Frontier Club: Gil Hanse's 'Smaller-Scale Crystal Downs' Taking Shape in Ann Arbor's Backyard

Standing on a 350-acre former farmland plot outside Ann Arbor, I understood why Gil Hanse is so effusive. It is not just the big rolls or the valley between two ridges; he sees what others don't: 17 of the 18 holes are already there, waiting to be discovered. Frontier Club, golf's latest destination club, is rising just 10 minutes from the Big House – the iconic University of Michigan stadium. Developers James Housler and Scott Kovanda, both Michigan natives and longtime friends, spotted a rare gap: southern Michigan has prestigious private clubs like Crystal Downs and Oakland Hills, but no true destination club for golfers willing to travel for a world-class experience. The difference-maker is the architect: Gil Hanse, among the top golf designers in the world, who built the 2026 Olympic course in Rio, plus Ohoopee Match Club and The Fall Line – now benchmarks for the modern destination-club model. Housler and Kovanda are candid about their ambition: they aim for a 'smaller-scale Crystal Downs' – a classic, land-respecting course refined enough to stand beside Midwestern legends. They also compare it to Old Elm Club in Illinois, a quiet private club famous for its understated, natural routing. At 61, Hanse belongs to the minimalist school: the land is the asset, and the architect's job is to find the natural path. His '17 of 18 holes discovered' claim is not mere marketing; it signals lower construction costs and a 'found' rather than 'manufactured' design – each hole with its own identity. A key technical detail: the use of water in the routing. On farmland, water is usually a problem to manage – drainage or ponds. Here, water becomes strategic, cutting across holes and forcing decisions. Russ Myers, director of agronomy, was involved from the layout stage – a signal that Frontier Club will pursue firm-and-fast conditions, and that agronomic risks from Michigan's short, freezing season are being addressed early. But behind the '17 of 18' message lies a paradox. If 17 holes were waiting, the 18th must have been the difficult one – the one needing human intervention. Maybe it crosses the valley or the water; maybe it sits on weaker terrain. That hole will be Hanse's real test. Another paradox is market positioning. Comparing to Crystal Downs is a double-edged sword. Crystal Downs is #1 in Michigan, top 15 in America, by MacKenzie and Maxwell. Calling a new course its 'smaller-scale sibling' invites harsh judgment if it falls short. Hanse knows the bar he has set. Developers Housler and Kovanda are first-timers in golf development. The article never mentions their track record. That is the project's biggest execution risk. A destination club demands multi-year capital, construction management, membership sales, operations. The 'impressive' founding-member list – likely prominent Michigan business leaders and University of Michigan alumni – shows early trust. Fred Perpall, former USGA President and head of Beck Group, designing the clubhouse and cottages, adds institutional credibility and signals USGA-standard compliance. Michigan's golf season is only 5-6 months, versus year-round in Georgia. The answer lies in the Michigan network: '10 minutes from the Big House' is an invitation to wealthy alumni and sports figures every football weekend. No southern club can replicate that. Zoning and environmental permits for farmland conversion are a real risk. Michigan protects farmland; water features may trigger wetlands permits. Yet the announced 'construction later this year' suggests preliminary clearances are underway. What strikes me most is how Frontier Club reflects golf's shift from tournaments to the course as product. Ohoopee and The Fall Line proved people will pay fortunes for pure architectural experience. Frontier follows, but with a new twist: climate. If it succeeds, it will open doors for destination clubs in Wisconsin, Minnesota, New England. In Moscow, I once shouted so much they thought I was a local reporter. I learned that genuine emotion comes from authentic things. Frontier Club may never host a U.S. Open – and it doesn't need to. It promises an authentic Midwest golf experience: rolling land, valley wind, firm greens on a crisp September morning. If Hanse delivers, in ten years people won't call it 'smaller-scale Crystal Downs.' They'll call it Frontier. Of course, that's if everything goes according to plan. In 35 years of watching sports, I've learned that great golf courses are never born from impressive membership lists or an architect's fine words. They are born from the land, the water, and the patience of those who dare to wait. Frontier Club is at the start of a great promise. The only question: will they be patient enough to make it real?