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French Chardonnay in the Napa Valley

April 16, 2026 by Nicklaus Mills in Review

There’s something slightly disarming about arriving at Brambles. Not because of what it is, but because of what it isn’t trying to be. In an era where new golf courses tend to arrive fully dressed for the part, pressed, polished, and pre-approved by an imaginary panel of investors and Instagram architects, Brambles feels… unfinished. And that’s precisely its charm.

Opened in 2024 in Middletown, this is a course that doesn’t present itself as a final statement. It plays more like a question than an answer. There is a visible restraint here, a willingness to leave space for the course to evolve rather than forcing it into a fixed identity too early. It suggests an open-minded curiosity from its creators, not just about what the course is, but what it might become.

The approach to 16 Green.

Because modern golf development, particularly in the wake of the game’s recent boom, has leaned toward two predictable poles. Commercially safe imitations on one side, echoes of what has already worked, repackaged with just enough variation to feel new. On the other, courses that lean heavily on spectacular settings, where the land does most of the storytelling and the golf simply follows along politely. Brambles resists both. It feels less like a finished product and more like something in flux. Alive, slightly unsettled, and all the better for it.

And perhaps the best way to understand it is through wine.

Chardonnay, in 2026, broadly lives in two worlds. There’s the French expression, restrained, mineral-driven, lightly touched by oak. It doesn’t announce itself. It unfolds. Texture over power. Precision over presence. Then there’s the Napa Valley style, rich, full-bodied, unapologetically buttery. It arrives fully formed, confident, immediate.

Brambles is unmistakably the former, set right in the heart of the latter.

Within reach of Napa Valley, where boldness has long been the prevailing language, Brambles feels almost rebellious in its restraint. A French Chardonnay in Napa country. It goes against the grain, not loudly, but quietly, confidently.

There’s a sensation here that’s difficult to articulate but instantly recognisable. Playing Brambles today feels akin to stepping into the early life of the courses we now revere. Not as museum pieces, but as living, breathing experiments. Before the edges were refined, before reputations calcified, before mythology took hold. For better or worse, it evokes something like Augusta National Golf Club in its infancy. Not in grandeur or ambition, but in spirit. A place still figuring itself out.

And that lack of polish is not a flaw. It’s the point.

There are moments where the ground feels unresolved, where lines are still being discovered rather than dictated. Greens that don’t yet feel like they’ve settled into their final expressions. Edges that blur instead of declare. But within that ambiguity lies the thrill. The golf is engaging, often surprising, occasionally uneven, but always alive. It asks you to participate, not just execute.

This isn’t a blight on the course. It’s what makes it compelling. Inspiring, even. There’s ambition here, but it’s patient. It trusts that time, play, and subtle iteration will reveal what Brambles ultimately wants to be.

The risk & reward of the 9th fairway.

That philosophy feels deeply aligned with the work of Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw, whose fingerprints are all over the place, alongside the very real dream of their long-time associate James Duncan. This isn’t architecture chasing applause. It’s architecture willing to wait.

Because Napa didn’t become Napa by accident. Robert Mondavi and his contemporaries helped define a style that was confident, expressive, and immediately recognisable. Big wines, fully realised, built to leave an impression. In many ways, modern golf architecture has followed a similar path. Capable of delivering finished products from day one, polished and complete.

But standing on the ground at Brambles, it’s hard not to feel the appeal of something else. Something a little less resolved. A little more patient. Like those French Chardonnays that don’t give you everything up front, that ask for time, and reward it quietly.

Brambles doesn’t quite tell you what it is just yet.

And that might be the most interesting thing about it.

Happy Golfing,

One of my favourite clubhouses.


April 16, 2026 /Nicklaus Mills
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