Every golfer dreams of making a pilgrimage to the British Isles, to play the exhilarating game to be found on the ground that links land and sea. Increasingly, golfers on this side of the Atlantic have discovered that some of the most magnificent courses in the world -- and some of the most beautiful countrysides -- are to be found in Scotland's near neighbor, Ireland. For the tourist or the dreamer, there can be no better guide than James W. Finegan. A passionate advocate and a charming storyteller, Finegan combines a writer's eye, a historian's knowledge, and a golfer's sense of wonder to provide an impossibly ambitious grand tour of this beautiful land. In a loop that begins in the west at Lahinch and continues clockwise through both the Republic and Northern Ireland, Finegan covers nearly seventy courses, visiting those that have become true shrines of the game, the courses that are well known and respected, and the little-known gems you might otherwise pass right by. Now updated with new courses and changes to old favorites, Emerald Fairways and Foam-Flecked Seas is a book to be read, savored, and tucked away in your suitcase when you finally undertake the journey of your dreams. "Whether you're a scratch golfer or just out to enjoy the scenery, Emerald Fairways and Foam-Flecked Seas is the most thorough guide to Irish golf available on either side of the Atlantic." -- Tom Doak, author of The Confidential Guide to Golf Courses "By the time you're halfway through, you'll be looking up the number for Aer Lingus -- and wondering if Finegan can join you." -- Michael Bamberger, author of To the Linksland and The Green Road Home "Few men know the golf courses of Scotland and Ireland better than Jim Finegan, and no man writes of them more movingly...Simply a great red." -- George Peper, author of Two Years in St. Andrews James W. Finegan has made more than forty trips to the United Kingdom and Ireland since 1971, always with his golf clubs in tow. He has written extensively about the pleasures of links golf for Golf Magazine, Golf Journal, the Philadelphia Inquirer, and a variety of other publications. He lives in Villanova, Pennsylvania. Chapter One Orbiting Shannon The first stroke I ever played in Ireland was my drive on the opening hole at Lahinch more than 20 years ago. I urge you to follow in my footsteps, for as the ball leaves the clubface to wing over this restless and hummocky and tumbling terrain and land on the upslope of a great sandhill, the flag straining on its stick higher yet on a perfect plateau of green, you will know without being told that here is links golf -- the reason you have crossed an ocean -- in its purest and most joyous form. Lahinch seems to me the ideal introduction to the game in Ireland, and not just because of irs wonderful golf holes. There is the plain little town itself, which has been called the St. Andrews of Ireland. In truth, Lahinch is even more single-minded in its pursuit of the game than is the ancient royal burgh, for Lahinch has no university, no historical monuments, no handsome blocks of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century houses. It has the two eighteens, a handful of small hotels and B&Bs, some tweed and souvenir shops, several convivial pubs (where the Irish folk music for which County Clare is noted can be enjoyed), and a passion for golf. Even lovely Liscannor Bay, on which the town is set, seems of little moment other than as a backdrop for some of the golf holes. Golf, more often than not, is the opening subject in any conversation here, and though other topics may well be touched upon along the way, the talk will inevitably come full circle back to what really matters, like the blind second shot on Klondyke, or the best line for the drive on 12 (perhaps a little left of the castle is more prudent), or the impact of World War II on the career of the illustrious John Burke. If you play golf, talk golf, or are merely content to listen to golf being discussed, you will be entirely at home here. The place has another distinct virtue: It is just 30 miles north of Shannon International Airport. There can be few things more rewarding in the life of an American golfer than to make the transatlantic night flight, pick up a rental car at Shannon, and, somehow miraculously refreshed and rejuvenated, tee off not an hour later at Lahinch. I recall doing just that in 1974, when the predecessor of the present clubhouse was still in use. It was a simple, spartan structure then, the stone-floored changing room unheated and sans lockers. You hung your clothes on a wooden peg. Dangling from the peg next to mine were rosary beads. It could only be Ireland! That day there was a neatly typed little notice at the main entrance to the clubhouse advising the members that the club would be closed Monday out of respect to John Burke, whose funeral was being held then. John Burke was the greatest player in the history of the clu