Anstruther Golf Club sits where the sea leans close to the land, stretched along a rugged edge of the Fife coastline. Founded in 1890, this compact nine hole links occupies ground that has always demanded respect. To walk here is to feel the land and the elements working quietly together.

In its earliest years, the links doubled as a firing range. Targets were set along the rocky escarpments to the east, the report of rifles carrying out across the shore. Today, that sound has been replaced by the crack of a well struck iron, but traces of that past remain. Dry stone walls cut across the turf. Small huts sit low against the wind. The land remembers its former disciplines, a reminder that these coastal links have long been a proving ground for both control and nerve.

The course unfolds gently at first. A short walk uphill, a few meandering holes, then the golfer arrives at its defining moment. The fifth. A par three that has earned its reputation without excess. In 2007 it was voted among the hardest par threes in the game, and it earns that standing every day. The hole runs tight to the coastline, with no bail out left and none to the right, gorse waiting patiently for anything slightly misjudged. Here, distance matters less than commitment. Walking away with a bogey can feel as hard won as a par.

Early mornings are when Anstruther feels most itself.

Haar drifts inland from the Forth, softening the world and muting colour and sound. Fairways and greens are framed by old stone walls, the town rising gently beyond.

On clearer days, the view stretches far down the coast towards St Abbs and Eyemouth, the North Sea opening out in long, pale bands of light.

This is not a course that overwhelms with scale or spectacle. It works in subtler ways. Through history underfoot. Through wind and exposure. Through the quiet satisfaction of playing a place that has changed very little, and never needed to.

A links that rewards discipline, invites daring, and reveals itself slowly, round by round.