Ed’s US adventures this summer take him to Congressional Country Club, where a Saturday morning loop in amongst major championship history proved as enjoyable as it gets.

Living in St Andrews for four years affords you with a treasure trove of riches. Of course, the renowned access to the local golf, the town and its people, and the world-class university spring to mind. But alongside these benefits, you are gifted with a thousand memories, hundreds of new and smiling faces and, as a result, a curated selection of lasting friendships, golfing connections and chance acquaintances. There have been countless occasions where I’ve met a passerby in a pub or a tourist on the street and invited them for a round on the Old. The round comes and goes with all the associated joy, wonder and gratitude that playing such an ancient track yields. Often, the parting regard will be one of reciprocation, inviting us to come and play their home course in wherever faraway land they hail from. Sometimes, on very rare sometimes, these invitations are too good to pass up.

We arrived at Congressional Country Club, or ‘Congo’ (as it is gently referred by the membership, locals and other familiars), on a warm Saturday morning in August. Once again racing through the suburban DC traffic, we pulled into the gates at what you might call a ‘healthy pace’. To our right, CCC members lined the range bays that lay atop picturesque green turf like a battalion, bombarding the vast space outstretching with white morning missiles. Dew coated divots were popping up and rising into the air with a satisfying synchronicity and of course, a certain grace, that should only be expected at such a club. With a wave to our host, who was boldly leading the brigade in this impressive turf display, we headed for the clubhouse to change, freshen up and prepare for what lay ahead. In keeping with habits, we left little time for a session on the practice tee ourselves. Nor time for a lengthy warm-up on the enormous and undulating putting green, akin to Scottish surface, no less, and so it was that we were rather unacquainted with the slippery green-speeds that we were about to face on the course. With this error unrealised, and full of all the eagerness that days like this muster, it was onto the first tee with excitement, joy and gratitude.

On the way over, we were introduced to our noble sherpa for the morning. Stuart and I, with our muted pink, matching Mackenzie’s were given the honour of spending our day with Corey, a former Army Ranger turned caddy. I apologised for the weight of our bags, despite their small and slender profile. You can never have enough balls, I jested, to which Stuart chimed in, nor whiskey! With terrifying ease, he slung them over his shoulders and marched us onward to the first hole. We were in for a treat.

We elected to have a sociable two man Best Ball from the Gold tees, as ‘play well’s’ were circulated amongst the group. The first hole of the Blue Course at Congressional is a template handshake hole, measuring 365 yards in length with a defining ‘straightaway’ shape. Two bunkers eat into the fairway, a shorter left-side bunker and a glove-like landing zone bunker on the right, intent on catching the ball of any player who tries to hit a cut off the left trap. Both of these guards were firmly in my head as I teed up my ball, took a few shaky practice swings and prayed that my 3-metal would get airborne - early in the morning, its a case of going back to basics. Yet, quite against all odds, a piercing low cut danced off the face of my fairway wood, gently falling off the left bunker as planned and nestling up just long of the right-side sand. As we say quite often at Eden Athletic, it’s better to be lucky than good.

The fescue brimmed bunkers wouldn't look out of place on a British Links, to my mind.

CCC has undergone a significant transformation of its Blue Course under the guidance of esteemed architect Andrew Green. The project aimed to elevate the course's reputation to match that of the club's iconic Spanish Revival clubhouse, a symbol for which the club is globally known. Green's work, completed in 2020, was not a restoration nor a modernisation, but rather a reimagining of the course into a "new-old" design that respects its historical roots while adapting to contemporary needs. The standout feature of these renovations was the excavation of some thousands of trees from in between holes, returning most of the intermediary rough to a wispy fescue, akin to many of the top courses in the US nowadays (think Erin Hills, Pinehurst No.2, Whistling Straits and the noble Greats up on Long Island).

However, the Blue Course has had a long history of ‘face-lifts’. It has undergone multiple changes since its original 1924 design by Devereux Emmet, and over the years it has seen modifications by Robert Trent Jones Sr and Rees Jones, among others. As a result, it has been the host to US Open Championships, PGA Championships, US Senior Open’s and soon to be Ryder Cups. In fact, the most recent renovations are so defining that watching highlights from McIlroy’s 2011 US Open Victory is almost unrecognisable, save from the glimpses of the characteristic clubhouse. Green’s recent overhaul has addressed a variety of pressing agronomic issues, stemming from the heavy clay soil and tree root overgrowth. Green’s work has expanded fairways, redesigned bunkers and introduced native fescue areas, creating a more open and natural aesthetic. This ‘culling’ was in pursuit of a singular aim, we were told: for players to be able to see the clubhouse from every hole on the course. You can only respect a club that has such a pride in their clubhouse that they would commit extensive efforts to make it the standout landmark. The redesigned Blue Course now boasts a more seamless routing, improved playability and strategic optionality that cater to all standards of golfer. Notable changes include a new short par-3 10th hole and the improved risk-reward of the outstanding short par-4 8th hole.

I walked up the first to my drive that sat atop the immaculate fairway turf. The number was 125 yards to a tucked, short right pin. Unsure of how much my wedges would spin, or how the greens would react to them, I hit a flighted gap wedge long and left of the pin. Without realising and definitely without my intention, the ball spun down the green and came to a rest some 12 feet from the hole. A putt followed by a second putt, and we were off to the races with a rather disappointing yet always welcome par.

The second hole is as hard as an early round par 3 as you will ever face. Dramatically uphill, framed by run-offs to the right, deep green side bunkers clustered like a shotgun spray on the left, the hole demands a committed long iron approach. I felt rather comforted looking back toward the championship tee box from the gold tees, where professionals have anywhere from 230-265 yards to hold the putting surface. It made our 205 number seem like a welcomed ease. Though, having flared my 6-iron short and left, I was immeasurably happy with my 2 putt bogey.

Turning back toward the clubhouse as we arrived on the third, it was clear just how successful Green’s changes had been. Our host began telling us tales of the auld Blue Course, where you would venture off into the tree-lined chutes that defined the previous iteration and not get afforded a glimpse of an adjacent hole almost the entire way around, let alone the clubhouse. With its terracotta roof and pearly white walls, that reflected the soft summer morning rays with a homely glow, it stands nowadays like a North Star. A reminder both of where you’re heading and where you’ve come from, and, helpfully, a useful starting line, aiming aid and finishing point where the hole orientation permits. I’d been chatting with another Congressional member some days before, on a Monday night of plenteous Italian food, about the history of the iconic house and the club more generally. During World War II, I was masterfully told, the Congressional Country Club was used as a training facility and billeting ground for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). The OSS was an early version of what became the CIA and American Special Forces, and trained soldiers for covert operations such as sabotage, spying, and undercover work. From 1943 to 1945, more than 2,500 soldiers passed through Congressional. The officers lived in the clubhouse, where the grand ballroom was turned into a classroom and the dining room was a mess hall. Looking up from our plates of linguine, amateur club historian and unofficial head of bandwidth alignment, Mark, was pointing at a coat of arms that hung on the far wall. Clearly a relic from this period, it stands unmoved over the members casual dining room and is a permanent reminder of the Club’s clandestine past.

We ventured on, clipping through holes 4,5 and 6 at a healthy pace. Other than a saving interlude from the cart girl on the 4th green, both Stuart and I were being chewed up by the Blue Course and its notoriously hard greens. To give ourselves credit, we were playing decent golf from tee-to-green but just couldn’t find the pace through the opening holes. That being said, off the tee we were like two repelling magnets. If I went left, Stuart would promptly send one high and right - and I mean Right, capital R. Compensating, his next ball would go left and mine would inevitably go right. Talk about sociable golf, and it meant Corey was zig-zagging most holes in spectacular fashion. A transfusion from the drinks cart was all it took to straighten things out, and we were onto the par 5 6th! Akin to the old design, surprisingly, the 5th hole has a line of trees on the left side of the fairway and a heavy set of trees down the right side, at the edge of the property boundary. We chatted as we strolled up to our tee balls, drinks in hand. It reminded me of the 3rd hole at Chevy, with a blind tee shot over the hill to a lowered green over the other side. Had I played it as intended, it would’ve been a walk in the park, but I found myself way left over the trees in the long green-side bunker of the 8th. Our host and I both, chopping out over the tree line to try and salvage a score. It’s safe to say we left with a bruise on the scorecard and a head spinning with what could’ve been.

Blemishes are expected out looping the Blue, but we arrived at the scoreable 6th with a renewed vigour. Time to put the hammer down. Bending right off the tee over the hill, the 6th cambers back again once in the fairway to a tiny green-site dangerously moated by a water hazard. Images of the 7th hole at Quail Hollow come to mind and visions of a vintage Tiger roping a fairway metal onto the putting surface. Corey and I discussed these outcomes at length, to which my over-confidence was met with some resistance. But, in true badger fashion, we decided that today was not the day to layup and the 5-wood was unsheathed for the first time in the round. Sometimes, you gotta look back and remember the feeling of intention, the excitement of the unlikely idea of managing to find green and the appreciation of our gracious host for my daring play. I try and cherish these feelings because, as I’m sure you’ve already realised, this is not what transpired. I came out of the swing early and my precious Pro V1x went sailing right and further right still. So far right in fact that it managed to find its way to dry land on the far side of the river on a thick, severely sloped bank of fescue. I dropped another in case, and put a very similar, very shoddy swing behind it. Two balls into the cabbage, one heart broken. Corey was off after the first like a bloodhound, crossing the hazard with both bags on his back like an agile mule. Shaming myself for my lack of discipline (and or execution), I arrived to where the trusty sherpa was stood to find that he’d located my first ball buried deep in the rough. The golf gods exist, I exclaimed. He sternly told me to hold the celebrations and I soon realised why. I faced a 50 yard pitch over the river I had so waywardly cleared to a short-sided pin. Yet, the lie was so bad that praying to just get it out was what we resorted to. Out, up and a 2 putt lead to a rather unlikely bogey. We laughed, I counted my lucky stars. Oh to love golf!

The uphill par 3 7th couldn’t handle our barrage of well flighted tee balls, all of which found the surface and 8 putts later, we were onto the 8th with 4 pars on the card. I’d spied the 8th hole from the 4th fairway, and had been eager to see it first hand. Arguably the best hole on the property, the 8th is an invitingly short par-4 measuring a mere 280 yards. A triad of bunkers, triangulated in perfect alignment, deter you from laying up with a mid-iron. The green is as slender as toothpick and is defended appropriately, with an orientation perpendicular to the tee box. A short sided bunker guards the front. The bailout long and left sucks your ball into yet another bunker or, if you’re lucky, fescue grass and an impossible shot to hold the green. You don’t even want to know about the catastrophic effects of going long of the 8th green. It doesn’t bear thinking about. The ideal shot, Corey told me, was a 265 yard 3 wood short and left, to a small landing zone that opens up the green as much as is possible. We executed on this plan beautifully. The tee ball finished up its journey short of the long left fairway bunker and it was a brush of a wedge into the back pin. I think about the 8th at Congo most days, scheming up different ways to play it on my next outing. It is a phenomenal golf hole.

We made the turn and headed straight for the halfway house. Stuart and I had played the 9th quite nicely, but very much saw its teeth on the green. Both of us had hit it long of the perilously deep pin over the ridge and onto the adjoining practice putting surface. Mesmerised by this odd yet satisfying cool feature, our three putts didn’t carry much weight. They should really have a hard helmet mandate for those dialling in there gate drills or speed control on the latter. Guests like us unknowingly throwing wedges over the green onto the practice site must be a common occurrence, we thought.

The iconic Spanish Revival Clubhouse of Congo.

My trip to the US this summer was bookmarked by many a chicken salad wrap at the turn. They are a staple of American golf and pair very nicely with a double tequila soda, we soon found out. Of course, in Britain we have the famed Sunningdale sausage sandwich and the pork and haggis sausage roll found at the Old Course, both of which are favourites of mine. But the chicken salad wrap offers an analogous joy when playing in the heat and humidity of DC in the summertime. We were grateful for the lubrication as we arrived on the newly designed 10th tee. The former hole included a carry over the lake to a green that lay a knee-buckling mid iron away. Fortunately for us, the renovation brought the green this side of the enormous pond and was only a flick of a pitching or gap wedge. Brand new bunkers hugged the green on all sides, and any tee ball that has a hang-time of more than a few seconds has the risk of finding the pond that was taken out of play, or maybe not as the case may be. My partner Dale drained a lengthy par putt from across the green to save our better-ball score and bring us back into the match.

The back nine paddock at Congressional has a different feel to the front, which is newly characterised by a total devoid of trees, save for the trees that line the back of the 8th and the side of the 5th. The inward half has much more timber, arranged in such a fashion that trees stand independently sparse. They serve a function of framing, allowing the tough tee shots to be contextualised by a visual nudge of hanging branches and leaves. The 12th, for example, bends blindly left over a scabland of sand-traps and native area. Without the large tree to the left, and the cluster to the right, it would be extremely hard to conjure up a tunnel through which to smash a driver. In this sense, Green’s restraint in not removing these vital course aspects has our full commendation.

As our match started to get interesting, we were swiftly onto the closing half-dozen holes. The triple tiered green of the 14th had us stumped. Fortunately, it brought Dale and I further back into contention following my clean up for an unlikely par. Over the crest of the fairway on 16, we encountered one of the more postcard views at Congressional, if there is such a thing. A small white chapel lies beyond the green. With its steeple rising over the dense tree-line, it’s creates an extremely calming juncture in the round. Approach shots, bunker splashes or chip-ins, in my case, seem to be guided by a higher power and a benevolent hand. We gratefully took our communion blessings to closing pair of holes and with a match all-square after 16, it was all to play for.

The Chapel beyond the 16th. A framed approach shot of the highest caliber.

As was expected, the final test of the long clubs in my bag, on the par 4 18th, required as focussed a mind as I could handle. The fairway banks steeply to the left and boasts a sliver of a landing zone through which to hold the very left edge of the short stuff. Accompanied by the gently waving Stars and Stripes, hoisted high on the flagpole in the right rough, it wasn’t hard to find the inner strength required. I pumped a 3-wood onto the landing lights with a soft touchdown an airline pilot would be envious of. A flighted flick of a gap wedge brought my ball spinning back toward the flagstick and setup a closing birdie to win the match. The loop finished in the manner that it started, with a fairytale excitement and a joy to be playing.

Debriefing in the clubhouse’s (exceptional) basement pub afterwards, over a bowl of lobster bisque, I got chatting to an English lady at an adjacent table about our round, my prolonged visit from the UK and the anglo-themed irony of the pub we were sitting in. At this point, Congressional started to really feel like home.

Less is More - Vol. 2: Excavation, to Renovation to Perfection. A Loop at Congressional Country Club

Pin Hunting Amongst History at the Chevy Chase Club