Hilaman Golf Course

After hearing a stream of positive reviews about Highland Golf Course, I was genuinely excited to finally experience it for myself. Unfortunately, what awaited me was one of the most frustrating and disappointing golf outings I’ve ever had – and I’ve played more than my fair share of public and private courses. Let’s start with the course itself. Mediocre would be a compliment. The fairways were uninspired and dry in several spots, and the greens? Absolutely abysmal. Patchy, inconsistent, and poorly maintained – they completely took the joy out of any short game or putting. It's clear that maintenance is not a priority here, or at least not executed with any care or consistency. However, the true deal-breaker – the element that absolutely ruined the day – was the golf cart system. Highland has implemented a bizarre and incredibly aggravating restriction system on their golf carts. The carts shut off electronically any time you dare to stray slightly off the main trail – including areas you would reasonably expect to access during play. You're not allowed near the greens (which is common), but they also prevent you from using much of the cart paths, randomly shutting down and forcing you to manually drag your gear through rough terrain. This made for a brutal, joyless experience. When you're paying good money to golf, the last thing you want is a machine treating you like a trespasser on the course you're supposed to be enjoying. The worst part? There was zero mention of this frustrating system beforehand – no heads-up, no workaround, just a smile and a “have a nice day” as they handed over a cart that would soon become your biggest obstacle. It's baffling and insulting. This over-engineered cart control system doesn't serve the player – it serves management's interests while actively diminishing the golfer’s experience. If Highland wants to be more than just another neglected municipal course pretending to offer a premium experience, they seriously need to reprogram their carts and reinvest in basic course maintenance. Until then, I’ll be warning every golfer I know to stay far away. Spend your money elsewhere – somewhere you’re treated like a guest, not a transaction.

Where Dreams Go to Die: A Round at Hilaman If you're looking for the golf experience equivalent of being mugged in a Chuck E. Cheese parking lot while blindfolded and insulted, Hilaman Golf Course is your destination. Let’s start with the staff. The cart boy had the charisma of a wet gym sock and the customer service skills of a DMV intern on a nicotine withdrawal. I asked for a scorecard, and he looked at me like I’d just requested to borrow his toothbrush. The starter, meanwhile, looked like he’d been cryogenically frozen since 1974 and rebooted just in time to mispronounce every name on the tee sheet while chewing loudly on a Slim Jim. The course conditions? Picture the Battle of Gettysburg, but with more divots and fewer signs of intelligent planning. The fairways were a toxic mix of crabgrass, cigarette butts, and what I hope was mud. The greens were about as smooth as the surface of the moon and rolled slower than a DMV line in July. Every bunker was either bone-dry concrete or a boggy mess — like they couldn’t decide whether to install drainage or just let God figure it out. The clientele? Imagine if the cast of Duck Dynasty got kicked off the show for being too unrefined and decided to take up golf as a backup plan. I’ve never seen so many guys wearing wraparound Oakleys, chewing on dip pouches like they’re oxygen tanks, and referring to their second cousin as their “ex-girlfriend.” The regulars Hilaman seem to operate on a tight family tree — one with exactly one branch and several suspicious forks. The parking lot looked like a Monster Jam pre-party: every third vehicle was a rusted-out F-150 sporting the infamous Carolina Squat — a cursed combination of bad taste and worse suspension. One guy revved his squatted Silverado so loud in the lot, it triggered a minor landslide on the 10th green. I saw a toddler fall out of the cab, holding a Slim Jim and a vape pen. No car seats, but plenty of “Don’t Tread on Me” decals. Golf etiquette here consists of yelling “YEET!” after every shanked drive and crushing a Natty Light at the turn like it’s communion. They don’t yell "fore" when they hit into you — they just grunt, adjust their camo cargo shorts, and go back to telling their playing partners why the Earth is flat. Honestly, if evolution were real, this place would be exhibit A in the rebuttal. In conclusion, if you enjoy burning money, slow torture, and being yelled at by retirees with sunstroke, Hilaman perfect course for you. If not, may I suggest literally anywhere else — like a landfill, or a goat pasture. Zero stars. Would rather putt through rush hour traffic than return.

I played Hlaman often many years ago, but my recent visits have been delightful, with all the improvements and changes, it is now well worth the trip. A peaceful gem inside the city. Played the other day with my son, and want to play more often. Spoke to the Pro (I think her name was Jan), and asked about a Beginner League. Hope they restart something like that again soon.