ERIN, Wis. — On a flight from Mexico, she dreams.

Of Spotted Cow.

It’d been recommended to Gemma Dryburgh by someone familiar with the beer so ubiquitous in Wisconsin that 12-packs are sold at the Milwaukee airport to which she was headed. She’d have to try it at some point here during her U.S. Women’s Open week. You love to see it. Cheers to planning what you’d put in that trophy when you win.  

Next to the 31-year-old Dryburgh on the plane sat a comforting face. Up and down the rows were colleagues younger, unburdened and oozing talent. The golfing holy trinity. Nothing but clear skies and scorecards ahead. Folks suggest to you not to compare, to stay in your tee box, so to speak, but when you hear nothing but laughter and thunder claps off the driver face, you also feel it.  

Thing is, this isn’t the scene only after last week’s LPGA tournament; it’s the landscape of the entirety of women’s professional golf. This week at the Open, the players’ average age is just under 26, which means a couple of things: the youth’s in bloom, and Dryburgh’s peers have started to move on. To the latter point, a year ago, 13 players retired from full-time play, six of whom were 34 or younger. Families beckoned. Stability enticed. Then there are those young’uns mentioned above, with more on the way. The window for success seems smaller than the point of a golf tee. 

And yet, Dryburgh’s still here, along with her other fellow thirtysomethings on tour. They’re much more than just hanging around, but they seemingly face an existential question.  

Can they continue to dream?

After a week at the U.S. Women’s Open at Erin Hills with the dynamic Scotswoman, you may get an answer.

And, yes, Dryburgh will also have that beer, thank you very much. 

ON MONDAY, YOU CAN MISHIT. Dryburgh did, but didn’t care. From left of Erin Hills’ 10th green, from down a slope, she’d tossed down a few balls and experimented. How long could she go? How short? How far left or right? How about a thinned dart? One swing nuked a ball past the hole. 

She smiled.  

Three days before Dryburgh put her ball into play for the official record on this beast of a course, there were feelings of frivolousness and fire. Hope does that. During an early afternoon Monday practice round, you believe everything’s still possible, so you grind. But because golf hasn’t done its golf thing yet and kicked your ball wayward, you also breathe easy. 

Dryburgh’s hope? Inhalation, actually. Don’t confuse that for a concession, though. For Dryburgh, there’s causality. In two of her three U.S. Open starts before this week, in 2022 and ’24, she entered feeling funky and out of form. Those thoughts commanded her, and her weeks finished two days earlier than she would have liked. But in her other U.S. Open appearance, at Pebble Beach two years ago, she embraced the moment — granted, the Pacific accommodates that — and tied for 31st, which isn’t a win, but you can invest in that.

Did her thought take a while?

Oh, yes. 

“I’ve obviously been playing pro 10 years now, so got a bit of experience behind me and kind of been there, done that, and where you kind of — you just get so hung up on the result,” Dryburgh said. “I think golf is easy to do that because it’s result-based and everyone that watches online is like, oh, you didn’t play well that week or what happened on this hole, and you can get so hung up on what the result is whereas a lot of times when you look back through your career, like, you missed a cut here or there, and it’s, like, oh, well, it was still a great experience, and I think you have to kind of put it all in perspective sometimes.

“Probably the times I’ve maybe struggled is probably when I’ve learned the most about my game and improved from those moments. It’s all obviously easy to say at the moment before the week starts, but, yeah, I just really hope I can do that.”

Dryburgh admitted she can see what a win looks like. As a kid, she remembers players lifting the trophy. She’s seen friends hoist it. She also wants to. She imagines the amount of booze you can fit inside it. (“It’s a pretty big trophy.”) She’d like her face on one of the past champions’ posters plastered all over the grounds here. 

She can also allow herself to think what a missed cut would mean. 

“In my experience, it’s probably a good thing to do because I feel like if you’re not scared of missing the cut, it almost frees you up,” Dryburgh said. “Because I feel like the worst thing you can be is like, oh, like, what a disaster it’ll be if I miss the cut. And in the grand scheme of things, it would be nice to make the cut and do well, but it’s not going to be the end of the world if you don’t. But sometimes, at the time, it can feel like that.

“But the best girls in the world are playing this week and it’s a tough course and you might not get the breaks, you might not get the side of the draw, there’s a lot of things that kind of are outside your control as well. So, you know, it’s not going to be the end of the world if I do miss the cut. Hopefully, I don’t.

“So it’s just one of those things that you kind of have to accept, and it’s part of, you know, professional golf.” 

On to Tuesday.

AFTER TUESDAY, YOU’LL HAVE SEEN IT ALL. And drank a beer. The beer here. While waiting on No. 7 tee, Dryburgh told her playing partners that she’d tried the Spotted Cow — and was vouching for it. A caddie laughed, before Dryburgh ordered him to get one before he left. 

Two days before the opening round of the U.S. Open, and after 18 holes of practice-round golf, the thoughts are of taking inventory. It’s not so much ‘how’d I get here,’ but is the ‘how’d I get here’ good enough to get you in contention? Dryburgh’s path has been more uphill putt. She’s gotten to where she’s needed to go, but that’s taken some labor. She started golf at 4. Trained at the famed IMG Academy in Florida. Played at Tulane. Made stops on the Ladies European Tour Access Series and the formerly named Symmetra Tour (now Epson). Her breakthrough came in 2022, when she simultaneously won her first LPGA event, the Japan Classic, and her first toilet — the tournament’s sponsor, the good folks at Toto, manufactures latrines and thus awards them. (Should you be curious, the porcelain was recently installed in her home.) In 2023, she played on the European side at the Solheim Cup. Last month, Dryburgh birdied her final five holes to finish as first alternate at her U.S. Women’s Open qualifying site. A few weeks later, she was awarded a spot at Erin Hills.

There are bills, though. They numb. Take this week’s costs. Her rental house is $6,000 (a few others are staying with her). Her caddie, Chris Edwards, will earn at least $2,000. There’s the fee of her coach, Nick Soto, which will be determined at year’s end. A charter flight from Mexico, site of last week’s tournament, cost $850. Sponsors help, but if you notice, the front of her cap is blank; she’s holding out for a big backer. What’s left? Your game. Ruthless. Checks keep you afloat. Zeroes end careers. Here, the chasm between women’s pro golf and men’s pro golf is clear — last week, Dryburgh tied for 42nd and earned $11,844, while the PGA Tour’s Charles Schwab Challenge gave more than three times that sum to Mr. 42. Comparing the two is not apples to apples — it’s apples to peanuts. Still, Dryburgh has called herself a pro for a decade, a span in which she’s seen hundreds of others add the adjective former to the title.   

But why her? How has she survived? The differentiators are forever curious. She tells you it’s ingenuity. She’ll make a score, come hell or high grass. 

Courage plays a role, too. 

A while back, she met Anne-Lise Bidou, a physio on tour. After about a year, they went to dinner. They hit it off. Just recently, they bought a house together in New Orleans. But you should also know about an article published last June on the LPGA’s website with the headline, “Gemma Dryburgh Just Being Herself on LPGA Tour.” The writer, Sarah Kellam, asked Dryburgh if she was comfortable with the public knowing about her relationship. “I said, of course,” Dryburgh says now. Bidou was OK, too. 

They were hopeful then. A year later, they remain so. 

The story was meant for others. 

“I think the more people we can have talking about being in a same-sex relationship, the better, especially in sports,” Dryburgh said near Erin Hills’ clubhouse. “It’s obviously you’re putting yourself out there. You never know what kind of negative comments you might get. I had a few, but was able to, thankfully, kind of stay in the lane and ignore those. And there’s a lot of positive feedback from it. And my friends were very proud and my family as well that I was able to share my story. 

“And I feel like I just wanted it to maybe help at least one person out there feel more comfortable in themselves or be like, OK. I maybe can do this as well. Just I feel like you need as many voices out there as possible. And I felt like if I could be one of them, why not? And, yeah, I’m glad I did it. I know Mel Reid did the same, and I think she had a lot of backlash as well, but also lots of positives. So, not that I was trying to follow in her footsteps, but I felt like she kind of led the way in that way, and I felt like I could do the same.”

What were some of the messages like?

“Obviously, I don’t know them personally, but hearing from fellow players and friends that they’re just proud — also it’s nice to know that even though it’s not a bad thing, obviously — I know it’s not a bad thing, but some people see it as a bad thing being with a woman myself.

“And I feel like it’s nice to know that friends and family support you even though some people might see it as a negative. And it just makes you even more comfortable in yourself.” 

On to Wednesday.

ON WEDNESDAYS, THEY’RE READY. Mom and dad meet Gemma around lunchtime and under the cover of the player-dining roof, after her final practice holes are played early and under a steady rain. They’ll be here all week, after flying in from their London home. Bidou, meanwhile, is working with players as part of her job. 

Hours before Gemma stands on Erin Hills first tee, the inner-circle mood is anticipatory. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are a breeze. Starting Thursday, it’ll be — actually, we’ll let John and Marjory Dryburgh take over here. 

“It is, at times, torture,” John said. “It’s heaven when you’re doing well, but you kind of go through every emotion with them.”

Folks will tell you they gravitate to golf for its efficiency in identifying whom to blame — yourself. Or, put another way, no one else. Supporters, though, would prefer a scapegoat like the ones given to the wide receiver’s friends and family, who can fault the QB, or the baseball pitcher’s clan, who can condemn the catcher. But golfer supporters have only their golfer.    

John and Marjory have a story here. They’re storytellers. 

Here’s the setup: 

Final round of the 2022 Toto Japan Classic. Their daughter’s in the final group, one shot out of the lead, one good day away from her first LPGA win. She tees off at 9:45 a.m. Japan time. It’s 1:45 a.m. in London. There’s no TV coverage. 

John: “I didn’t want to be up all night looking at a telephone just trying to get updates and see what she was doing. So I took a sleeping tablet. So, I won’t use the language, but Marjie woke me up in the morning.”

Marjory: “I was kind of following it on my phone, but not every hole. Just after maybe four holes, eight holes.”

John: “Yeah, but you were sleeping as well.”

Marjory: “Yeah. I was sleeping in between.”

John “Yeah.”

Marjory: “And then, obviously, when I saw she was on 16, and at that point, I think she was four shots ahead. I thought, oh my goodness.”

And you, John?

John: “I’m gone at this stage.”

Marjory: “This is getting more exciting by the minute. And then I did wait until she was on 18, and, yes, it was just amazing just watching it on the phone, you know? We didn’t actually see her actually live play on the television, but watching it on my phone, I was like, oh my goodness. So unbelievable.” 

John: “So, Marjie, I’m dead to the world. All I remember is: ‘She’s effing done it. She’s effing done it.’ And I’m like, uhhhh. It took me a minute just to cry.”

Marjory: “You were definitely comatose from the sleeping pill.”

John: “And, of course, all the excitement came and I’ve gone back to sleep, and Gemma’s called because she’s had about three hours of press. And she calls, and I’m still totally asleep, you know? She said, ‘Why are you asleep?’ But I was gone.”

Starting at 8:24 a.m. local time on Thursday, they’ll all be watching. Same thing on Friday, at 2:09 p.m. off hole No. 10. 

We have time for one more story here. 

Back to John again. 

Maybe the dream ends. But dreaming doesn’t. 

“I think there’s a point where you kind of feel, where do I go now? What am I doing?” he said. “And motive, that kind of always having that bit of hope for the future and kind of something to drive you. When you lose that in life, whether you’re in golf, whether you’re an elite sports person or you’re in business or whatever, once you kind of lose that little bit of drive and something to keep you driving, I don’t know.

“I mean, that’s one of the reasons I’m 66 and not retired. You need something to kind of drive you. And I hope Gemma has that for a long time to come.” 

On to Thursday. 

ON THURSDAY, YOU FIND OUT IF ALL THE WORDS ABOVE ARE BULLS**T. You might also step in something akin to it. A day earlier, rains muddied the course, so John Dryburgh took a few steps out of his car before doubling back and putting on waterproof golf shoes. 

In the final minutes before game time, there was tightening. The night before, the house watched the NBA playoffs (“wasn’t a good game”), and John made salmon with asparagus and sweet potato. In the morning, the bell rang at 5:15. Meditation followed; Gemma envisions troublesome holes or shots, and talks her way through them, almost as if you are working through a physical motion on the range. At 6, she left the house. At 6:20, she was at Erin Hills. The gym was first, then came work with Soto on the putting green, work on the range, and stretching. At 8:18, she hugged John, Marjory and Anne-Lise. At 8:32, she hit ball one. There was no more forecasting now; birdies will either come, or they won’t. 

Bogeys, too. At a little after 9, she dropped a shot on 2; her second shot came up short of the green. Another bogey came at 8; she missed a 7-foot par putt. After 12, she was two over. After 18, she was even. Dryburgh birdied 13 on a 22-foot putt. On 14, she dropped a wedge to 12 feet and birdied.  

At day’s end at Erin Hills, Dryburgh was four off the lead. 

That evening, at home, she had steak. 

On to Friday. 

ON FRIDAY, THE IDEA OF THIS STORY IS TESTED. Dreams? Not now, man. Time to learn if you’re working on the weekend. Or have it off. 

On cut day, the vibe feels anxious. Business-like. Minutes before their daughter’s 2:09 tee time, John and Marjory spot a familiar face and question why he’s wearing shorts. The weather forecast had called for rain, wind, cooler air, all of which looked to be a bit of a godsend for a Scotswoman used to such things. At 1:55, she made her way to the 10th tee. At about 2, there were hugs. At 2:10, she hit her 73rd stroke of the tournament, a tee shot that split the middle of the fairway. 

Dryburgh birdied 11, but gave it back with a bogey on 13. But then she birdied 15, after dropping a wedge to 5 feet. And she birdied 2 by holing an 11-footer. She was two under for the day, two under for the tournament. But the weather app hadn’t glitched. On 7, the storm horn sounded. Expletive. She waited. An hour later, she resumed. It was a scene. Just players and small galleries of family and friends, which is perhaps apropos here. On 8, Dryburgh birdied with a 24-footer, and her dad’s scream could be heard back in Aberdeen. After a par on 9, the leaderboard read this way: Dryburgh three under and tied for 12th. Just 11 players ahead of her. All of ’em were younger, too. She was contending. She could win the damn thing. Friday night, Gemma, Anne-Lise, John and Marjory were going to eat some barbecue.  

Afterward, in near darkness just outside of the scoring hut, the pro says this:

“I think I deserve to be in this position.”

And it makes you think back to that existential question.

She is continuing to dream.

Is it because she’s learned that defeat isn’t the enemy but a moment from which to learn? Or is it because that’s all she’s ever done? Or is it because everyone close to her dreams big, and continue to do so even when she starts thinking otherwise? Yes, yes and yes. Don’t forget dad’s words, too. You need something to kind of drive you. Yeah, that. 

Gemma hopes she’s not an anomaly. Maybe her story will resonate. 

“I’m kind of that keep-going character,” she said. “I’ve been out here for 10 years now, eight years on the LPGA. A bit of a journeywoman, I guess you could say. Obviously got one win on tour, but would love to add to that. And I feel like even if I happen to retire tomorrow, I’ll be very happy with how I’ve done about my career. And hopefully it will pay off maybe this week or maybe next year.

“And I feel like I’m happy to keep going until I stop enjoying it, which I don’t think is anytime soon.” 

Off to Saturday and Sunday. 

And maybe a Spotted Cow in a trophy. 

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