paces to your ball. Then you try like Tiger to visualize making this uphill snake with nothing but trouble if you hit long.

On top of being memorable, No. 15 was also one of the holes young Jack Nicklaus cited in describing his design philosophy before the round, which can best be summarized as a golfer's
collaboration with nature. As a course architect, he said, "You have to consider everything, from the lay of the land to the make-up and expectations of the anticipated clientele."

Nicklaus was happy to find at Pinehills a terrain that resembles the famous Pine Valley. As for the specific features of the site - the abandoned cranberry bogs, the groves of white pines, the Old Sandwich Road, the collection of kettle holes and smattering of mature trees - "We worked the course around these things."

To Jack II, the key to a successful course is its "playability," which also happens to be the Nicklaus family mantra. He likes Tom Fazio's artistry, and he likes the classics by Donald Ross and Alistair Mackenzie, but he builds courses for all talent levels - a subtle point to grasp until you've played a course that can equalize the skills of very different
players.

It starts with the tees, and the four here measure 7,243 yards, 6,640 yards, 6,129 yards and 5,185 yards, but it continues into the fairways, through the roughs and onto the greens. Somehow, courses like the Nicklaus at Pinehills (and, for that matter, the Jones at Pinehills) can make things easier for the bad player and harder for the good player, which, to my mind, is how it ought to be.

"Jackie" Nicklaus is 40 now, and he has 25 courses under his designer's belt, compared to his famous father's 250. He also has five children "running in every direction" around the house in North Palm Beach, and thus was looking forward to an upcoming, weeklong family vacation in the Bahamas.

Does he miss the grind of competitive golf? No. Does he still travel a lot designing courses from coast to coast? Yes - but on a timetable set by him, not a tour schedule. Standing there on the patio, all six-foot four of him, blond and even better-looking than his handsome dad, sipping a light beer and sporting a red-and-white striped shirt he had just picked up from the pro shop, this Jack Nicklaus wore the look of an easy-going guy who is pleased with his place in the game of golf.

And considering the lasting nature of his contribution as a course architect, he should be.