Breaking Par in Every Era

A familiar feeling of fiery tension bubbles up from my stomach, turning my cheeks an angry red. The space ship-style putter in my hand looks up at me with a smug grin, the golf ball-sized hole at the back of its oversized chassis appears to mutter something to me: ‘if I can’t help you, no one can’.

Feet glued in place, I extend the condescending putter to the other side of the hole and back heel it in for another 3-putt.

As I make my way to the 8th tee at Royal St David’s Golf Club, touted as the toughest par 69 in the UK, my frustration levels rev far above their normal setting. And for good reason.

I’m here to take on a unique challenge: break par in every major era of golf. A journey that will take me back in time: past the baggy polos of the 1990s, to the persimmons of the 1960s, ending up amongst the hickory shafts of the 1920s. But as the comfort of modern technology fades, my goal remains the same: shoot at least -1 to advance to the next era.

That back chatting space ship putter weighing down my bag is one of 14 clubs equipping me on the first stage of my journey. The part which, in theory, should be the simplest: the modern day.

Thankfully, 2 birdies on the final holes see me squeeze under the threshold with a score of -1. But it's not delight or satisfaction that courses through my veins, it's relief, frustration and concern, that even armed with these military grade, AI backed, graphite cheat sticks, I have only by the skin of my teeth, completed the task.

But progress is progress. I make my way back to the clubhouse that sits in the shadow of Harlech Castle and pull on my oversized, brown Nike polo I sourced from eBay 3 weeks ago. The comically ugly heads of the Ping Zings and the grooved face of my Titleist 976R mark a regression of 30 years of technological advancements, but the dispersion of balls on the driving range is surprising and comforting.

2 hours later I’ve shot -2 with the 90s relics and am back in the Royal St David’s locker room undergoing my aesthetic transformation into the great Ben Hogan. There’s little that can be done about my golf swing, but the old black Footjoy classics, navy pleated trousers, and white flat cap make me feel like a multiple major winner.

I’ve never hit persimmons before and the learning curve is steep (meaning it starts very low). I quickly find out that a toe strike is penal, producing a violent low hook. To counteract my struggles off the tee though, my bullseye putter seems to aim directly at the hole every time I place it on the turf. As we progress through the dunes for stage 3 of the challenge, the putts roll in and despite a few tussles with my rusty, slightly wonky blades, I eventually manage a -1 round and leave the swinging 60s in my wake.

By now, the tension I experienced playing with my own clubs is a distant memory. The novelty of getting dressed up has brought a lightness to my step and the conveyor belt of old clubs in my hands have turned the weight of expectation into a process of exciting discovery.

A soaring drive is something to be cherished and those 4 foot putts feel more like a challenge than a burden. Strolling along the fairways I can feel a lightness in my mind. Free from the noise of expectation I pay more attention to my surroundings: the birds sing louder and the trees sway in perfect sync.

But as enlightening as the process has been thus far, there is still one era left to conquer. Shirt and tie for a round of golf isn’t something I’m used to but I might start a petition to reinstate it. Looking like a chimney sweep who has a tee time after his shift, I analyse the tools for my day's work: the grooveless hickory irons take backspin out of the question and a splintered wooden driver head is sure to bring bunkers I normally scoff at firmly into play. Breaking par with these antiques seems like a step too far.

Despite my ancient equipment I scramble together a respectable score on the opening holes, mostly thanks to my stainless steel, hockey stick putter. As we approach the par 5 8th hole, I am somehow even par. 2 good shots could bring me within touching distance of completing the challenge.

I send a driver down the fairway and hit that same driver off the deck from 240 yards, to 3 feet. All things considered, it's probably the best shot I’ve hit in my life.

As I tap in for eagle and stumble to a bogey on the final hole to card a -1 total I start to consider why my enjoyment of the game has increased as the challenge has progressed.

When a task becomes harder, two things happen:

Your expectation to succeed drops, and the satisfaction if you do succeed is far greater.

I think that's why we all got obsessed with golf in the first place. A tiny ball and a minuscule target out of sight beyond the gorse. The odds are overwhelmingly stacked against us and so a birdie hits the deepest recesses of our pleasure centres.

But in the last decade something has changed. Armed with military grade technology, we think we deserve total control of the game. Success is brushed off with indifference. Failure is unthinkable.

Golf with old equipment is the antithesis of that.

Modern clubs have made this game more accessible than ever and that’s a great thing, but if you’re fatigued by the baggage of the modern game, it might be time to lighten the load.