“The only way to see a place properly is to live in it long enough that you stop seeing it at all” – Pico Iyer
Iyer’s quote above speaks to the value of immersion over simple conquest. Too many see tourism, and golf tourism in particular, as a form of tickbox exercise, but my first foray into the Scottish Highlands two years ago had left some sense of strength in depth lurking in the lesser-known pit stops, somehow. We’d played up at Durness, then taken a largely coastal road to Brora via Reay, and revelled in the down to earth, community vibes along the way, and I wanted to slow down this time; delve deeper.
So, with a few days spare and the highly convenient Heathrow flights booked, a return visit sought to explore a few more of the Highlands’ delights in late October, despite concerns about the weather. Straight from the charming Inverness runway, we drove to Cabot Highlands, to walk the new Renaissance Golf-designed “Old Petty”. Built to open properly in spring 2026, this course will more than complement the existing Castle Stuart course, which was designed by Gil Hanse and Mark Parsinen; a former venue for the Scottish Open. Sprawled over the rolling hectares to the west of the iconic clubhouse, Old Petty has all the hallmarks of a Tom Doak course – wide open fairways, holes with plenty of options and an emphasis on angles of attack, and natural-looking yet imaginative greens. It will transform the destination from a desirable one round pit-stop to an essential day on the flanks of the Moray Firth, with golf and views to die for.
Related: Highland highlights
Having planted the seed to return when it opens fully, we drive east along the coast road to a quiet, little destination at the other end of the golf market. Covesea might still be one of golf’s great secrets, though those in the know are having trouble keeping quiet about it. A passion project for owners Andy and Angela Burnett, this home-built, nine-hole gem is a spot in which to rediscover the roots of the Scottish game – fine, firm turf; inexpensive green fees; and a location that makes you want to stop right here and – in Iyer’s words – “live in it long enough that you stop seeing it at all”. This is what the Burnetts have done, and though the Honesty Box now sits inside the portacabin that houses the warmest welcome in golf, that notion of honesty sums up the Covesea experience. It’s a heaven, of sorts.
After as many loops as autumn daylight will permit, we retreat to Lochardil House in Inverness, our refuge for two nights. Owned and operated by Highland Coast Hotels, in whose Tongue and Dornoch properties we’d stayed last time around, this repurposed, 150-year-old Victorian mansion now offers 28 stunning rooms with a timeless style. Already familiar with the chain’s excellent customer service and catering, we knew this to be a good option, but somehow Lochardil House is more than a hotel – its intimacy and artistic decor feel more like a home from home, and after a fabulous dinner and the traditional Scottish breakfast, we head away more than refuelled for the next adventure.
The course at Portmahomack – sometimes known as Tarbat – is another nine-hole facility that seems to qualify as under the radar for all but the locals, but on a morning like the one that greeted us as we stepped from the rental car in a deserted car park, it would be hard to imagine a finer spot. Sitting on fine sand overlooking the Dornoch Firth, the generous fairways and crisply cut greens and surrounds have an effortless and simple charm, draped over the micro contours of this patch of grass at the side of town. We spend a little time with Mike Keay – the sole greenkeeper at Portmahomack for over two decades – and leave with a renewed sense of the importance of golf in communities such as this.
Next up is Fortrose and Rosemarkie, which spans the Chanonry Peninsula and is the fifteenth-oldest golf club in the world, dating from 1793. This ancient links was the subject of a re-design by the ever-intrepid James Braid in the early 1930s, and if it was a serious achievement back then to fit 18 holes on such a tight piece of land, that it remains demanding to play with the modern ball is testament to the genius of Braid and others.
We plot our way south, nearing the iconic (but considerably newer!) lighthouse at the spectacular, roller-coaster fourth, then flick sideways with the short fifth, near which a small gathering are out with binoculars spotting bottlenose dolphins. It’s another prime example of golf co-existing with local life, and – alongside the many generations of golfers teeing off shortly after us – we encounter dog-walkers, hikers, bird-watchers and cyclists soaking up the sunshine. But don’t think Fortrose is simply a quaint relic of the game – it is links golf at its best, and the holes will test every shot in the bag while the landscape simply enchants. Together with Portmahomack, this makes for a classic golfing day.
This time at dinner we opt for locally sourced fish – the monktail wrapped in bacon a taste sensation after a day in the cool autumn breeze. The morning brings with it traditionally Scottish porridge and fresh berries washed down with Lochardil’s excellent coffee, and we are on the road again, heading just a little way north to Golspie. If the charms of Brora had stunned me last time around, Golspie felt like an epiphany. To form an impression of a place without having been there is to rob yourself of the joy of discovery, and from the very beginning, Golspie felt like a hidden treasure lurking in the shadows of “The Manny” – the statue of the controversial Duke of Sutherland whose silhouette dominates the hillside above.
I’d read of the course’s transition to heathland golf in between the stretches of links, and perhaps assumed that this might represent a dilution in quality, but the section through pine and heather before we return to the coastal holes is superb, and the rhythm of this wonderful course is enhanced by the journey. Once more, it is a wrench to leave, but our scheduled round at the world-famous Royal Dornoch had been scuppered by a hard frost on the last trip, so we weren’t about to miss our early afternoon ticket there, accompanied by the sun.
Long ranked in every list of the world’s greatest courses, the Championship links at Dornoch is one of the clubs whose heritage and reputation can match the quality of the holes themselves. The new clubhouse is about to open when we visit, and it looks magnificent from the outside – a Gothic feel that somehow is in keeping with the ancient marvel it serves and is perched above. But we are here to golf, and so we charge off into the front nine, which drifts over to the bluff along which the remodelled seventh sits.
From there, a little loop gets us to the turn, and we work back in along the lower ground before rising to the grandstand finish up on the higher ground again. To golf along this hallowed ground is for many the trip of a lifetime, and at last – as I lick my wounded pride over dinner – I understand the simple majesty of this town and its most famous facility. Royal Dornoch straddles the centuries over which it has developed, somehow – the soil thought not just fit for golf but ideal over four hundred years ago, yet still challenging, still relevant.
It’s an unforgettable privilege to walk in so many footsteps, and the highest praise I can imagine for our lodgings on the final night of our trip is that the rooms and the restaurant at the nearby Links House are in keeping with what we have just played. Royal Dornoch is among the greatest courses in the world, but to discover an equivalent thirst for quality and detail in the parlours of this adjacent marvel is a delight, and the MARA restaurant is that rare concoction of culinary creativity and effortless style. We pinch ourselves, then walk for hours on the silent sands of Dornoch Beach to try and make room for the equally sublime breakfast.
On the short flight home, I make a few notes on a glorious trip, and feel grateful for the splendour and the space that three nights in the Highlands have granted us. But writing this, I realise that this second foray into the foothills of this under-appreciated golfing region is but another scratch of the surface. Beyond lies another dozen or more gems, golfing and otherwise, and Iyer’s words with which we started seem ever wiser as the return journey begins. I know I want to come to know the Scottish golfing Highlands better – “to see a place properly” – but I also know that I’m nowhere near it yet. I begin to plot the next chance…
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