PORTMARNOCK, IRELAND | My Perfect Day actually begins at night, with a red-eye flight across the Atlantic Ocean from New York City to Dublin. It’s not the plane ride itself that makes things so good, though I am a fan of Aer Lingus. Rather, it’s the place where it is taking me, which is Ireland, one of my favorite golf destinations on the planet.
Once I clear customs, I take a 15-minute cab ride to the Portmarnock Resort. Located along a five-mile stretch of beach known as the Velvet Strand and overlooking the Irish Sea, it features a stylish hotel as well as the Jameson Golf Links. I cannot think of a better way to work off my jet lag and start my weeklong golf adventure than by getting in a quick 18 holes.
I relish the drives I get to hit from different angles to rumpled fairways as well as the bump-and-run shots I have to employ on my approaches to well-contoured greens.
Walking to the first tee, I remember the village of Portmarnock takes its name from a seventh-century monk who went on to become a bishop and eventually a saint. I like that bit of history and also that this layout, which was designed in 1995 by Hall of Fame golfer Bernhard Langer and revamped two years ago by Irish architect Jeff Lynch, is routed across what once was the country estate of the Jameson family of whisky-making fame.
Members of the clan first put down stakes here in 1847, after a railroad had begun operating between Portmarnock and the city of Dublin, where their awesome elixirs have been distilled and bottled since 1780. And I am further reminded of their connection to the land, which on this day is drenched in sunshine and freshened by salt-scented breezes, when I approach the first green and espy the Jameson family cemetery bordering it to the right.
Routed across some 200 acres of dunesland, with several tees and greens boasting water views, the course looks and plays like a classic links. I relish the drives I get to hit from different angles to rumpled fairways as well as the bump-and-run shots I have to employ on my approaches to well-contoured greens. I am so happy to be back in Eire that I even enjoy having to step into a pot bunker on occasion to blast a sand shot.
I smile as I come upon the halfway house, which is tucked among the dunes in the middle of the property and looks as if it could withstand a 100-year storm. Called JJ’s, in honor of the distillery’s founder, John Jameson, it is manned by a lovely Irish lass who tempts me with a wee dram. But I defer, as I am starting to feel a bit fatigued due to a lack of sleep and want to hold off until my round is done.
Once I have finished, I meet the director of golf, Paul McCanny, at a snug, brick-walled pub on the grounds known as An Sibin. Pronounced “an shebeen,” it means “illicit whisky” in Irish Gaelic and is what people in these parts called an establishment that sold liquor without a license. Chunks of peat are burning in a fireplace under an oil portrait of Jameson, and there is straw strewn across the stone floor. I order a Jameson Stout Edition whisky that has been finished in a craft beer barrel, while McGanny opts for a Guinness on draft. Then, we sit on a simple wooden bench, talking golf and toasting to the pleasures of playing the good game in this great land as Irish folk music softly plays in the background.
It does not get any more perfect than this.
John Steinbreder