A couple of weeks ago, a group of us made a pilgrimage north to Kohler, Wisconsin — the hallowed ground of American golf — to play their legendary courses. This is the home of the renowned Whistling Straits, a place so wind-swept and sculpted you’d swear it had been carved by time itself.

But, as their website proudly admits, it wasn’t time that shaped these 560 acres — it was Pete Dye. The course was the vision of Herb Kohler Jr., who transformed a defunct airfield into a masterpiece that opened in 1998. Two full miles of its fairways run along the ragged edge of Lake Michigan, where the water looks as cold as an ex-wife’s heart.

Whistling Straits has hosted its share of legends:

• 2004 PGA Championship, won by Vijay Singh.
• In 2010, Germany’s Martin Kaymer took down our own Bubba Watson in a playoff.
• In 2015, Jason Day shot an absurd 20-under-par. Comparatively, after playing golf for over 45 years, I don’t think I have ever been under par once.
• And, just to show off, the 2021 Ryder Cup was played there — Team USA victorious. Not bad for a public course that now sits among the top hundred in the world.

It’s also home to over 1,000 bunkers, and I became intimately acquainted with more of them than I care to count. The 8th hole alone has 102 bunkers — an act of either divine mischief or Pete Dye’s secret audition for Dante’s Inferno. Perhaps both.

Day One – Meadows Valley

We arrived on Thursday, bright-eyed and full of delusions, and reported to the Meadows Valley Course at Blackwolf Run, host of the 2012 Women’s Open. Blackwolf, by the way, was named for the Winnebago chief of the same name — a fitting moniker for a course that punished me with tribal-level precision.

Of the four we played, this was my least favorite. Technically brilliant, yes — but about as forgiving as a tax code. It wasn’t scenic enough to distract from the beating I took. I won’t share my score out of respect for my ego.

Day Two – The River Course

The next day, we returned to Blackwolf Run and tackled The River Course, which instantly became my favorite. It twists and flows with the Sheboygan River like a green ribbon — deceptively serene until it eats your golf ball alive. My score didn’t show it, but I loved every minute.

After the round, we walked the ten-hole par-3 course, which encourages barefoot play. Many brave souls obliged. I, however, remained firmly shod. Call me a tenderfoot — I call it survival.

Day Three – The Straits

Saturday brought the main event: Whistling Straits.

Now, here’s the thing about The Straits — no carts allowed. You hoof it, every hill, every dune, every cruel yard of it, with a caddie carrying not just your bag but your partner’s too — a show of athletic arrogance that defies physics. And he outpaced me!

So there I was: trudging, wheezing, muttering, and pretending I was “just taking in the view.” My scorecard looked like an accident report, and I swear I caught a few pitying glances from my partners. Maybe it was compassion. Maybe it was horror.

Still, walking that course felt like being inside golf’s cathedral — wind from the lake, gulls overhead, and the ghosts of Ryder Cups past whispering, “Aim left, you fool.”

Day Four – The Irish

Our final round was at The Irish Course, Whistling Straits’ inland sibling. It’s a beautiful track — rolling and generous, less punishing but still smug. I played no better, of course. At that point, consistency was my only strength.

Final Thoughts

We stayed in first-rate lodgings — a suite with four bedrooms, all of us under one roof like a college reunion for men old enough to know better. Pricey? Sure. Worth it? Absolutely.

If you ever get the chance, make the pilgrimage. Bring friends, bring patience, and bring plenty of golf balls. Oh — and for the love of God, don’t forget your sand wedge. You’ll probably need it before you’ve even seen the first green.