There were no shortage of golfers hitting the links in 2024, the recreational game continuing to ride a post-COVID surge. In turn, there was no shortage of fun stories about playing golf from our team of writers, who aimed to join those hitting the links whenever time permitted. As is our tradition, we asked staffers what their favorite golf memories and moments were from the past year, with nearly all recalling a personal story that helped capture their connection to the game. Indulge us yet again as we share our favorite memories of 2024.

My favorite moment of the year is the favorite golf moment of my life. The hype started last year when the ballot spit out my name to play the Old Course at St. Andrews. They have a system every fall where names are pulled to play the next summer. You pay to reserve the spot, and in exchange you get one round on the historic links and another at one of the other St. Andrews’ courses.

So, Team Coffin started to plan a summer Scottish vacation. With my wife, daughter and son, we spent four wonderful days in Edinburgh before Brady, entering his senior year of high school, and I went off to play four straight days of golf. The lineup—North Berwick, Kingsbarns, Castle Course, Old Course. The first three days were as wonderful as you could imagine, but this trip was all about the finale. We woke up at 6:15 a.m. for our 7:30 a.m. Old Course tee time, got dressed and walked four blocks from our rented apartment to the first tee with our golf clubs on our backs. (I had played the Old Course eight years prior and kept in touch with my wonderful Scottish caddie. He brought a buddy and the two looped for us this time.)

I won’t bore you with hole-by-hole details, but there is something religious and emotional about playing the hallowed grounds with your boy. Our caddies told stories, we took photos on the coffin bunkers (of course!), we each made birdies and our girls came to watch us play the last two holes. We took photos on the Swilcan Bridge, and it took all I had to contain my emotions. Brady had less than 100 yards into the 18th green with more than 50 people watching. He hit a great little wedge shot that hit near the hole, checked up and rolled out to 10 feet. Everyone clapped loudly, and he tipped his cap. When we finished, I hugged him, told him I was proud of him and that I loved him. It was magical.

An hour later, Brady begged me to go play the New Course, which we did. It was just the two of us, all by ourselves. We saw Gary Player playing the Old Course. Brady made four birdies and shot under par. I did not. Then, on the final hole, our 90th of the trip, we saw a rainbow off in the distance. St. Andrews always delivers. —Jay Coffin

In March, as part of a Golf Digest video shoot, PGA Tour caddie Paul Tesori was trying to pump up our Shane Ryan in the middle of their round together. Shane was struggling at the turn, but Paul wasn’t deterred. “It only takes one swing,” the caddie said, and he was right: Shane roasted his drive on the 10th tee and came to life on the back nine.

Fast forward six months, and I was in upstate New York watching my son Charlie play a Division III college golf tournament. He was reeling after just three-putting a par 3, and the mood was dark. Charlie had three holes left, sunlight was fading, and it was as if his entire fall season was tilting in a disappointing direction. I was getting ready to drive home, but figured I’d stay to watch him play the par 5. Charlie launched a drive, then sent a 5-wood to just short of the green. When his chip skipped six feet short of the flag and rolled into the cup for eagle, I yelled in a way people don’t usually yell at Division III college golf tournaments. “Sort of embarrassing,” I texted my wife. But not really. I was reminded of Tesori, and how one swing at just the right time can work wonders. —Sam Weinman

The size of the gallery pressing in around the first tee on the North Course at Oakland Hills Country Club in mid-July was a dead giveaway that the 76th U.S. Junior Amateur had a buzz all of its own. Most USGA amateur championships might draw a few hundred spectators at best for all but the final match, composed primarily of family and friends. Yet more than 1,000 were on hand outside Detroit for the first round of stroke play—true golf fans and curiosity seekers mixed together—to watch a 15-year-old kid from Florida. They were there to see what kind of golf Charlie Woods, son of Hall of Famer Tiger Woods, could produce.

Likely, a fair number also were there to see if Tiger would be in attendance to watch his boy. The elder Woods, coming off a missed cut at the Open Championship at Royal Troon, steered clear of the teeing ground, positioning himself well down the fairway, flanked by security personnel. He walked every step of the way as Charlie struggled for two days and failed to advance to match play.

Tiger, who won the U.S. Junior a record three straight years, from 1991-93, seldom ventured within a few hundred yards of his son except for the odd tee shot. The 15-time major winner watched the proceedings with stoicism. This was about Charlie and his game, and he was there simply to be a supportive dad. Always a few dozen fans hovered in his vicinity, and on the second day of play his security detail had doubled.

Having covered Tiger since he turned pro in 1996, I tended to give him a wide berth; I was there to write about Charlie. But at one point the second day, after Charlie hit a tee shot, I heard Tiger’s voice behind me. He nodded. I nodded. I asked him in passing if it was harder to watch Charlie than to play in, say, the toughest majors, knowing, as a father myself with two kids who are good athletes, what his answer might be. “Oh, God, yeah, 100 percent,” he said. I nodded again. He veered off in the direction of Charlie’s tee ball, just a dad intent on finding a good vantage point for his son’s next shot. —Dave Shedloski

So, it finally happened. I made a hole-in-one. And, yes, there’s a good chance you already know this if you’ve spent any time on GolfDigest.com since June 10. Let’s just say I’ve mentioned my first career ace a few times. In articles. In videos. In podcasts. Hey, it was a long time coming for this 40-something, and I still can’t believe it happened. But how it happened—and what happened after—is even crazier.

Allow me to set the scene. I was playing at Oak Hill Country Club in a Coaches vs. Cancer golf outing (An awesome charity, by the way) with colleague Steve Hennessey, former NBA All-Star Carlos Boozer and ESPN analyst Sean Farnham. It was a random, but fantastic group, and we were nearing the end of our round on a brisk morning in Rochester, N.Y., when we got to the beautiful par-3 15th. That’s when something made me say, “This is an ace hole. I’m going to video everyone.” It wound up being one of the best decisions of my life.

Our caddie lasered the hole at 135 yards, but into a strong wind (I swear!) we decided it was playing at least 150. That checked out as I filmed Carlos, Sean and Steve all hit good shots that came up short of the green. Suddenly, I felt like my 8-iron wasn’t enough, but I wasn’t about to go back to the cart. After handing my phone to Steve, I struck a shot as well as I could and gave a little club twirl when it landed on the putting surface. In those conditions, I was extremely happy with a green in regulation, but then my ball started feeding down a slope toward a middle-right pin. Our group started to get excited as my ball rolled closer to the hole until, suddenly, it disappeared.

I only remember what unfolded after that because Steve continued recording for nearly a minute, getting everyone’s breathless reactions. And then Carlos took the phone and videoed him interviewing me as we walked to my ball. Again, this guy played on the freaking Redeem Team with LeBron and Kobe, and won gold at the 2008 Olympics! But that day he couldn’t have been happier for a guy who flashed about a six-inch vertical on his celebration. (Although, in my defense, I had undergone knee surgery less than four months before.)

Anyway, Sean started working the phones at ESPN soon after to get my shot on SportsCenter, although I was in a complete daze for the rest of the round and couldn’t focus on what anybody was saying or doing. Meanwhile, word spread at work and among my friends, and Michael Block, who famously made an ace on the same hole during the final round of the 2023 PGA Championship sent a video message congratulating me. All of it wound up not only getting me a spot in SportsCenter’s Top 10 Plays of the Day, but also my own segment on the show. Crazy.

Mama, I made it! Is this real life?! pic.twitter.com/etutVNRlxu

— Alex Myers (@AlexMyers3) June 11, 2024

Sure, it was a pretty slow day in the world of sports, but it’s a day I will remember forever. Not just for finally achieving a long-awaited goal, but for the people I got to enjoy and share it with. Still buzzing an hour after the round, Carlos and Sean joined Steve and I to record an episode of The Loop podcast from the Oak Hill clubhouse. And the club’s staff graciously put together an incredible display that now proudly hangs on my wall at home.

Given all the surrounding circumstances, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to top that, but that’s OK. I’m lucky enough to be able to relive the moment whenever I want. So apologies in advance, but even with 2024 coming to a close, don’t expect me to stop talking about it in 2025 and beyond. Well beyond. —Alex Myers

A few years ago, I became friends with a couple only they weren’t a couple at the time, and the friendship started in a very modern way. Judy had just begun playing golf, picking up the game shortly after moving to the Bay Area in California. She had left Southern California after being burnt out from a tireless job with a tech startup and the end of an unhappy long-term relationship. With no expectations, Judy documented her golf journey, recognizing that few content creators were comfortable sharing their early struggles getting into the game. As she tried to meet new people, she made a potentially risky decision: She updated her Instagram bio, asking anyone who wanted to play golf in the Bay Area to send a DM.

Being a long-time Bay Area resident and burnt-out college golfer, I took Judy up on her offer. We traded messages on when and where we might play when a guy named Derek offered her a tee time at a nice course. To make sure Judy was comfortable, Derek told her to bring a friend along. When Judy asked me to be the friend, I jumped at the chance.

From what I remember, the February 2022 round went by unremarkably. Judy filmed some random content, and despite riding in my own cart, I felt like the star of the conversation. Derek was an LPGA fan and realized he had read some of my work at Golf Digest. Judy was intrigued by off-the-record tales of tour life. (Derek always gives me credit for telling him Lexi Thompson would retire in the near future that day.)

After the round, we all traded numbers and started a group chat. It felt like we might play again someday. But as it turns out, shortly thereafter, I learned Derek (also just out of an unhappy relationship) and Judy had ended up playing multiple rounds in Los Angeles. Soon they were dating, with Derek inviting me to a surprise birthday party for Judy that October.

Golf continued to be the foundation of their relationship, as the couple went on trips over the next two years to Pebble Beach, Scottsdale, Palm Springs, St. Andrews and London to play some of the game’s most legendary courses. Judy launched her golf tournament company, Good Vibes Golf, targeting beginner Bay Area players to inspire others to start playing golf.

This summer at his Fourth of July party, Derek pulled me aside to show me the ring he bought, letting me know he planned to propose after a round at Spanish Bay. One of my happiest moments of 2024 was seeing photos of the pair grinning ear to ear as Derek was bent on one knee next to the idyllic Pebble Beach shores, knowing I was the first witness to an unexpected but beautifully budding golf-oriented relationship. Fittingly, when they told me where they planned to get married, the pair said they had already planned out the two rounds for the golfers at their wedding. —Kent Paisley

I spent my summer in Scotland working on a project, which allowed me to play more golf than normal. One round sticks out above the rest. That was on July 4th, the only time my wife, bless her heart, accompanied me, with Crail as the destination. In terms of ambience, Crail is on the short list of best Scottish haunts. It’s not particularly difficult and there are a few pedestrian holes, yet its brilliance shines through—especially the par-4 fifth, a dare across the rocky bay that former European Ryder Cup captain Sam Torrance called the toughest 4 in Scotland. Crail gets what most golf courses fail to grasp: The game should spark joy. One slight issue: the weather.

In Scottish golf, getting thrashed by the elements isn’t just common—it’s sacramental, like a bull rider’s first intimate dance with arena dirt. But on Independence Day, the fresh-faced lad at Crail’s front desk tried to warn us, his hospitality wrestling with bewilderment at our stubbornness. “Are you quite sure about this?” he asked, his politeness barely masking his certainty that we’d lost our minds. When Scots suggest the weather’s too brutal, you’re either about to experience something legendary—or catastrophically foolish. It proved to be the latter. My usual 280-yard drives withered to wounded ducks barely reaching 200, putts oscillated like they were having seizures, and any ball daring to climb above waist height got Mutombo’d back to earth. My wife’s poncho wrapped around her like she was Egyptian royalty. When the storm finally drove us indoors, it felt less like surrender and more like heavenly intervention—saving not just the round, but quite possibly my marriage.

I kid; she enjoyed the day (or at least, enjoyed the jacket she bought from the pro shop). And the round bestowed a photo that underlined what I already know to be true: Find you a partner that will be by your side, no matter what storms come your way. —Joel Beall

My favorite golf memory of the year? Where to start. Despite a year of mediocre play, there was an embarrassment of riches to choose from. I watched one of the classiest moves I’d ever seen on a golf course. I played Merion and Friar’s Head on back-to-back days. I partnered with dear friend Michael Simes to win my club’s Junior/Senior Championship, avenging a playoff loss from five years earlier.

One memory, though, remains strongest. At my club, Rock Ridge C.C. in Newtown, Conn., The Nassau is the biggest event of the year. A Calcutta where teams are drawn in an ABCD format at random and played as best two balls of four net over 36 holes, it is a pressure cooker. The team auction is spirited and the play intense.

Despite never being on the winning squad, I absolutely love team golf and this year I got a doozy of a draw. All close friends. Roy Hornbeck, Rob Merrifield and the legend, 83-year-old Doc Calbo, who still putts with the nerve of a 20-year-old. All had won the Nassau before. I was 0 for 14.

I had been crushingly mediocre for 27 holes but got going on the final nine. A birdie net eagle on 12. Par, net birdie on 15. Then three up-and-downs in a row for par, two of them net birdies. As backdrop, I am emerging from chip yips. Short-sided and faced with a delicate pitch on 17, I learned later that one of my friends among the 100 or so observing said, “I can’t watch.” I don’t blame him. After years of skulls, chunks, double-hits and even triple-hits, the smart money would have been on his side.

All of which made the up-and-down—and the work with head pro Brian Hussey, a Golf Digest Best in State instructor—that much more satisfying. I’d hit a terrific pitch shot, under pressure. I wasn’t sure that would ever happen again.

Yeah, we won. And our names will be on the board and the financial haul was nice, too. Yet what I’ll take from that weekend was the unbelievable camaraderie of our team, the heartfelt congratulations from fellow members telling me how happy they were I finally got one and my son, Shawn, charging up to the final green and wrapping me in a hug I still feel.

Then my buddy Frank Gavel came up. Frank created pins for Nassau winners that he normally gives at the following year’s dinner. “I think you’ve waited long enough,” he said as he pinned it to my collar. In a year of great moments, nothing beat that. —E. Michael Johnson

We had a mild fall in the northeast this year. The forecast showed a 60-degree afternoon one Friday in late October, so I called my mom, the person who taught me how to play golf, to see if she wanted to meet me for a quick nine. We decided to bring my 3½-year-old daughter along, too. We got a cart—special for my toddler—and I came armed with a bag of treats and toys to keep her entertained when she tired of hitting shots.

It was a perfect late-fall day with full sun—the rarity of which you can really only appreciate if you’ve lived in Vermont and weathered plenty of cold, gray, rainy fall days. The foliage was past peak, but the mountains were glowing. We weren’t the only ones to think golf was a good idea, so play was a little slow. My mom was tinkering with a swing thought that day, so she hit a few extra balls whenever we were held up. I set my daughter up to hit shots next to me, and she happily took full swings with her putter, responding well to the cookies I’d packed. It was all fun, but with watching multiple shots and keeping a toddler happy, it was also a lot for me to keep track of, not to mention my own game.

“How many birdies was that?” my mom asked after I drained a 12-footer for birdie on the ninth hole.

I quickly scrolled through the holes in my head. Three.

“Pretty impressive with us trying to distract you as much as possible,” she joked.

I laughed, too. I had no business making birdies that day, but I did. It had been the story of my summer of golf. I don’t play much because I have two toddlers and a job—and I lost six weeks of play to a sprained wrist. But whenever I did play, I played well. Like, the best ball-striking of my life well. It felt like it came out of nowhere. There were plenty of bad shots hit this year, but so many great ones.

We made the turn and were on the 15th hole when the sun fully set and my toddler was fully done with golf for the day. That round made me feel such gratitude for this game that allows three generations of women to share it. And I felt a hopefulness in realizing our best golf really can happen at any time. It might not be when we expect it, or when we think we deserve it. Doesn’t that make the game all the more perplexing, and fun? —Keely Levins

In glorious weather and in front of impressively large galleries, the 2024 Curtis Cup that saw the leading female amateurs from Great Britain & Ireland narrowly defeat their American counterparts provoked in me contrasting emotions. So it is that vivid and exciting memories will forever be tainted by regret.

On a positive note, standing on the elevated 10th tee instantly triggered a renewed awareness of the atmosphere and challenge provided by Sunningdale’s historic Old course. The view is stunning. The fairway far below offers a tantalizing target. And the (misnamed) halfway hut—home of the iconic sausage sandwiches—still sits invitingly behind the distant green. Almost exactly a century after Bobby Jones shot what was known as “the perfect round”—33 shots and 33 putts—in qualifying for the 1926 Open Championship, the picturesque Willie Park-design has lost none of its intrinsic charm. It remains one of the greatest places to play the greatest game.

Ben Hoskins/R&A

Sadly, that nod of appreciation was closely followed by a shake of the head. These days, along with so many other classic courses, a point-missing professional game has declared Sunningdale “too short” to host the very best players armed with frying-pan drivers and turbo-charged balls.

This is insanity. Track and Field modified the javelin when the best began to throw it too far. Major League Baseball does not allow metal bats. Nor does cricket. And tennis slowed down the ball to hopefully extend rallies beyond the tedious crash-bang-wallop that is serve-and-volley. But golf chose a different path, making it surely the only sport that has obsoleted some of its leading venues in order to spare so-called equipment “advances.” It is madness, a folly of epic proportions—one never more obvious than at Sunningdale. —John Huggan

For the past three years at Golf Digest, I have tried my luck at the company’s match-play event. The first two years went as follows: 1. Brutal loss at The Architects Golf Club 2. Brutal loss at Ramblewood Country Club. Third time’s the charm, right? Especially when paired with a GD intern. Well, no. I got smoked. By the seventh hole, it was pretty obvious I would be eliminated in Round One once more, watching the rest of the tournament from afar. Imagine if that was the end of my Favorite Golf Memory of the Year …

Luckily, things were about to break my way.

Unlike in years past, your match-play “season” didn’t end if you got booted from the event; instead, we added a Losers Bracket appropriately titled in Slack “match-play-losers.” (Our creativity knows no bounds.) It was here where I worked my magic, somehow figuring out how to hit the ball onto the fairway and make a bunch of ridiculous putts. I won my first Losers Match-Play match-up with a long putt on No. 18 to put it away. In my next match, I won again on a playoff hole in which my opponent got stuck in the sand. In March Madness Cinderella fashion, I had Butler’d my way, Brad Stevens style, to the (losers) Finals.

Now, as a beaten-down fan of New York sports (and the Washington Wizards for some reason), I was expecting the worst, which is why I was nervous as hell for a match-up against a worthy foe that, because of weather/timing, would take place indoors during our December holiday party at Five Iron Golf in Manhattan over three nail-biting holes. Of course, fueled by liquid courage and sweaty palms, I bombed the first drive—right into the roof of the simulator. The ball went 30-something yards. And yet, I held strong, ultimately winning the first hole, losing the second and then remarkably winning the third. It’s my first real golf victory, unless you’re counting Tiger Woods PGA Tour on the PS2, and it’s something that I’m kinda proud of. My goal when starting at Golf Digest was to become a serviceable, not-too-embarrassing golfer, and I think I can officially say I’ve accomplished that goal. Beware, next Golf Digest intern. —Greg Gottfried

I could do a “favorite memory” post from 2024 without mentioning the birth of my first son. Now I have to find a way to tie golf in.

No problem there. My son, Christopher Michael Powers III, was the sole reason I did not go and cover golf in the Olympics in Paris. Not because he was born either of those two weeks in early August, but because he might have been born one of those two weeks in early August. His due date was Aug. 21, so I would have been fine in theory, but the thought of potentially missing his birth back in January (when I had to commit to covering the Olympics or not) was too stressful to think about. I had to say no, missing out on an event I adored growing up. In Paris, no less! Damn kids.

Of course, the little man didn’t come out until Aug. 27, so I could have paraded around Europe for another few weeks before coming home if I wanted. On Monday, Aug. 26, I had plans to golf in an outing at Hamilton Farm Golf Club in New Jersey, not far from my house. My dad set up and paid for the five-star affair as my birthday present (Aug. 28 is my b-day). Sunday evening, when my wife wasn’t feeling well, I was wondering if this young lad was now going to ruin my golf day—36 holes, the elite Hickory par-3 course included and all the food and drink you could possibly imagine. This kid is going to take that from me, too?!

Turns out, he must have known his dad really, really wanted to play that day. So he waited until Aug. 27, 11:56 p.m., four minutes before his dad’s birthday, to join us. Four months later, I realized I’d choose hanging with CP3 over covering the Olympics or playing golf 100 times out of 100. —Christopher Powers

This article was originally published on golfdigest.com