Van Cortlandt Park Golf Course deserves more than this article.

Golf, as we all know, has a way of whisking us away to a place far away from the realities of life, detaching us from what exists outside the out of bounds stakes. Sometimes, the experience starts on the first tee, like when your nerves start zapping on the tee box of a course you’ve been dreaming of playing your whole life. Other times, it starts in the pro shop, where starters bark last names through the smoke from hot dogs being grilled in the back, or maybe you sit down in a locker room and put your shoes on in front of a famous nameplate. For most New Yorkers, Manhattanites especially, the quaint yet unmatched experience of playing Van Cortlandt Park Golf Course starts the moment they hop on the subway. Riding the train comes with its fair share of interesting people and situations, and it’s commonplace to have some sort of event even on a short ride. So, when you have to take the 1 train from 4th street all the way to 242nd like I do, more likely than not, you’re going to find yourself in a couple situations. I’ve had my clubs drive-by groped, where someone walking past me decided to clutch a fistful of my Callaway Epic Max driver; he darted off the train before I could even react. I once rode the entire length of the train back down to 4th street while a homeless guy berated me with a seemingly endless supply of Tiger Woods jokes. I’ve had to stick my bag under the seats to avoid it getting caught in a fistfight, one time I accidentally let it knock into someone who just walked on the train; they were an old friend from high school I hadn’t seen in years. I’m still waiting for the day someone sees my bag and challenges me to a subway putting contest, but I digress. Van Cortlandt’s very existence has created these incredible idiosyncrasies, moments that bring adventure to something as “mundane” as golf, hours before you even have grass under your feet.

Walking from 242nd st station to the course is a delightful way to continue the journey to Vanny, the pet name the locals have for their favorite track. It’s a 10 or so minute amble past lively fields of bbqing families, wildlife and foliage, and the odd cyclist that always looks ready to run you over. About halfway through the walk, things begin to change. You start to lose the sounds of the subway rumbling overhead, the car horns get softer and softer until they taper away to the wind. In their place is birdsong and leaves brushing over each other within the trees. As the trail snakes around the field and under the bridge, right past the cycling path, it suddenly opens to reveal a fowl filled lake. Right on the water’s edge, with a nice waterfront deck, mind you, is the clubhouse. It is a classic throwback to what a pro shop should be, any golfer's old reliable. It is by no means lux, but has every sort of ball, polo, and pick me up snack that you need. Fast talking employees slip you a free bag of tees while insulting your outfit, all with a smile. The restaurant is a real grassroots style place, adorned with classic advertisements and photos of legends of the game from the Hogan era. An NYC bodega style grill with clubhouse quality, the menu has staples like hot dogs and wings, but also local favorites from NYC grills, even sneaking some South American vibes in there like empanadas. All the employees have their own personality and bring a lot of life to the place. And, being a golf course in the Bronx, there is a large combination in the who’s who of the golf staff. Different cultures mix, employees and golfers alike, all with varying perspectives, experiences, ideas, brought together through golf. That’s how it should be. 

My first round back there in a few months, I did a number on the pro shop; one box of balls, a hat, a club rental, bag of tees, a glove, a Gatorade. The guy ringing me up couldn’t seem to tell if I was going to shoot 80 or 105. Hopping into my gas powered cart, I puttered along the trail around the lake to the first tee. A lot of the holes at Vanny look straight, but have snaky curves along the fairway that coerce the ball sideways, sneakily rolling it into the rough. The first 4 holes treat you nicely, all dead straight par 4, 5, 3, and 4s, respectively, and they do a good job to warm up the golfer. Wide fairways and large greens make it a nice place to start, and with some controlled swings, start strong. But hole 5 is where it gets interesting, and after that, Vanny doesn’t let up. A thin tee shot towards a blind green par 4 followed by hole 6’s 200 yard downhill par 3 is just a taste. For the rest of the course the fairways are much harder to hit, with narrow landing zones and oddly placed trees, but not to the point of annoyance; it’s almost as if the course is lulling you in for the first few holes before striking. The greens get smaller, save for a few surprisingly huge ones, although they are consistently bright and firm throughout the 18 holes. But, my favorite way Van Cortlandt tests golfers, and what brings the character into this course, is the elevation. What starts as some hills in the fairway or elevated greens suddenly turns into rolling up and down par 5’s, completely uphill holes where you drive to a 45 degree angled fairway, and an 18th hole where you basically tee off of a cliff. Van Cortlandt lets you have fun and get creative, something that is hard for some municipal courses, especially those with as little space as this one. But with inventive holes like the ones I mentioned before, also including a blind par 3 on 13, or the severe dog leg left around an ancient tree on number 8, Vanny tests your shot placing and making. Good shots are usually treated well, with manicured grass in the middle of the fairways bouncing your ball before nestling it down gently, but the rough always creeps around the edges. Bad shots are easily punished, with bike trails and highways serving as out of bounds right behind the treeline, barely any margin for error. Stay on your toes, as a good portion of the holes run parallel past others, and with a handful of drivable par 4’s the course likes to seduce driver out of the bag. Be wary of this, as these holes have small, elevated greens with large drops to the roughs below. Vanny has been around for a long time; it knows exactly what it’s doing. 

The New York golfers at Van Cortlandt play with the same grit and speed they have when they walk around the city. If you’re playing slow in front of a bunch of Vanny locals, like I apparently was one time, expect to hear it. A lot. I spent a few holes being chirped at, somehow hitting good enough golf shots to keep the group behind me just at bay, but I was forced to confront them when I realized I had dropped my range finder somewhere behind. I found it shortly after, when the loudest golfer of the bunch held it out to me as I was driving past him to look for it. As I approached, with a wry smile stretching his cheeks he said “no wonder you’re playing so fucking slow”, to which I somehow came up with the response, “what, you don’t like watching me play? You could learn something.” That was enough to earn a handshake, and another insult right back at me that I will not write down. I smiled back. When you match their energy, the people here show their true colors. It’s almost like their form of hazing, and to be fair, it is their turf. This place is so entrenched in NYC and the Bronx, that’s just how they show their love, through cracking insults and being agitated. If you’ve seen or experienced it here in NYC, you will understand these course dynamics. When I played as a single recently and inevitably caught up to the group in front of me, they were annoyed when I kept motioning that I didn’t even want to play through. That’s New York golf for you, where the golfers play with such haste that even seeing someone else waiting a while is a problem.

The air around Van Cortlandt is hard to describe. It’s the oldest public golf course in America; the sheer amount of shots hit on this ground, people that have played here, money that has changed hands. One would think that the air is heavier around here with all the history, but in fact, whenever I go and play here I find it really easy to breathe. I like to think about sometimes, if one could measure the most or least amount of something that has happened in history. Imagine after 130 years what would be the best shot ever hit here, or the longest drive ever hit, longest hole out, on and on. The great part about golf is that it could be you, any shot, at any time, to claim that record. And what’s really great about Vanny other than the ease of access (one train is better than two and an Uber) and the overall atmosphere, is that it is accessible for the weekend warrior. I’ve played here with some sticks, but they feel more out of place than the hundreds (everyday) of 20+ handicappers that populate the course. It’s inexpensive, with prices at the grill cheap not just for NYC but for golf in general, and a halfway house that deserves its own article. Beer, cocktails, hot sausages with the works, and sleeves of balls for those days where you get all three before noon. Taking a cart takes the price of a tee time up to $55, very competitive for the course’s condition and with the amount of elevation changing, it’s definitely worth the price. The course has a lot of little oddities too, tiny landmarks that make it stand apart. Bridges made out of chain link, cart paths only a couple of feet away from the highway. Make sure to play a round when all the leaves have fallen. Old structures with indiscernible meaning hide behind the usually plush greenery found throughout the course. Interesting people and places make golf more unique than playing at your local country club every time. In my handful of times playing Vanny, I’ve played with hipster filmmakers from Brooklyn and their dog, the head of Burger King’s west coast division, a lawyer and cop in the same group both under 26 years old, DJs, bankers, and more crazy characters this city has to offer. It’s nice to be one of them.

“Ayeeeeee come on then!” There was an Irish guy sitting next to me at the bar in the clubhouse screaming at the TV; I knew he was Irish not just from his voice, but his clothing and jewelry covered in shamrocks. It was a normal Friday morning, no holiday, no nothing. Behind me four older gentlemen who, sitting at the grill with empty plates must have started their round at 7 AM, yelled about how bad the Mets were and how Cohen is a terrible owner. The same foursome was in the grill at the same time four days later drinking beer and celebrating the Mets postseason clinch. I heard the guy in the pro shop laughing at something he had just said to one of the golfers who had walked in, and loudly. Outside, one of the bag boys played Dominican bachata cleaning a cart while the starter rolled up blasting death metal from a JBL Clip. I could hear the songs fighting each other through the open door. I watched the slice of american melt over my chopped cheese, the sounds of the TV mixing with the guys at the bar mixing with the wind whistling through. Even just standing there waiting for my food to get made makes me feel like I’m part of something larger than the round I had just finished. Every golf shot, every beer poured, every ball that’s lost to the nature trail running through and around the course is another notch in the storied history of Van Cortlandt. The essence of which, fortunately, survives strongly and guides the course in a way. It is clear to see that the traditions of the course are being upheld, that the way it is run is the same it has been for years, if not decades. One could consider this to be seen as old school, not old fashioned. In a sport that is still seen in many large circles to be old fashioned, this is important. Van Cortlandt is inspirational in that way, being able to hold on to its legacy while becoming more accessible and contemporary. This legacy is the true gem of Vanny, that gives it the personality it deserves to have. The mountainous fairways hold stories that have been built upon for so long, they could be considered legend. It’s a privilege to be able to come to this course and tell my own by whipping my club through the dirt. I think of the divots as words telling the stories of different shots, as do the filled in cups from the week before, or the littering of tees spread along the boxes. Every single inch of these greens must have had a hole cut in it at some point.

Anytime one leaves the city, it feels like leaving one world and entering another. Going to play golf evokes the same emotion, and combining the two can turn a round of golf from a trip to a trek to a journey. Van Cortlandt exemplifies this in a way like no other NYC course I have played. Driving to Vanny can’t do it justice. Walking through the hectic city streets, spending an hour in a rattling metal tube, to finally emerge into the foliage covered trail of the park. That moment, when the noises have already left your ears but are finally starting to leave your mind, lets you know you have arrived. Sometimes, right when I think I could be in a course far away from the city from which I have just came, the sounds of a straight piped exhaust or a loud rendition of “cumpleaños feliz” brings me back to the Bronx. And I always smile.