Sandy Lane Resort

Admittedly, life gifted me a golden ticket. For more than 20 years, planes, trains, automobiles—and the occasional helicopter—transported me to golf’s greatest destinations, thanks to my magazine job as a travel editor. I managed to rack up three-putts in 35 countries and all 50 states, on nearly 1,400 different courses. Only once, however, did I tee off at 10:37 pm, and comfortably finish 18 holes on a championship course. Yes, that’s 10:37 p.m., not a.m., or 2237 as they express it across the pond. On many golf trips, 10:37 pm means head on pillow. In Finland, it’s tee time!
My first and only Finnish golf adventure took place in summer 1994. The tourism arm of Finland coaxed a fistful of golf writers and ace photographer Mike Klemme to familiarize ourselves with the country’s myriad attractions, heavy on the golf. Organizers hypothesized we’d pop out such positive, purple prose that readers would sprint to their travel agents and book lengthy vacations in the Republic of Finland. That was the idea, anyway.
In truth, our group embraced Finland, the country—the co-ed saunas, the Helsinki architecture, the pristine lakes…did I mention the co-ed saunas? Adventurous foodies could choose from dozens of entrees and desserts you wouldn’t find on any Atlanta or Phoenix menus. Mostly though, we feasted on a diet of golf.
The Finnish courses that dotted our itinerary frankly resembled what you’d see in the Brainerd Lakes region of Minnesota. They were invariably of recent vintage, moderately forested and studded with lakes. Most bore the design imprint of Swedish architect Jan Sederholm, whose signature trait was wingnut-shaped bunkers, if you favor that sort of thing.
Late in the trip, we arrived in central Finland at a popular family resort called Katinkulta. Somewhat jaded and certainly weary, I marveled at how chill—happy and utterly well-behaved–the young children were. It almost resembled a Twilight Zone episode.
Round one was an early evening affair, competing in the Johnnie Walker Midnight Sun golf tournament. Although the Finns are partial to their superb vodka, my cohorts felt strongly that where is the harm in sampling a cup of whisky dispensed at stands every few holes. Sederholm’s now familiar sand pits ensnared us early and often. And then, “Down the hatch,” we repeated, in increasingly broken English. After we concluded our sipping and swatting just past 11 p.m., we realized that we didn’t care whether we had broken 80 or 1,000.
What awaited on round 2 was unique in my golf life. Katinkulta sat at a latitude of 64 degrees north, some four degrees closer to the Arctic Circle than Helsinki and six degrees closer than Dornoch, Scotland, where I had holed out on 18 in visible light at 10 pm two years prior. As such, in mid-summer, daylight never actually vanished. We could play golf all night if we chose to. We did.
Never before or since have I had a green fee ticket affixed to my golf bag adorned with a starting time of 10:37 p.m. Off we went, an intrepid threesome of insomniacs craving the one-of-a-kind experience of adjusting at the turn at half-past midnight. We weren’t the only hardy souls braving the weird twilight, but for me and my goofy golf quests, it was akin to a climber scaling Mount Everest.
Vanished into the ether are specific memories of birdies, pars, bogies or scores. What strikes me now is the vision of Mike Klemme and I sitting in lawn chairs, on an actual lawn, sipping local Lapin Kulta beers at 3:15 am, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, still with sufficient light to read our scorecards. As the surreal scene drifted on, I resolved to grab a few winks and forge ahead with the rest of our Scandinavian sojourn.
Then, as now, there are no top 100 tracks to compel a golfer to check that box in Finland, As unique experiences go, however–round-the-clock golf—it’s a genuine holy grail.