Nothing about Rod Whitman can be considered normal. Not only did they break the mould when he was born, he stomped all over it and then threw the pieces in the trash can just to make sure he would always be his own man.
Al Prokop, the managing partner at Blackhawk, chooses the word "unorthodox." Ryan Vold, the owner of Wolf Creek, chooses the word "different."
In the day and age of computers, topographical maps and planning every last detail, Alberta's top golf-course architect is a throwback to the days of legends like Stanley Thompson and Allister McKenzie.
A golf course is, quite literally, all in his head. He is involved in every aspect of construction. "You have to paint it yourself or it's not your painting," he says.
The native of Ponoka is much more comfortable with a shovel in his hand than he is carrying a briefcase. He is a man of the earth. Even at the age of 50, there's nothing he'd rather do than play in the dirt.
"Not bad for a homeless guy," Whitman says of his career.
His home is wherever he's working at any given time. Across Canada and throughout the U.S., Indonesia, France and Germany. He is a vagabond and an artist. Have work-boots, will travel.
"I love my life," he said last week as we toured Blackhawk, his latest masterpiece. "A golf course is a great place to be. Every one is an adventure."
Especially every one he builds. They will never be confused with Augusta National - pristine, not a blade of grass out of place. You can stand right in the middle of Wolf Creek and not even see a golf course.
"People are more comfortable with nature," he says. "That's why they go camping."
His sand traps are hellholes. There are elephants buried under some of his greens. He chortles and grins mischievously. "It's not supposed to be easy."
Prokop wondered what he had gotten himself into during the early days of construction at Blackhawk. It was Vold, his friend and partner, who talked him into giving Whitman free rein as the designer.
"You're damn right I was nervous," he says.
"No dozers, no staff. He was designing holes on a napkin. Ryan calmed me down. He said, 'You have to understand Rod. He'll do his thing and it will all come together.' "
It did. Blackhawk opened late last July and is already considered one of Edmonton's must-play courses.
Whitman and Vold go back to the days when they were childhood chums. In 1971, Vold headed off to Sam Houston University in Texas to chase his dream of a PGA Tour career. Whitman followed the next year.
A golf pro? He laughs at such a ridiculous idea. "I was pretty good, but those guys are in another world. It didn't take long to figure out I had no shot. Desire is everything, and I didn't want to work that hard."
Just as one door was closing, another one opened. He befriended Bill Coore while at Sam Houston, and the two of them would sit around eating pizza, drinking beer and talking golf-course architecture. Coore would become Ben Crenshaw's design partner. Whitman also met another legend of the design game, Pete Dye. Dye's people kind of took him under their wings until he was ready to fly solo.
That was 1983. As kids, Vold and Whitman would talk about one day building a course together. Wolf Creek, his first, might also be his finest. Youth and inexperience aren't necessarily bad things.
"I was excited, not nervous," he says. "As you get older, experience can hold you back because you don't take chances. Albert Einstein did all his best work before he was 30. He never thought of a damn thing after that."
A piece of land is a blank canvas for Rod Whitman. To envision a golf course winding through the trees and then have the vision to make it happen. How cool is that!
He shrugs his shoulders. "The best compliment is when someone says Blackhawk looks like it has been here for 20 years," he says. "That means you've done something special."
His job is as much fun as it sounds. If you hire Jack Nicklaus, you get a visit or two and a grand opening. If you hire Rod Whitman, you get his undivided attention from start to finish.
"I'd rather run a backhoe than talk to people," he says. "I like working with the boys. It's very rewarding. You get there at 5 a.m. and give it your best. It's easy to get pumped up."
Whitman's goal is to make each course distinctive and fun to play. He doesn't believe in a signature hole. Every hole must stand on its own. There must be a flow to the course.
A hole can be 605 yards, but that doesn't make it long or tough if it usually plays downwind and downhill. If he gives you a break on one hole, beware of the next one.
"I like my golf courses to have a little spice," he says.
You and I don't see what he sees when we look at a golf course. It's about the little nuances and contours. There's a reason for everything. Except maybe that patch of ragged grass in the middle of a bunker that looks like it was designed by a man with a serious hangover.
What sick mind came up with that idea? "Good stuff," he says. There's that mischievous grin again.
Regrets? Has his ride been everything he hoped it would be? His answer surprises me.
"Maybe a little below expectations," he says. "There are so few good projects." Plus, promoting himself isn't exactly his strong suit. "If I have a job, I'm happy. If I don't have a job, I look for one."
Right now, he's still at Blackhawk, carving a little par-three practice area out of the trees. "It's my hideaway," he says. He has irons in the fire in Calgary and Vancouver, but Rod Whitman is never in a hurry.
A foursome is on the tee, trading barbs and catcalls as we drive by.
"What a game," he laughs. "You get your best friends together, and then you insult them for 4 1/2 hours. Great stuff!"
Source: Edmonton Sun (Alberta, Canada)
