Hay… that’s still rolling!
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To most, this may look like a satellite image of Mars – a barren stretch of dust and parched earth with few signs of life. But to me, it’s home. This is Hay Golf Club, tucked deep in the far reaches of south-western New South Wales. It’s flat, it’s dry, it’s bloody hot… and it’s pure, unfiltered joy – perhaps as much fun as one can have on those hallucination-inducing Hay Plains.
Legend has it that during the worst of the droughts (and there have been plenty), golfers carried torches to track their balls down the cracked fairways. The smell of sump-oil greens still lingers in my mind, as does the feeling of having an entire course to yourself, free to swing with the kind of reckless abandon most golfers today will never know as they navigate crammed tee sheets.
Here’s a little personal trivia (and a modest flex) for you: your writer remains the only golfer ever to have played Augusta National and Hay Golf Club in consecutive rounds. A tragic fall from grace, some might say. But for me, it was deliberate – a planned pilgrimage from golf’s most cherished turf to maybe its most deserted. A celebration of everything I adore about this game in its purest forms.
Truth be told, I’d take both courses for the rest of my life. But if I were granted one final round, I know where I’d tee it up. This heavenly dust bowl like no other would get the nod – and I’ve no doubt my father would have approved.
So, when you’re plotting your 2026 golf adventures, take a word from this well-travelled country boy: the soul of the game lives in its quirks, its contrasts and its characters. The flashy stuff can wait. Head out to regional Australia – you’ll come back with twice the memories, for half the price. Just don’t forget to pack a torch.
