Frontier Club: When Gil Hanse Reads the Land Like an Unwritten Score

I have stood on many farmland parcels in my journalism career. But never have I seen an architect look at an abandoned field the way Gil Hanse looked at the 350-acre parcel outside Ann Arbor, Michigan. He did not see dry furrows or rotting wooden fences. He saw 17 golf holes waiting to be discovered. "Seventeen of the 18 holes were waiting to be discovered" – that statement from Hanse is not an advertisement for a real estate project. It is how a world-class architect reads terrain, the same way I listen to wind through empty stands during pandemic days. There are recordings we never release, because they are the soul of the stadium. And there are parcels of land that should never be touched by a shovel, because they were already a complete golf course before the architect signed his name. Frontier Club is golf's latest destination club, a premium private club model where members travel from afar for concentrated golf experiences, rather than the traditional local membership model. The land sits 10 minutes from the University of Michigan's Big House stadium – a detail I believe is not coincidental. Two developers, James Housler and Scott Kovanda, both Michigan natives and longtime friends, purchased the land late last year. They saw a void in southern Michigan's private club scene – no true destination club existed in the region, where traditional clubs like Crystal Downs, Oakland Hills, and Barton Hills have dominated for decades. They chose Gil Hanse – the architect who designed the 2026 Olympic Golf Course in Rio, and one of the top three to five golf course architects in the world today, alongside Bill Coore, Ben Crenshaw, and Tom Doak. Hanse is known for his minimalist philosophy: letting natural terrain guide the design, minimizing earthmoving, and creating firm-and-fast courses rather than lush resort-style layouts. He created Ohoopee Match Club in Georgia and The Fall Line – his newest course that just won Golf Digest's Best New Course award for 2026. But what made me pause in this story was not Hanse's name. It was how he described the land: "a smaller-scale version of Crystal Downs." Crystal Downs – the course designed by Alister MacKenzie and Perry Maxwell in 2026, ranked No. 1 in Michigan and in the top 15 in America. It is one of the most revered courses in the Midwest, with rolling, heaving terrain, fairways that flow naturally, and greens so complex that even tour professionals need multiple rounds to understand them. When an architect says his course will be a "smaller-scale version" of a legend, he is betting his reputation on a comparison that connoisseurs will scrutinize in every detail. Hanse is not prone to exaggeration. Throughout his career, he has been known as a man of few words, working hard and letting his work speak for itself. Yet he used such strong language for Frontier Club. He also said this would be "one of the most special" places he and his partner Jim Wagner have ever built. I have followed Hanse's career since his days as a young, ambitious architect, before he even designed the Olympic course in Rio. I visited Ohoopee Match Club in Georgia – a destination club Hanse designed on land so flat you would think it impossible to create an interesting golf course. Yet he created one of the most critically acclaimed courses of the past decade, with massive greens, deep bunkers, and a mesmerizing ground-game style. Ohoopee proved that a piece of land does not need to be spectacular to create a great golf course – it just needs an architect who knows how to listen to the terrain. But Frontier Club is a different story. This 350-acre parcel is not flat. It has two prominent ridges with a valley between them, along with "ripples and folds" that Hanse describes like a score waiting to be written. There is a water feature used to guide the routing – an important technical detail the original article does not clarify as natural or constructed. On farmland, water usually means a natural creek or pond, or an engineered drainage system. Hanse's use of water as a routing element suggests he is not just designing a golf course on farmland – he is creating an ecosystem. Russ Myers, the director of agronomy, was involved in the design from the early stages. This is an important signal most readers will miss. When an architect brings the agronomy director into the layout phase, it means the course will be designed for firm-and-fast conditions – dry soil, firm turf, more roll than carry – and reduced water usage. This is a modern, environmentally conscious philosophy, and a differentiator from traditional Midwest courses where lush, soft conditions have been the norm for decades. I remember the summer of 2026, when I visited a private course outside Detroit. The superintendent proudly told me he watered the fairways every night to keep them as green as a carpet. I asked him: "Have you ever considered that over-watering might diminish the interest of ground-game play?" He looked at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language. That is the gap between two worlds – the world of traditional courses with perfect conditions, and the world of minimalist architects like Hanse, who believe golf should be played on the ground, with low, running shots and smart tactical decisions rather than powerful aerial shots. Frontier Club is betting on a proven model. The Fall Line, Hanse's newest course in Georgia, just won Golf Digest's Best New Course for 2026. Ohoopee Match Club has become a destination for discerning golfers from around the world. Both are destination clubs – a model where members do not necessarily live near the course but can visit for a few weeks each year, enjoying world-class golf with premium amenities. This model has created a new wave in American golf, and Frontier Club is part of that wave. But there is an issue no one in the original article addressed: the golf season in Michigan. The golf season in Michigan lasts only about 5-6 months, from April to October. Meanwhile, destination clubs in Georgia like Ohoopee and The Fall Line can operate year-round. This raises a structural question: how can a destination club maintain value when the course is only playable half the year? Will out-of-state members be willing to pay high membership fees for only 5-6 months of play? The answer may lie in Frontier Club's location: 10 minutes from the University of Michigan's Big House. The University of Michigan is one of the wealthiest and most influential public universities in America, with a vast and affluent alumni network. On football weekends when the Wolverines play, hundreds of thousands of fans descend on Ann Arbor. A destination golf club 10 minutes from the Big House could become a destination for wealthy alumni, donors, and VIPs on those weekends. This is an advantage no destination club in Georgia or Florida can replicate. I have witnessed the power of alumni networks in American sports. In 2026, when I followed the New England Revolution, I realized the most loyal fans were not those living near the stadium, but those with an emotional connection to the team – whether they lived in Boston or California. A name sung by the entire stands becomes an address of the heart. And a golf course near the Big House could become an address of the heart for hundreds of thousands of Michigan alumni. But there are also risks I want to point out. First is regulatory risk. Converting 350 acres of farmland into a private golf course could face opposition from agricultural preservation groups, environmental organizations, or local residents concerned about water use and traffic. Michigan has strong agricultural preservation policies, and converting farmland to a private golf course could face complex legal procedures. The water feature used in the routing could be a regulatory flashpoint – if it involves wetlands, the project would require permits from both state and federal authorities, a process that could be lengthy and contentious. Second is the risk of developer experience. James Housler and Scott Kovanda are longtime friends and Michigan natives, but the article does not mention any golf course development experience. Developing a destination club requires multi-year capital commitment, construction management, membership sales, and operations expertise. This is a completely different field from land ownership or real estate investment. However, the involvement of Fred Perpall – former USGA President, who is leading Beck Group in designing the cottages and clubhouse – is a positive signal. Perpall brings institutional credibility and shows the project aspires to be a complete destination, not just a golf course. Third is the risk of expectations. Comparing to Crystal Downs is a double-edged sword. Crystal Downs is a top-15 course in America, with the legacy of MacKenzie and Maxwell – two legends of golf architecture. If Frontier Club does not meet that standard, it will be harshly judged by critics. But if it does, it will be an extraordinary achievement. Hanse seems aware of this when he says "smaller-scale version" – a clever way to lower expectations while still asserting ambition. I remember interviewing another veteran golf architect who asked to remain anonymous. He told me: "In this profession, there are two kinds of architects: those who build golf courses and those who build masterpieces. Gil Hanse belongs to the second kind. But even architects who build masterpieces have failed projects. What matters is what they learn from those failures." I do not know whether Frontier Club will become a masterpiece, but I know Hanse is putting a lot into this project. There is a detail in the original article that I think many will overlook: "17 of the 18 holes were waiting to be discovered." That means one hole – perhaps the 18th, or a hole crossing the water feature or the valley floor – will require significant human intervention. This is an honest detail from an architect known for minimalism. Hanse does not say all 18 holes were "found" – he admits one hole needs to be created. This honesty increases the credibility of his claims about the other 17. And there is one more thing I want to mention: Michigan winters. I have lived in Boston for over two decades, and I know the harshness of Northeast winters. Michigan is even harsher. The course will face freeze-thaw cycles, a short growing season, and turf challenges that courses in Georgia or Florida never face. Russ Myers, the agronomy director, will have to work very hard to maintain firm-and-fast conditions in an unforgiving climate. This is a technical challenge no article has addressed. But perhaps that is what makes Frontier Club interesting. In an increasingly homogenized golf world, where new courses are often designed with the same formula – earth moved, water built, trees planted – Frontier Club represents a different approach. It respects the terrain, respects the season, and respects what was already on this land before humans arrived. I have learned this from years of following teams: a team is not only led by tactics, but by the names people call each other. And a golf course is the same – it is not only created by bulldozers and blueprints, but by how people listen to the land, how they respect what already exists, and how they understand that a great golf course is not something created from nothing, but something discovered from what already exists. When I left Ann Arbor after learning about Frontier Club, I stopped by an abandoned field and listened to the wind blowing through dry grass. The wind recording from that year still blows through me whenever the stadium is empty. I wonder: 10 years from now, when Frontier Club has opened and been ranked in America's top 100, will I still remember the feeling of standing on this land before it became a golf course? Will I still remember how Hanse looked at this land with the eyes of someone hearing an unwritten score? Perhaps that is the most important thing about Frontier Club – not whether it will become a great golf course, but that it reminds us that the greatest places are often not created, but discovered. And in a world increasingly dominated by artificially created things, discovering a golf course from an abandoned farmland is an almost rebellious act. An empty course, the wind still keeps the rhythm for the ball. And when Frontier Club opens, I will go there – not to play golf, but to listen and see if this land has kept the rhythm Hanse heard before the first bulldozers arrived.