Frontier Club and the '17 of 18 holes waiting to be discovered' promise: When Gil Hanse bets his reputation on Michigan farmland

I have watched Gil Hanse's quote in the Frontier Club announcement over and over: "17 of the 18 holes are waiting to be discovered." This is an unusual number. In 17 years of following golf course projects, I rarely see an elite architect dare to claim that nearly the entire routing was dictated by natural terrain rather than requiring machinery to sculpt the landscape. That statement is either the truth, or a promise that will haunt them for many years. I lean toward the former, but my data has been wrong before. The Frontier Club project sits on 350 acres of former farmland, about 10 minutes from the Big House stadium of the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. The initiators are James Housler and Scott Kovanda, two longtime friends who are both Michigan natives. They saw a gap: southern Michigan has many prestigious private clubs like Crystal Downs, Oakland Hills, Barton Hills, but lacks a true destination club. Their anchor is Gil Hanse and Jim Wagner, with the ambition to create a "smaller-scale Crystal Downs." When analyzing a golf course project, I usually start with the question: what about this land made a world-class architect agree to join? For Frontier Club, the answer lies in the terrain. Two prominent ridges with a valley between, plus the natural ripples and folds of farmland. Hanse describes it as one of the most beautiful properties he has ever seen, with wide fields and large rolling contours. The technical highlight is the use of water features to route the holes. On a rolling farmland site, water is usually a drainage challenge, but here it becomes a tactical tool. From a data analyst's perspective, the volume of earthmoving is a critical cost variable. When an architect says "17 of 18 holes waiting to be discovered," it implies significantly lower earthmoving costs compared to projects that must manufacture the landscape from scratch. I recall in 2026, when I built a manual xG model for Nagoya Grampus in J.League 2, I missed a 4-game losing streak because I failed to properly account for home-field advantage. The same lesson applies to golf: beautiful land is a necessary condition, but not sufficient. The Crystal Downs comparison is a double-edged sword. Crystal Downs, designed by Alister MacKenzie and Perry Maxwell, is the #1 course in Michigan and ranks in America's top 15. When Hanse deliberately compares Frontier Club as a smaller version of this legend, he sets an exceptionally high architectural bar. The comparison to Old Elm Club in Illinois also reveals the design philosophy: a classic, understated private club where rolling terrain dictates routing, not a "statement" or resort-style approach. The involvement of Russ Myers, director of agronomy, from the layout stage is a notable technical signal. In Japan, I have witnessed many new golf courses built with a year-round lush green philosophy, costing heavily in water and chemicals. But the modern trend led by Hanse, Coore & Crenshaw, and Tom Doak is firm-and-fast: dry, firm turf that rewards strategic ground-game shots rather than aerial target golf. Having an agronomist involved from the design phase strongly suggests Frontier Club will pursue a sustainable ecosystem with reduced water usage — a differentiator from traditional Midwest courses historically accustomed to lush green conditions. The partnership with Fred Perpall, former USGA President, is a valuable governance signal. Perpall, through his company Beck Group, will design the cottages and clubhouse. This not only brings institutional credibility but also shows Frontier Club will be a full-service destination. A typical destination club has initiation fees in the six-to-seven-figure range, and the model operates on membership exclusivity. Successful models like Ohoopee Match Club and The Fall Line in Georgia have proven the value. When The Fall Line won Golf Digest's Best New Course in 2026, this wave attracted more investors. Frontier Club is following that exact trajectory. But here I want to offer a contrarian perspective. The Crystal Downs comparison could be the biggest self-imposed obstacle. When you set the bar too high, every minor flaw is magnified. I have witnessed sports projects fail because they overpromised. Developers Kovanda and Housler are newcomers to golf course development. They have a love for the game, but no publicly disclosed development track record. Building a destination club requires long-term capital, construction management expertise, membership sales, and operational skill — none of which has been tested. What I consider the biggest unaddressed risk in the original article: Michigan's seasonality. Michigan's golf season typically lasts only 5–6 months, from April to October. Meanwhile, Ohoopee and The Fall Line in Georgia can operate 12 months a year. A Michigan destination club faces the question: how to convince out-of-state members to pay six-figure fees to play golf only half the year? This gap in the data table is not filled in the current media campaign. However, proximity to the University of Michigan is a strategic advantage that southern destination clubs cannot replicate. Alumni, donors, and dignitaries visiting for football weekends could become a potential membership source. If I apply my analytical method — reverse validation — I would ask: is the "17 of 18 holes waiting" narrative truly credible? From my experience tracking golf course projects, when an architect says this, it means one hole required significant intervention — likely the 18th, or a hole crossing the water feature, or one in the valley floor. Converting 350 acres of farmland also carries hidden risks of soil compaction and drainage issues that only emerge during construction. And Michigan's agricultural preservation laws are strict; conversion may face opposition from conservation groups. When data goes silent, error becomes the guide. In this case, the undisclosed numbers — membership fees, construction costs, winter plans — will determine success more than design beauty. I do not believe in luck; I believe in nurtured probability. The probability of Frontier Club's success rests on three measurable factors: Gil Hanse's reputation, the proven destination-club model, and the University of Michigan network. The probability of failure rests on three others: inexperienced developers, farmland-conversion regulatory hurdles, and Michigan's short season. Every number is an unwritten confession. The statement "17 of 18 holes waiting" confesses that this project expects natural terrain to create strategic depth, rather than spending heavily on artificial construction. That is commendable. But the next question is: will those saved costs be invested in turf quality, irrigation systems, and winter operations? When the data does not answer, I must conclude provisionally. The next chapter of this story will be decided by concrete milestones: building permits from Lodi Township, the reveal of the founding member list, and whether groundbreaking happens within 12 months as promised. If the plan is delayed by legal procedures, that signals the farmland-conversion risk has materialized. If groundbreaking happens on time, I will begin building a model to estimate the likelihood of cracking America's top 100 courses within 3–5 years of opening. When that happens, the question is no longer "Is Frontier Club worth it?" but "Can Crystal Downs maintain its #1 position in Michigan?"