Every failed golf trip fails the same way. Somebody floats an idea in January, eleven people say they're in, nobody puts money down, and by March it's four guys and an awkward conversation about whether it's still happening.
The golf is the easy part. Here's the organisational part, which is the part that actually decides whether you go.
One organiser. Not a committee.
Somebody has to own this, make the calls, and take the mild resentment that comes with it. If that person is you, accept now that you'll be chasing people for money and you'll be the one who booked the wrong tee time. That's the job.
What the organiser gets in return: the final say. Not a vote. The final say. Groups that put everything to a vote never leave the driveway.
Dates before anything else
Lock dates first, before the destination, before the courses, before anyone starts sending links to resorts. Dates are the thing people actually can't move — weddings, kids, work. Everything else is negotiable.
Pick the dates, put them out, and give people one week to say yes or no. Not "let me check." Yes or no.
The deposit rule, which is the whole article
Take a deposit within two weeks of locking dates. Not the full amount. Enough to hurt a bit — a couple of hundred each is plenty.
This does three things, and they're the three things that save trips:
- It converts maybes into numbers. You cannot book anything for "probably eight, maybe six."
- It makes people show up. Money already spent is much harder to walk away from than a promise.
- It protects you. When somebody drops in month five, their deposit covers the shortfall instead of you eating it.
Make the terms explicit when you collect: deposits are non-refundable unless you find your own replacement. Say it once, in writing, at the start. Then you never have to have that argument, because you already had it.
Get the number right
Eight is the number. Two foursomes. It's the cleanest size there is — easy tee times, easy rotation, easy cars, easy to split rooms.
Twelve works if everyone knows each other well. Ten is the worst number in golf — two foursomes and a pair, and that pair will feel it all week.
Six is fine and much easier to organise, but you lose the format options that make the golf interesting.
Rooms and money
Set the price per person including everything — beds, green fees, carts, the car — and quote that one number. Don't itemise. The second people start comparing what they individually used, you're running a spreadsheet instead of a golf trip.
Sort rooms yourself. Don't ask people to pair up; you'll create a scenario where somebody's left over. Just assign them, mix it up, and move on.
Food and drink stay off the sheet. That's every man for himself, settled nightly, no ledger.
The golf itself
Don't book a 7am tee time on day one if people are driving in the night before. You'll spend the first round watching grown men fall asleep in the cart.
Rotate the groups. Different foursome every round, decided by you, posted in advance. Left alone, the same four good players will play together every day and the other four will have a worse trip.
Run one running competition across the whole trip, and make it something a mid-handicapper can win. A rolling Stableford with handicaps, or points. Skins for the side action. The trip needs a story by Sunday, and the story should not be "the two-handicap won everything."
Book one fewer round than you think. Thirty-six on day two sounds heroic in February. By Saturday afternoon half the group wants a beer and a nap, and the guys who wanted to play will find a twilight rate.
The timeline
- 6+ months out
- Dates locked. One week to commit
- Within 2 weeks
- Deposits in. Non-refundable unless you find a replacement
- 5 months out
- Book beds and tee times against confirmed numbers only
- 6 weeks out
- Balance due
- 2 weeks out
- Send one message with everything — times, addresses, cars, who's in which room, the competition format
- The trip
- Organiser stops organising. You've done your bit
The one that always comes up
Somebody will drop out late with a genuine reason, and you'll feel bad enforcing the deposit rule. Enforce it anyway, kindly. Offer to help them find a replacement, then hold the line.
Because the alternative is that you personally absorb it, and the man who organises the trip and pays for the privilege doesn't organise a second one. That's how these things quietly stop happening after a few years.
Take the deposits. Everything else works itself out.