Frontier Club: 17 of 18 Holes 'Waiting to Be Discovered' and Gil Hanse's 350-Acre Bet

When Gil Hanse declared that "17 of the 18 holes were waiting to be discovered" on a 350-acre former farmland in Lodi Township, golf architecture circles immediately understood this was not a hollow marketing phrase. This is the language of minimalist design — where the architect does not create landscape but listens to the terrain. Frontier Club, golf's latest destination club in America, is entering its pre-construction phase with enormous ambition: to recreate a smaller-scale version of Crystal Downs — the No. 1 course in Michigan and a top-15 course in America. Unlike commercial projects that begin with engineering drawings and excavation plans, the Frontier Club story opens with two longtime friends: James Housler and Scott Kovanda. Both are Michigan natives with no publicly documented golf development track record. They identified a void in southern Michigan's private club scene: there was no true destination club in the region. Instead of building another traditional course in an area already rich with Crystal Downs, Oakland Hills, and Barton Hills, they chose the destination club model — the model validated by The Fall Line and Ohoopee Match Club, both designed by Hanse. The core design insight lies in how Hanse reads the land. The property is not flat like a typical farm; it features two prominent ridges with a valley between them, along with natural ripples and folds. A water feature is used for routing the holes — a notable technical detail, because water usually serves strategic purposes, not just decoration. Analysts see similarities to Crystal Downs, where MacKenzie and Maxwell created a masterpiece from natural undulations. The phrase "17 of 18 holes" also leaves open the possibility that one hole required more intervention — perhaps the 18th, crossing the valley or the water feature. For a veteran architect like Hanse — who designed the 2026 Olympic Course in Rio, Castle Stuart, and Boston Golf Club — counting holes this way signals absolute confidence in the land's quality. The involvement of director of agronomy Russ Myers at the planning stage is a critical signal that insiders do not overlook. Rarely does a project invite turf and soil experts into the design room from day one, unless the owners are committed to the firm-and-fast philosophy — dry, firm turf, fast rolling, and reduced water usage. This philosophy dominates modern architecture, but in Michigan — where lush, English-style green conditioning has been the norm — it will be a significant departure. Russ Myers is not merely solving technical problems; he is helping shape the playing strategy of every hole from the drawing board, something few commercial golf courses achieve. Commercially, the involvement of Fred Perpall — former USGA President — in designing the clubhouse and cottages through the Beck Group provides institutional credibility. A project with a former USGA president on the development team will be judged more favorably on construction standards and future rating potential. Market data shows strong capital flows into the destination club segment: after Ohoopee and The Fall Line — with The Fall Line winning Golf Digest's Best New Course of 2026 — there is no reason for private capital to stop. Frontier Club becomes the next signal of that capital, but it also raises an untested question: can this model survive in a cold climate? The picture has its dark side. The Crystal Downs comparison is a double-edged sword. Crystal Downs is ranked among America's greatest courses; attaching the phrase "smaller-scale" from day one sets an extremely high bar that even Hanse must confront. He said this could be one of the most special places he and Jim Wagner have ever built. If that promise is not realized, it will become a reputational burden. I have followed many golf projects that made grand claims before breaking ground, and history shows that an architect's promises are more expensive than a developer's promises — because his name is attached to every square meter of turf. The second issue is seasonality. Michigan's golf season lasts only five to six months, roughly April through October. While Ohoopee and The Fall Line sit in Georgia — where play continues year-round — Frontier Club must confront fixed operating costs spread across fewer months. Per-member costs will be significantly higher than southern destination clubs, and the value proposition for out-of-state members becomes harder to sell. The original article does not mention any winter programming plan. This is a striking information gap, because a typical destination club has nonstop staffing, turf maintenance, and hospitality costs. The big question: what will the operations team do during six months of snow, or do they expect members to visit only in concentrated bursts during half the year? Finally, regulatory risk. Converting 350 acres of farmland into a private golf club will require local zoning approval and compliance with Michigan's agricultural preservation and wetland protection laws — among the strictest in the nation. A water feature used for routing holes typically requires environmental permitting and ecological impact assessments. The financial structure is not disclosed, but the project's claim that construction will begin later this year suggests preliminary surveys may already be complete. A report sitting in a drawer is not a conclusion; it is a chart waiting for its timeline. One detail in the original article receives little attention: Frontier Club is located just 10 minutes from the University of Michigan's Big House stadium. On football weekends, hundreds of thousands of fans and wealthy boosters descend on Ann Arbor. This is a strategic asset that no southern destination club can replicate: the University of Michigan alumni network with high spending power. If the development team exploits this connection — turning football weekends into premium membership sales events — then Frontier Club's "winter" could be offset by autumn football and a unique membership ecosystem. I have seen similar models at clubs near large American universities, and they work. Data is never in a hurry; it only waits for those who know how to read it. For Frontier Club, the data tells the story of a grand ambition on new land — but also of unresolved variables: first-time developers, a short season, complex permitting, and the shadow of Crystal Downs. If these variables are managed well, Frontier Club is not just another new club; it could open the door for an entire generation of destination clubs in northern states — from Wisconsin to Minnesota, and across New England. People watch a golf course; I watch the entire route before the first ball is struck. That route, with all its turns, is just beginning. And if Hanse is right — that 17 of 18 holes already lie on the ground — then the only thing left waiting is time, and the patience of the market.