After heavy rains overnight, Monday morning was blustery and
a bit cooler. We were scheduled on the
Glashedy, and in the midst of dealing with our computer issues Theresa met
Mary the starter, who suggested we go off the back to avoid a group of
Americans going off the front (see, they're already considering us
locals). One might logically think our
golf would improve as we acclimated, but on this day one would be in error, as
an alarming number of golf balls were lost.
The difficulty was no doubt due in part to the stiff wind, the dreaded
left to right cross wind on a number of difficult Par 4's, as well as the fact
that this is at first blush the club's most taxing nine holes.
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| A view of the green of the Par 5 13th utilizing the sweep panorama feature of my camera, which can capture as much as a 270 degree view |
Theresa lost an unusual number of shots to the left, causing
her loving and sensitive husband to dub her Theresa Yankovich. I miscalculated on a couple of right to left
doglegs, and bit off more than I could chew.
In the second case we found the ball, but in the first we lost both the
tee ball and the provisional. When
Theresa later lost one of tugs, she offered and I eagerly accepted a mercy
halve.
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| A snail watching the action from the back of a green. |
The funniest moment was when in exiting the fifteenth green
we took one of the cutouts through the dunes to the next tee and went on our
merry way. When my GPS watch indicated
that a 75 yard third was 903 yards to the center of the green I knew something
was amiss. Alas, we had turned
right instead of left, and were replaying the twelfth without recognizing
it. Unfortunately, by the time we
walked the 500 yards back to the proper 16th tee the three ball behind us was teeing
off, and though they offered to let us play away, we declined. That was unfortunate because as we waited for them to clear
the first rain squall hit and we had alternating rain and bright, glaring
sunshine back to the clubhouse.
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| The waterproofs come on for the first time this trip (undoubtedly not the last) as we waited on the 16th tee. |
I had a
shot of note on the Par 5 seventeenth, a shot I note to try to try to find the
words to explain the appeal. As we recount the conditions to our friends, normal folk logically wonder why we pay
big money to experience these elements. The hole
played 544 yards dead into the stiff wind, and an indifferent second shot left
me right next to the 209 yard marker. I
hooded my new 3 wood (with which I've been struggling mightily) and hit a
perfectly linksy low screamer that never got more than 5-6 feet off the ground
and ran up to the front collar of the green.
I don't know that this will make sense to many, but pulling off
that shot, and hopefully a few more whilst we're in country, is exactly what
makes us get on a plane for Scotland or Ireland each year.
Soaking wet, a bit tired and with commitments to play the
next thee days (as well as another needed trip to Buncrana), weather
permitting, we agreed to call it a day after nine holes. The Competition Committee granted me 1/2 point for winning the 9-holer
(actually a 10 holer, though we had halved the 12th hole replay), and we
repaired to the second floor bar to watch the next three squalls come over the
hills with a Carlsberg at the ready.
Current Standings:
T. Simpson 1/2
S. Simpson 1
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