For anyone who’s played golf in Scotland, you’ll know it feels like stepping into the game’s dream. Not the tidy, irrigated parks that pass for courses elsewhere, but a wilder, wind-polished version of the sport, where the land dictates the play and the sea, forever restless, lingers at the edge of your vision. 

On these hallowed links, often hidden down single-track roads, you discover a truth: golf here isn’t really about scorecards. It’s about the raw encounter with a place that tilts you back in time and the people you share it with. But also a perfect place to test the new additions of apparel from Local Rule.

In the Highlands, or tucked away in an unassuming coastal town, a course might appear almost by accident. Sheep graze at the margins. Heather leans into the fairways. A blind green waits above a cliff. The walk alone, climbing over dunes, pausing to watch gulls wheel in silence, feels like a pilgrimage.

You start to notice how the game merges with the landscape, with history, and with the peculiar weather that turns the light itself into something enchanted.

There’s whimsy in it a kind of elation that isn’t easily named. You can’t quite tell whether it’s the solitude, the wildness, or the faint sense that you’re following a path walked centuries before.

In Scotland, off the beaten track, golf becomes more than sport. It becomes communion. The course isn’t a manicured stage but a living wilderness — and you, a traveler, a participant in something both ancient and strangely personal.

Behind the camera: Ollie