“The magazine that once gave us Peter Dobereiner, Dan Jenkins and Tom Callahan is currently canvassing people to identify the most picturesque place in golf where one might urinate … I kid you not.”—Former World No. 1 golfer Lee Westwood, on Twitter
“The portable toilet outside the media center has signs with tips on putting and hitting drives, irons and sand shots. Nothing on the grip.”—Dan Jenkins, also on Twitter
The place where I pee at Hillandale Golf Course can be found just past the 12th tee box, where the land drops into a steep gully, and the mind and bladder enter a dreamlike state. A step or two past the nadir, loblolly pines shield you from the sides, a dense bushy patch blocks the view ahead, and the hill just descended renders you invisible from behind. If you’re ever there, simply let your playing partners walk ahead, and the dream is made manifest—outdoor seclusion, free from prying eyes, subject only to sunlight and breeze.
Green light, baby: You’re pissing al fresco.
(Do me a favor though, and don’t tell them I sent you. In general, this piece will skew slightly to dangerously ahead of its time, and we have to keep our enemies guessing.)
Observing people like us, on holes like no. 12, a fool might scratch his head and wonder: “Why didn’t you just go in the clubhouse at the turn?”
Oh, you mean some damp concrete dungeon, full of sound and smell, that looks like it spent the first part of its life as an ISIS interrogation hut? No, no, no. To hell with that. I’d rather have them write in my obituary that I died in a cold sweat, legs crossed, muttering incoherently … another victim of holding it in.
And to hell with bathrooms generally. I will remain on the side of the angels, or at least FBI special agent Dale Cooper from “Twin Peaks,” who really got it when he said that “there is nothing quite like urinating out in the open air.”
And that’s why, when my editor Sam Weinman proposed the concept of finding the best place to pee on an American golf course—this whole thing was Sam’s idea, which I’ll be mentioning frequently—I took it up with enthusiasm. I don’t give a damn if it sounds weird, or if a prig like Lee Westwood thinks it’s beneath us, because a scenic piss en plein air is about as good as it gets, and golf courses are some of the last places in the world where this sort of behavior is acceptable. It needs no defense. I won’t be ashamed, and neither should you.
(At this point, on the advice of four dozen lawyers named Richard, I would like to note that golf course peeing should be done in total privacy, out of the view of any homes or other people. Here at Golf Digest, we do not endorse weirdos or perverts. Especially—the Richards wanted me to emphasize this—not the perverts. And it’s probably worth adding that with all the BS women tolerate, witnessing some dude spend a penny in close proximity should not be added to the list. There is no greater skill for the black belt golf urinist than the ability to disappear completely…flee before you pee.)
Now then: Let’s unzip the great mystery.
Question 1: What makes a good peeing spot? Or, to refine it further, let’s admit that scenery and seclusion play an enormous role—you want to witness the splendor of nature’s creation while adding your contribution—and ask this: What differentiates the best peeing spot from the place with the best view?
RELATED: Steve Rushin on ‘Taking Relief’
Before I began to untangle that knot, a great thing happened, which was that a reader named Jarrett untangled it for me. He wrote:
1. It’s absolutely got to be a tee box. You can let three players hit their shots, eliminating any unnecessary delays to your round.2. It’s obviously got to be on one of the edges of the course.3. Ideally, it is surrounded by trees/forest.4. Ideally, it is near a tee box that is a reasonable walk from the previous green.5. BEST case scenario … it is a raised tee box. Can walk down the slope and basically disappear.
Another Twitter guy called Latapatkis had some thoughtful additions:
Must haves:1. On back 9 (no need on front 9)2. Near par 3 tee (extra time for green to clear and to pull a club + piss stream can gauge wind speed and direction)3. Private w/ view of other golfers/holes (b/c peeing is boring)
I agree with most of this, other than the voyeurism aspect—at the risk of kink-shaming, I think I would prefer not to see another golfer.
Speaking of voyeurism, I was shocked to learn that this also can create touchy issues of class: One user spoke of peeing against a chainlink fence at Oakmont, before they napalmed the trees, and watching the public golfers tee off at Oakmont East, while on the flip side an anonymous user who plays at the public course Richter Park in Danbury, Conn., reflected on peeing by Boggs Pond and staring longingly across the water at the secretive, ultra-private course Morefar Back O’ Beyond. In general, I think we want to avoid both looking down on the pee-ons and its mirror image, the “pee of envy.”
Economic and psychosexual quibbles aside, I found these criteria worth keeping in mind as we go forward. I won’t abide by a strict checklist, because in discussions like these we need to leave room for emotion, bias, and vibes … but I at least want to acknowledge the rigorous analysis before mostly ignoring it.
“Working on your short game?”—A good joke to shout at a playing partner while he pees
The ultimate difficulty of figuring out the best place to pee on a golf course in America is that you have to talk to other people about their pee habits. It can be awkward. Plus, it’s hard to know who qualifies as an “expert” in this particular subject, or if it even demands an expert. But when my research began, before I became radicalized, I couldn’t shake the journalistic instinct to seek authority. It would take time to shed old notions and inhibitions, especially because I don’t do drugs—drugs would have really helped—and so I began at the top.
I reached out to Julius Mason. He’s the longtime communications czar at the PGA of America, the organized body of more than 30,000 American club pros. He’s very good at his job, and he’s always been nice to me, which made this one of the more excruciating emails I’ve ever sent.
“Sam Weinman has given me the job of undertaking a thorough investigation of the best place in America to pee on a golf course,” I wrote. “Do you know anybody at or even loosely affiliated with the PGA of America who might have the requisite knowledge and disposition to tackle this subject and offer an opinion? Hope you’re well.”
Within an hour, I had a response:
“Are you punking me?”
Once we established that I was serious and clarified the definitions—”Just to be clear,” he wrote, “‘pee’ means taking a leak while playing golf but not in a designated bathroom. Right?”—he further distinguished himself by making a good-faith effort to find some “expert” to speak on the matter.
Sadly, two days later, the feared result: Nobody wanted to touch the story. As a small consolation, he sent me an infomercial for the “UroClub,” a fake club with a hollow core that you can pee into while pretending to swing.
Next, basically out of ideas, I emailed former PGA president Ted Bishop. He seemed like the kind of guy who might say something totally off the wall, and using the frankly deceptive subject line “Question from Golf Digest re: golf courses of America,” I made my pitch. He wrote back eight minutes later: “I’m going to respectfully pass.”
If a pro like Mason and a wild card like Bishop couldn’t produce the goods, nobody could, and I knew then that I’d have to approach this story a different way. Despite the fact that urine travels in a top-down fashion (except in space, and possibly Australia), this story could not be told in the same manner.
No problem: The angels descended, light broke through the clouds, and I had my urination revelation. Nothing is more democratic than peeing, and to find the best spot in our country, I needed to turn to the people. To my friends and fellow media members, but also to Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, to anywhere that golfers with opinions lurked. I would take some flack, sure—it had further damaged my already precarious relationship with Westwood—but I knew my people were out there, and some percentage of them would care about this exact question. Radical questions demand radical approaches, and radical approaches, I reasoned, bring out the radical people.
I was right. The responses poured in. The seal had been broken. The great American masses—dozens and dozens of the sick bastards—actually wanted to talk about their favorite places to pee.
Forget what anyone tells you. This is still a great country.
The range and creativity of the replies made choosing which course to feature first difficult, but only a bit, because in the end there was just one person who actually sent a video of himself urinating. That was Zach Cummings, and while you can’t see any indecent body parts, it’s what I would call “streaming video” in its most literal sense, and I want you to be aware of the visual components before you click—you’ve been warned—this link. If you’d rather rely on the written word, I can tell you that the camera eventually pans up, and past the tall grasses you can see a beautiful ocean vista, cliffs against the water, with a low sun beating a light path along the surface. This is Sheep Ranch Golf Course at Bandon Dunes, and a follow-up DM to Zach pinned it at the 17th tee.
“It was the very end of the trip,” Zach wrote. “Not very secluded, per se, but too beautiful to pass up for the last pee view.”
I offered Zach anonymity, but as you might expect of a guy who tweets out videos of himself peeing, he wouldn’t hear of it. And while we here at Golf Digest can’t possibly endorse his actions on the record, we can report that he’s not alone in praising Bandon Dunes. In fact, a reader named Jake R. nominated the same exact spot, and he came with a justification.
“This may seem insane because of the technical exposure,” Jake wrote, “but hear me out. You putt out, walk up the hill and the group still hasn’t teed off. It’s the corner of the property as well so no one is coming anywhere near you. The relief off of the cliff is next to none. Waves crashing to help get the flow rolling. The salty brine of the water fills you with wonder. Beaches and the vastness relax you. Facing away from the entire continental United States for a moment of bliss.”
“I have been lucky enough to execute this three times,” he concluded. “It’s fantastic.”
Then, as if I were the target of a guerrilla marketing campaign, reader Eric Wahl sent me a note advocating for a few steps down the shoreline, off the 16th tee.
“It has arguably the best views on a property known for having some of the best views in golf, is blocked from view of nearby holes by dunes [third hole shares the green but if you are far enough south the dunes keep you hidden], and is just steps off the green,” he wrote, attaching this helpful picture featuring yet another urine stream, albeit a bit more tasteful:
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This was strong stuff from Zach, Jake, and Eric, and I wondered if my search was over before it truly began. My worry deepened when Tim Huddleston wrote in with a picture of him peeing by the ocean at No. 16 on the original course.
“I was out of the hole so I stepped aside with tears in my eyes for one iconic bladder emptying.”
I don’t view seclusion as a barrier of entry. This was the greatest pee of my life. pic.twitter.com/wPeZx5kygT
— Tim Huddleston (@Huddlestron) October 7, 2026
A prominent member of golf media, who wished not to be identified, concurred with Tim:
“16th at Bandon Dunes, off the cliffs. Was a beautiful sunset evening. Wind whipping, so had to be cognizant of aim. Luckily could position towards the water and fire.”
The panic set in. Had a northwest juggernaut with an ocean view struck an early death blow? I began to think of the place as “Big Bandon,” and it haunted my dreams.
“Answering any of these questions would violate all tenets of a super secret bathroom.”—@JaysonLavie, Twitter man
Just when I thought I had overcome the Bandon blockage with some promising new contenders, I received an email that almost brought the entire project to a halt. This was from a San Diego reader named Dave, who had an encyclopedic knowledge of where to go at Torrey Pines, and even sent a map that he had labeled with his four top choices.
“The #11 tee box on Torrey Pines North, and the #16 green on North,” he wrote, “with an honorable mention to the #13 South pro tees (back behind the canyon/air traffic signal tower) and #17 South tees. North spots are better because they are more private and with better water facing views and less tourist traffic.”
That was all well and good, and he was actually one of two to suggest the 11th tee at Torrey North. What he wrote next, though, threatened to blow the whole thing sky-high.
“The problem and fear I have with my submission is the tragedy of the commons,” he wrote. “I lived in San Diego for the last 15 years, and part of me truly wishes we could shrink the game or take on a more surfer-like culture where you don’t ever post the GPS for the best waves you find/don’t talk about the best courses you play. I was tempted to not send this email because doing so may make a TON more people piss at these spots and ruin the experience and cause problems for the club.”
I can’t remember exactly what happened when I read those words, but I believe it’s metaphysically accurate to say that Adagio For Strings was playing, and I fell to my knees while dropping entire reams of paper.
What if he was right? What if this story unleashed an epidemic of targeted pissing? What if golfers began to make quasi-religious pilgrimages to these spots for the sole purpose of soiling them? What if somebody compiled every place listed here, named it “The Sam Weinman Pissing Trail,” and America’s most demented golfers went on a quest to check off every spot on the list? What if, many years from now, at Weinman’s funeral, it had become so notorious that the eulogist had to open with, “The world at large knew Sam Weinman as the man behind the golf course pissing challenge, but to those of us here, he was so much more. For instance, he also never broke 80.”
Could I live with myself?
Bravely, I decided that yes, I could.
The responses continued to arrive from all over the country, and sometimes from beyond. Despite confining this question to America, readers nominated far-flung piss spots from Banff Springs in Alberta to Ardglass in Northern Ireland (where one reader’s father has chosen a favored pee spot to scatter his ashes, which is a perfect summary of the Irish humor/mental illness) to Old Head in the Republic of Ireland (see: photo of man peeing from behind) to Iles Aux Cerfs in Mauritius, where there’s a short stretch of beach along the 11th hole where you can relieve yourself in paradisiacal privacy.
And if you worried that the cradle of the game would go unrepresented, one reader sent me a photo of him urinating at Royal Dornoch. Intense negotiations ensued, but there was no way to use the photo, so you’ll have to take my word for it. But then a second Caledonophile emerged with this view from behind the 11th tee at the Golf House Club in Elie, looking south onto the Firth of Forth:
And even though this piece focused on outdoor urinating, I also received nominations for indoor facilities with exceptional views. Four in particular stood out—a halfway house at Cypress Point with a cartoon by Charles Schulz or maybe his son, a urinal in the locker room at Shinnecock Hills singled out by fellow writer Scott Michaux, a toilet at Balboa Park favored by Rick Gehman and, above all, a glorious urinal at Newport Country Club in Rhode Island overlooking the course endorsed by Jason Sobel and many others. If the worst-scenario unfolded and Westwood sicced the censors on us, eliminating all but the strictly legal hotspots, I’d have to declare Newport C.C. the winner.
But when it comes to matters of pee, we have nothing if we don’t have our integrity, and our mission statement precludes all things foreign and indoor. Nor will I delve too deeply into the tangential anonymous stories, like the very famous golf person who peed all over his shorts by accident during a phone call on the course, or the industry vet who told me of the Great Oakmont Piss Rumor, where supposedly the club’s covert mission to cut down all the trees was discovered when a caddie ambled into the woods looking for his favorite tree, only to find it gone: an all-time intelligence leak.
Or the following DM, which I now re-print with a few details redacted:
Years ago, I got paired up with this older, very distinguished gentleman at ______. Very nice man — classy in how he spoke, how he dressed. He told me he’s also a member at ________, an all-men’s club in the ___ area. When he was a prospective member, he was playing out there with a member and had to pee on the 8th hole. So he scurried to the bushes and started doing his business. The member then yells over to him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” This guy tells me he starts zipping up mid-pee, thinking he’s ruined his chances of membership. The member says, “Here at _________, we do not pee in the bushes!” The man starts to apologize, but the member cuts him off. “Here at __________…” and he proceeds to unzip and start peeing… “we pee right in the middle of the f***ing fairways!”
I relate all this only to demonstrate how far afield a story like this could wander, if I wasn’t such a disciplined writer. A task like this demands focus, so count yourself lucky to be in the hands of a pro.
But before we proceed to the meat of the matter, we must tackle the combustible issue of gender. I hate to use a word like “privilege,” but it is a central truth that this kind of whip-it-out business is just easier for men. But what about the female perspective, aka “squatter’s rights”? It was my good luck that Cam Irons, one of the army of very funny Twitter golf burners and almost definitely a real woman, reached out to offer her take. She has lived through her share of pee-related ordeals, including a man who ordered a pizza delivered to the 16th hole at her home course, relieved himself in the bushes and then offered her a slice with his unwashed hand. She declined.
“It kind of sums it up that I’m the only woman in any group I’ve been in on the course who has snuck off to pee in the trees or bushes,” she wrote. “I primarily play with men, and once or twice a round, a guy inevitably walks a few yards off the fairway, turns towards a singular non-visible plane, unzips and takes care of business. I, however, require 360 degrees of privacy to avoid giving a free show.
“At my home courses, I have therefore anointed certain wooded areas or paths-to-nowhere as reliable ‘ladies’ rooms.’ Away from home, I moderate my relief opportunities so as not to appear uncouth. Josele Ballester had no problem taking a televised whiz at Augusta; imagine Nelly Korda ducking into the bushes at the Chevron to do the same. Heaven forbid a lady is properly hydrated and undeterred by double standards!”
I’m sympathetic, and I hope you are, too. Nevertheless, something good has come of it, because thanks to Cam’s resourcefulness, and despite a litany of cultural and anatomical hurdles, we can now identify the most female-friendly outdoor pee spot in America: Forest Park Golf Course, borough of Queens, between the 10th and 11th holes.
Back to the emission at hand. How can I possibly filter all the suggestions into a manageable list, and then eliminate the pretenders? I would like to piss at every single one of them. As a high school baseball coach would say just before cutting the riffraff, “this is the hardest part of my job.”
Everywhere you might want to go in this nation, an edenic pee oasis awaits. In the midwest, we had nominations for “behind the silo on #7 at Stonebridge CC in Aurora, IL,” and “The Prairie Club, NE. Pines Course. Behind 16 green, overlooking the Snake River.” These weren’t going to win, but I did appreciate the phallic duality of the silo and the snake.
— Matt Patterson (@mjpesquire) October 11, 2026
Then there was Arcadia Bluffs in Northern Michigan, where the 11th hole finishes on beautiful Lake Michigan, and a slope toward the water before the 12th tee, among the evergreens, looks like a painting.
https://twitter.com/GolfWhackerGuy/status/2051825870176751920/photo/1
(Another submission advocated for Lawsonia in Green Lake, Wis., but I can’t in good faith endorse this suggestion because the attached photo just seemed to be a caddie kneeling down to pee in an open fairway.)
Come to my neck of the woods, the southeast, and after sorting through the relentless Augusta fan fiction—so many of you freaks would like to pee in Rae’s Creek that my opinion of Jose Ballester has gone from “embarrassing parvenu” to “golf’s Robin Hood”—I finally found some Augusta nonfiction from reader Thomas, who nominated the back on the 10th tee box at Augusta Country Club, just above Rae’s Creek, where you can look through the trees and see Augusta National. I award Thomas the Yellow Jacket.
(Speaking of ANGC, when Golf Digest’s Chris Powers won the media lottery in 2023, he had the opportunity to pee on the left of the 10th hole, and his caddie even encouraged it. In his own words, though, he “chickened out” of a “top 1 pee in my lifetime” and held it until the bathrooms behind the 12th tee. Was it a smart move? Would he still be starving and delirious in an underground Augusta holding cell if he had indulged? Probably. Should we also label him “The Bladder Coward” and shame him as an example to our children? Who’s to say?)
If you’re in South Carolina, you might try the secluded garden path near the fourth tee box at Florence Country Club, which a reader describes as “an aesthetically pleasing spot to urinate.” He hastens to warn, though, that the mosquitoes will swarm in summer, and that you risk living out the nightmare from that “Skeeter on my Peter” song. But look at this Spanish moss and tell me it’s not worth the bite:
Further south, you can try to find this entry, the only one in which the course itself was anonymous:
“There’s a place on a certain golf course along the Chattahoochee River in Atlanta that’s just perfect for heeding nature’s call; you step behind a thick pine and face out on the river as you take care of business. It’s a mid-round opportunity for meditation, both physical and spiritual relief.”
I shouldn’t support gatekeeping, but nothing beats a river pee, because you never pee into the same river twice.
Or head to McLemore Highlands Course and have an entire universe beneath you:
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Or into the abyss atop Lookout Mountain, or behind the 16th tee at Bald Head Island Club looking out over South Beach, or the fifth green at Sewanee with a view of valley and mountains, or the second at Sweetens Cove, but avoid peeing on the electric fence unless you’re a masochist, or the second tee by the electrical facility at Jax Beach (the same person sent me those last two, and I suspect the electricity might excite him), or off the sixth at the global home itself, TPC Sawgrass, where the new tree replaced the old tree, or Lake Nona, where off the 13th tee they built an actual dockway into a hidden marsh, which is the only manmade structure I found that seems to have been built to accommodate the discerning outdoor pisser, or …
We can’t keep doing this. I realize that. At some point this just becomes a listicle. A pissticle.
But then the northwest contingent rallies again and I’m dragged back into the terrible splendor, with local shouts like the eighth tee box at Gearhart Golf Links on the Oregon coast, oldest public course west of the Mississippi, and the 17th at Gleneagles in San Francisco behind the felled oak, and still more nominations for Big Bandon, from the gorse left of the 13th green at Pacific Dunes to the very popular 14th tee at Bandon Trails, which evoked this beautiful prose from an anonymous emailer:
“You just finished hiking up and down trails for 13 holes and a quick shuttle to the top where you have had a minute to chat with the group. Crack open that one Bandon Pale Ale you saved for the final five holes. Turn right and back off the 14th tee, look out over the 16th and 17th holes at Trails, Shorty’s, and The Preserve, and the Pacific Ocean in the distance. It’s the perfect spot to take in a moment and relieve yourself.”
(If you’re keeping score at home, that makes four of the five Bandon Dunes courses with a mention, leaving out only Old Macdonald. And to crown Big Bandon with more laurels, a source close to the course told me that we had missed a spot: “The actual best place,” the source wrote, “is behind 8 green at Sheep. There’s a clearing in the gorse that forms a natural enclosure, people piss there so often the ground is permanently urine-scented.”)
Turn now to my ancestral homeland, the northeast, and you’ll find more on offer than just some scenic urinals in Newport and Shinnecock. From the land of America’s best golf fans, hated rival and fresh-faced heartthrob James Colgan of Golf.com wrote in with one of my favorite entries:
“My vote would be for a totally perplexing golf course on the east end of Long Island named Island’s End. For 16 holes, Island’s End is one of the most forgettable munis I’ve ever played, but for two glorious stanzas, golfers get to walk on a set of truly triumphant holes carved into a jagged cliffside along the north shore of Long Island. There’s a tiny area on the backside of the 16th green—the most dramatic hole on the property—that looks out onto the ocean with what feels like all of eternity off in the distance. If there’s urination in heaven, that’s how it looks.”
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The hits kept coming: The bridge between 15 and 16 at Friar’s Head, and the rock wall at No. 12 at Hickory Hills in Methuen, Mass., and a particular azalea bush at George Wright in Boston (home, pardon me, of the wicked pissahs), and this spot sent in by Kris, framed by fescue and a lighthouse, on the par-3 seventh at Highland Links on Cape Cod:
But the best northeast entry of all, a gem of gems, came from several readers: the fifth tee on Baltusrol’s Upper Course. I can’t do do better than this anonymous, heartfelt paean:
“The highest point on the property surprisingly provides some seclusion. After making the steep walk up the hill from the 4th green, a walk to the back of the tips provides a quiet reprieve. As you face Baltusrol Mountain, back turned to the property, a twist of the head and glance over your right shoulder reveals one of the best views in golf – arguably the best 36-hole property in the country, host to the most combined men’s & women’s major championships by any club in the US – 18, with the backdrop of New York City’s beautiful skyline meeting the horizon. The pain of your previous 3-putt for 7 on A.W. Tillinghast’s brutal 4th green is quickly relieved by this moment of solitude.”
Elevation, autumnal hues you can only find in the northeast, and the skyscrapers of lower Manhattan? I would give Sam Weinman’s left kidney to pee here:
Evan Schiller
Speaking of Weinman, I have reason to believe he’s on the verge of attacking me with a hammer. The pee story was his idea, but I’m not sure he signed up for 5,000 half-deranged words. In fact, thinking back, he might have asked for a 30-second TikTok video with a deadline of last February.
He can’t be far now…it’s time to reveal our winners and hightail it to international waters.
Several times while contemplating this critical decision, I nearly broke gave the award to Baltusrol No. 5 and its skyline view. Northeast bias is strong. It takes the bronze instead, and the 16/17 ocean stretch at Sheep’s Ranch is our silver medalist. (With the power vested in me, I declare Bandon Dunes a living monument to outdoor pissing.)
But in the end, the gold medal—the true number one—goes to a dark horse I have mentioned only elliptically, but that came with some powerhouse nominations and an unmatched pedigree. This is our October surprise, and I advise you to find the nearest fainting couch before you proceed.
Let me set the scene: What if I told you of a secret refuge in the middle of the back nine at an iconic course on the Pacific Ocean, from the heart of which you can behold that body in all its glory, as well as a slice of the 16th green jutting out on a thin peninsula? An ethereal grotto waits within the jagged, otherworldly cypress trees, and the land underfoot is soft and pliant, with two wooden benches for the weary. Search among the tree trunks, and you might even find a bottle of the hard stuff that members leave for this exact moment. A caddie once lived here in a tent, in total secrecy, for eight months, but now it’s empty, waiting just for you and your full bladder. Take a nip of the booze, and unleash—in one end, out the other, a true circle of life moment that arrives in the midst of perhaps the most exultant and soul-lifting stretch of golf in our entire country.
Would you pee there?
This is Cypress Point, between the 15th and 16th holes. Courtesy of our friend Chad Mumm, we have photos, and the combination of view, seclusion, history, and yes, the hooch, makes this a no-brainer. It is, emphatically, the greatest place to piss in all of American golf.
“Leroy says, ‘there’s something you should knowNot everybody has a place to go’”—Warren Zevon
How to end this madness? Something lingers, something nags. Cypress Point exists in a state so far beyond private that it’s almost mythical, and it doesn’t sit right that what began with the notion of democratic crowd-sourcing ends now with a spot where most shall never piss. How do you resolve that tension?
The answer is, you can’t, and when it comes to the difficult question of crowning an inaccessible preserve of the elites or fudging the numbers on principle, we have to land on the side of objective honesty. God or fate or blind chance has seen fit to bless Cypress, and no amount of hand-wringing is going to change that. As many great men have said throughout history, “the best place to piss is the best place to piss is the best place to piss.” They keep the gold.
And yet…at the risk of sinking into cornball schlock at the end, all this urinary sojourning has led to another revelation, which is that there is nothing in space or time that can diminish the sacred spot where you, me, and all the saints and brigands of America soil the soil in our solemn, unheralded, local rituals. Transport me to Cypress, to Royal Dornoch, or to the crater by the Sea of Tranquility where Alan Shepard’s lunar 6-iron came finally to rest, and in my heart I won’t know true peace until I’m back at Hillandale among the bushes and pines.
To pee is to declare yourself at home where you stand, but home is illusory … until it’s not, and the soul knows the difference.
In search of some poignant conclusion, I reached out to several of the top finishers for comment. It did not go well. Nobody seemed to want the prize I was awarding. I couldn’t make any headway, actually, until I went back to my source at Bandon and asked if he might share some words of acknowledgement for the great honors bestowed on his land. At my lowest ebb, he delivered:
“There’s a placard in the ground behind 14 tee at Bandon trails to commemorate the spot where Mr. Keiser [Mike, founder and owner] stood over and looked out over the expanse that would become Bandon Trails. They say he gathered himself, took a deep breath, and said, ‘this is it.’ Now you’re telling me that land has been selected as one of the most pissable spots in golf? I’m not sure that’s exactly what he meant by “golf as it was meant to be,” but you can’t say it’s not poetic.”
Amen. Let it rip, my brothers and sisters in golf. Become poetry in motion. Belong to that eternal fleeting moment, and belong to the land you anoint, for I say to you now that as the river flows, you become your own sacred totem. Close your eyes, offer up your heart, and piss free.
This article was originally published on golfdigest.com
