A Royal Rain in the Butt

Theresa and I are now safely home, our wonderful Fortnight in Ballyliffin TM sadly behind us.  We arrived home Saturday afternoon, but I'll continue to post a last couple of items as if plausibly live.

The trip itinerary contemplated mitigating the disappointment of leaving Ballyliffen with the thrill of revisiting Royal Portrush for our final round of golf.  Alas, our pact with the weather devil lapsed on the 18th green at Portstewart and we played through a very difficult day at the wonderful and dramatic Dunluce links, Theresa's favorite course in all of linksdom.  Because of the weather, I'll use photos from both this trip as well as our two pervious rounds there in 2008.

Let me first dispense with the score keeping... for a number of reasons, including the rain (there were no entries on our scorecard after the fifth hole, my shin splints, the general quality of play as well as the fact that we never actually consulted the separate women's card we were handed in the golf shop but noted halfway through the round that Theresa was playing an extremely long golf course of indeterminate par, we quickly lost the plot of and interest in our match.  So, lets' consider the trip to have been halved and talk about the spectacular Dunluce Links of The Royal Portrush Golf Club.

The club dates back to 1888, when it was first known as The County Club and featured a rudimentary nine hole course.  It became the Royal County Club when the Duke of York become the club's patron in 1892.  It finally became Royal Portrush Golf Club in 1895 when H.R.H. Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) became the club's patron.

One of the delights of Portrush is the view of the links available if you approach the club from the East on the coastal road, top.  Bottom, a golfer enjoying early evening play on the solitary links.  I've always loved this photo from our 2008 trip because that would be the author if RPGC would ever have him as a member.

Portrush itself is an erstwhile fishing village a little more than an hour from Belfast that has transformed itself into a major resort town, with attractive beaches and in close proximity to the major tourist attractions on the Antrim coast such as the Giant's Causeway and the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge.  Just West of town are the runis of the Dunluce Castle, from which the links take their name.

Are the Ruins Still There?  A Beckett reference for those keeping score, very rarely invoked on a golf blog but we're trying to attract a better class of readers.  The Dunluce Castle ruins for which the links are named, just East of the village and golf club.

Royal Portrush has the distinction of being the only club to host an Open Championship outside mainland Great Britain, which occurred in 1951.  While that undoubtedly contributes to its bona fides, it is by now beside the point.  The Dunluce is simply one of the great links to be savored, on that very short list with the Royal County Downs, Murifields and Ballybunions of the world.  Designed by Harry Colt in 1929, it benefits from dramatic terrain and wonderful views of the breathtaking white rock cliffs, but is also one of the sternest tests to be found.

The club's pedigree is beyond reproach, and cone could spend many pleasurable hours perusing their displays (these are only those in the front hallways, but more is available on the second floor), and, unlike their famous neighbor to the South, one feels welcome to linger in their clubhouse.

As touched on above, this is one of the most difficult links for the amateur golfer, as the playing corridors are narrower than is typical and the rough is quite virulent.  There are also more and larger gorse bushes in play, no-go zones to the experienced links player.  But in my mind, the course contains a couple of two hole sequences that are beyond comparison, with each shot providing a unique examination for the player accompanied by no shortage of eye candy.

The first of these is in the middle of the outbound nine, specifically the fourth and fifth holes.  The fourth, named Fred Daly's after the Portrush native who until Graeme McDowell's breakthrough in 2010 was the only Ulsterman to have won a major, the 1947 Open Championship at Hoylake.  It's not like the citizens of Northern Ireland took any pride in that victory, but to this day 1947 remains the combination to the restrooms at the turn.  The fourth is a long Par 4, 479 yards from the Tiger tees but a still robust 442 yards from the Society tees.  

It's an exacting tee shot, with OB right and three deep fairway bunkers to penalize the many players that put their best "Not Right" swing on the tee ball (ahem, including the author this time through).  From the fairway, the approach must be equally precise, a mid to long iron to a green nestled between two dunes, which I find very reminiscent of the famed 11th at Ballybunion.  Any shot finding the dunes will provide a challenging up and down, especially if the miss is on the short side.

The fourth green, top, and looking back down the fairway from behind the 4th green, bottom.

The fifth, called White Rocks,  is the more famed of the two holes, but provides a completely different test for the player.  The hole is significantly shorter (only 369 yards from the Society tees) and plays downhill and usually downwind as well, but the challenge comes from the severe dogleg right shape of the hole, requiring the player to choose his line with utmost care.  If one bites off too much of the dogleg or runs it through the fairway, it makes the delicate second a treacherous shot.

The view from the Society tee box on No. 5 top, where because of the elevation the player can see the severe dogleg and the challenge of marrying the shot length with the correct line.  Bottom, the view of the green from the tee, with caddy George, taken as a concession to my shin splints, in the foreground.

If one finds the fairway, one is left with a reasonably short pitch into a double plateau green, made more nerve racking by the visual reminder that any shot running through the green will be troubling.  It's only when you finish the hole and look back that the player typically realizes that the hole features exactly no bunkers.

The players view of the green from the 5th fairway, top, perhaps the first known infinity green.  The spectacular view of the cliffs for which the hole is named, bottom.  The club has had to deal with significant erosion on this green and the adjoining 6th tee over the years.

The second sequence of holes worth noting is the thirteenth and fourteenth, this time a Par 4 and 3, respectively.  Thirteen is a short Par 4 called Skerries, named for a small offshore grouping of rocky islands, only 358 yards from the Society tees.  It plays up and over a large dune, the only time Colt's routing uses the dunes for such a purpose. and all but the shortest of hitters can reach the crest of the hill.  The author got all of his drive, and had the pleasure of watching it take a humongous bounce and disappear from view, only to find it less than sixty yards from the green.

But that's where Colt makes it uniquely interesting, as the contours of the ground make it a devilishly difficult pitch or bump and run to get close.  There are two bunkers protecting the left side of the green, so the obvious instinct is to play safely away from them.  But the right side of the green features an extremely steep face on the collar, which will prevent most balls that land into it from releasing onto the green.  Thus the player has to either land it short and run it up, or carry the steep face and hope his shot holds on a green that subtly runs away.   

As with the previously discussed fifth hole, Colt's routing has play turn back inland and into the prevailing wind, in this case one of the world's best known one-shotters, Calamity Corner, often incorrectly shortened to the simpler Calamity.  The fourteenth is one of the most difficult Par 3's in golf, a 200 yard carry into the wind across a deep chasm, with the contour of the ground pushing any shot that doesn't reach the green towards the ravine that must be fifty to sixty feet deep.

Top, a sweep panorama from the 14th tee, with the green at the top left.  Unfortunately I don't have a photo that shows the contour along the tip of the crater, which kicks any balls landing short of the green hard right.  Bottom, the author plays a very good recovery shot from the bottom of the ravine in 2008, after a miserable tee shot. 

There is a depression to the left of the green which is the obvious bailout spot for players.  It's known as Bobby Locke's Hollow, after the famed South African player who deliberately played to there in all four rounds of the 1951 Open Championship, and made his par all four times.  Of course, when you putt as well as Bobby Locke, who many experts consider the best putter ever, you can deliberately miss greens. 

One other quick note about Royal Portrush.  The seventeenth and eighteenth are notoriously less interesting than that which precedes them.  They are difficult good golf holes, they just happen to play over terrain far less interesting than than most of the routing.  It should be noted that this is a common phenomenon in linksville, as clubhouses are invariably located close to roads and it is often a simple matter of geography that it takes the architect a hole or two to move the players towards the water and/or out into the dunes.

However, the routing here is a little different, as No. 16 takes you back almost to the clubhouse, and seventeen takes you past it towards town, with eighteen bringing you back between the clubhouse and the starter's shack.  For many years Lowell has been chewing my ear off that they should start play on No. seventeen, and finish on the very good No. sixteen.  Completely unsolicited, my caddy George, an experienced Portrush looper, advocated the same routing.

On final note for now,  In my last post from Ballyliffin, i noted the eerie coincidence that on both trips rain resulted in us skipping our last hole, leaving us craving more.  Similarly, the heavy rains on the last day paralleled our 2008 trip, where we got absolutely pummeled on Royal County Down.  This necessitated emptying everything out of our golf bags in an attempt to dry them before packing them for travel, and completely trashing our small hotel room.

Our hotel room at the Park Plaza Belfast.  Only a great suggestion by Lowell, to use the hotel hardryer, helped us avoid shipping our gear home soaking wet.

By way of comparison with life at home, Theresa just loved this hotel.  It's an airport hotel where we never heard a single airplane, can see the beautiful Irish Sea from our third floor room and the from our window included horses and cows.  Oh, and in the morning (but fortunately not too early) we woke to the sound of a rooster.  Just like JFK, no?

A Fortnight: The Coda

When last we visited, we had concluded play in Ballyliffin and were making plans for a our journey East to the North.  I know it makes little sense, but Ballyliffin is more northerly than any golf course in Ulster, so in a sense it was all downhill from there.  We would once again share the company of Carol and Lowell (remember Lynchpin Tours for all your Irish travel needs).

Goodbyes were made, thank yous were proffered and gifts were left behind for those who went above and beyond on our behalf.  But first there was one last dinner at the club in order to enjoy the views of the golf courses and Pollen Bay in the evening light, as well as one last opportunity to dine on the signature Simpson toastie (cheese, bacon and sausage).  And, with a Carlsberg inn front of me, it involved breaking my rules about combining beer with salty breakfast meats, but it needed to be done.

One last view of the evening skies over the links, top.  We both got a kick out of these two gents, who came off the ninth of the Glashedy and made a beeline for the putting green, bottom.  We assumed there were numerous three-jacks during play, and walking to our car we commiserated with them  over our mutual putting woes.

Once the car was loaded it was off to Greencastle to catch the ferry across Lough Foyle, all of a ten minute crossing but it does save an hour of driving.  We felt like locals as we ran into people we knew on the crossing, an Austrain couple who let us play through on 16 the prior day and with whom we spoke over lunch.

Do we think they miss us?  Theresa left some leftover chicken on the front lawn for Declan, Marion and Vivien, top.  Who knew there were Simpsons in Donegal, bottom?  Feeling more at home all the time.

The drive to Portrush takes about 45 minutes, and meanders along the coast for the first half of it with dramatic rock cliffs inland.  The road then veers through Coleraine but by 11:00 we were in the Courtneys comfortable sunroom with a cup of java in our hands.  the house was reloant of all sorts of sweet aromas, a harbinger of pleasures to come.

Then it was off to Portstewart Golf Club, Lowell's home club and an entirely underrated golf club.  It exists in the rather long shadow of Royal Portrush, in classic good news/bad news fashion.  It undoubtedly benefits from visitor traffic drawn by the repute of the tow "Royals" (Portrush and County Down), but it deserves to be appreciated for its own charms, vistas and challenges.

Theresa puts in some work on the scenic practice green, top, which would pay dividends in a mere four hours.  The L-man and the author on the first tee, bottom.

Portstewart starts big, with a dramatic first tee box up in the clouds and a difficult first that sweeps from left-to-right iith the green tucked behind a massive dune.  To my mind this is the best opener in links golf, though the over-rated first at Machrihanish usually gets that plaudit (and I say that as otherwise a lover of Machrihanish).  The entire front nine winds imaginatively through these massive dunes, and one is constantly doing a 360 degree scan to take in all the vistas.  

Lowell stripes it down the middle (yawn) on the dramatic first hole, top.  A view up the 5th hole, bottom, gives a sense of the scale of the dunes in play.  Alas, the author can confirm that the dune on the left is very much in play.

Unfortunately, the play did not live up to the quality of the track, with only Lowell acquitting himself well.  My day started well, with a great 4 iron out of the spinach from 190 yards that reached the front of the green followed by a 30 foot bomb.  As for the next seventeen, no need to dwell on that smorgasbord of smother hooks, chunks, thins, slices, and three jacks, with the occasional solid strike thrown in just to torment me further.  

Told you that dune was in play, top.  I got a huge break when the ball plugged and an even better break when the drop landed on a little terrace with an actual stance, and hit a great wedge to the green.  To show the kind of day it was, I then proceeded throw all that fortune out the window by three-putting.  The table top sixth green, bottom.  It's a nine iron or wedge, but fits well into the pantheon of great links short Par 3's (think 9th at Lytham), where perfect weight on the tee shot is required or a large number can ensue.

Theresa jumped out to a lead which she maintained through most of the back nine.  I pulled off of my best shots of the day, an hybrid from God-knows-how far-out to the front fringe on 16 and the par squared the match.

My shin splints spared me trolling the dunes for stray shots, top.  Bottom, Lowell hits a gem on the Par 3 twelfth, a shot that covered the flag its entire arc and settled eight feet behind the pin.  How dare you ask...of course he drained the putt.

We halved the seventeenth pushing the outcome to the difficult eighteenth, a long Par 4 back into the teeth of the wind.  Theresa left her third just short of the green and her so-so chip left her fifteen feet for bogey.  My second was short right of the green and my chip rolled some eight feet by.

Looking back at the wild dunes of Portstewart, top.  I dare you to hold the table top seventeenth with anything more than a putter, bottom.

Theresa took onlyy seconds before drilling her putt into the dead center of the cup.  She gave me a smile before my attempt for the halve, which slid over the left edge of the cup.

By far the best part of the day was dinner with our dear friends at their home, with Carol doing that voodoo that she do so darn well.  Without revealing state secrets, let me just leave you with the concept of home baked wheaten bread.  Need I say more?

The star of the evening, Carol and Lowell's companion Missy.

Current Standings:

T. Simpson   3.5

S. Simpson  4.0

The Matches Resume

Dates with the Captain and deep tissue wounds may have delayed things, but as sure as taxes and the mail is the inevitable resumption of hostilities.  Though, alas, accommodations were required...  My shin splint (singular, left shin only) is still quite painful, and with the hope of playing three more rounds I needed to be careful.  Accordingly, I was obligated to do the unthinkable, to pay any price, bear any burden as it were, and rent a buggy.  Walking the course is a first principal for me, and I recount these events with a deep sense of personal shame.  We chose the Old in the hopes that it would necessitate a lesser amount of trampling through the Maram rough in search of stray ammo.  That proved true enough, but what wasn't adequately considered was the sense of driving the buggy over those splendidly hummocked fairways.

Which of these does not belong?  The Old Links marker stone, an experienced links player or a g********n buggy?

Theresa was off form as we started, and I quickly reeled off the first four holes.  But no sooner did my mind meander to thoughts of closing it out early and resting the aching gam, but she reels off the next four to square the match.

No day on the Old is complete without the obligatory photo of T on the third tee.

 It went back and forth from there in nip and tuck fashion.  Theresa made par and won the tenth, lost the eleventh to my par and won the Par 3 twelfth when we both made three.  She got even again when I made a mess of thirteen.

The cart parked on the hillocks gives some sense of the terrain.

The two dimensional photos still don't quite capture it, but the hillock to the side of the cart is every bit as high as the cart itself.  It's magical (at least to me) to watch one's shots bounce along thses fairways, disappearing into hollows and bounding back into view, as they can roll out forty or fifty yards on a low tee shot.  It also creates moments of dread for the player, for instance when there's a hollow short of a bunker you can't know if your ball is safe until you get to it.

I won fourteen with a  bar after my single best shot from the Maram and a great uip and down. won fifteen also with a par and sealed the deal with my best shot of the day, a  150 yard six iron (I usually hit it 170-175 yards) into the teeth of the wind to ten feet.

A view of our "new house" from the Old Course, it's the yellow house on the far right.

We had a bit of serendipity in this, our last round in Ballyliffin ((on this trip, I hasten to add).  It had started raining on No. 16 and after hitting my tee ball on No. 17 I had put on my rain jacket, and as we got to No. 18 it showed no signs of letting up.  With the match over and my leg still a concern, I suggested we forgo No. 18 and drive ourselves back to the clubhouse, an eerie coincidence with our maiden voyage  (if you didn't venture back for the critical expository post, it can be found here).  It seems the Gods looking out for our friends at Ballyliffin know how to leave then wanting more.

Current Standings:

T. Simpson   2.5

S. Simpson  4.0

Flotsam and Jetsam, Part II

The second in a continuing series of feverish musings of an itinerant golfer that's been over-served:

One note about my Wednesday game with Olle and the Captain that I forgot to mention.  As I was putting my golf shoes on and organizing my bag a car with a couple pulled into the space next to me and we exchanged the usual pleasantries.  I was on the putting green near the Glashedy 1st tee when I saw them going out as a three-ball with another woman.  They went past and then one of the women came back and inquired as to whether I was on my own and, if so, I'd be welcome to join them.  That's a gesture that seems typical of Ballyliffin but a kindness that doesn't happen many other places, as visitors are left to fend for themselves.  It confirms our choice for T and I.

I had mentioned Ashland in a prior post, the delightful young lady that mans the golf shop in the afternoons and is perpetually dissatisfied with the amount of content I post.

The always-smiling Ashland, who laughs at most of my jokes.  Fortunately I caught her out in the wild, where she didn't have a counter behind which to hide.

Theresa auditions for the French Lieutenant's Woman, patiently waiting for her hard toiling husband to arive home from his "office," the bar at BGC.

In a prior post I mentioned that we had a spectacular double rainbow.  We were sitting in our sunroom and as I turned towards T this is what I saw:

Our first view of the rainbow from the sunroom, top.  The full double rainbow from the front of the cottage, bottom.

I Wish They All Could Be Ballyfornia Girls:  Theresa enjoying a respite on the 15th tee of the Old.  'nuff said?

The world loved the kitty porn from my prior post, and I'm a man that believes in giving people what they want.

Declan holding court with Marion and Vivien at the house 3 doors down from our cottage.  Theresa saw the woman that lives there, and ever since has referred to it as the Grey Gardens House.

And, speaking of Marion and Vivien as we were, see if you notice the uncanny resemblance:

Vivien, top, and Marion, bottom.  It's uncanny, isn't it?  Separated at birth or something...

We came to the club last evening for dinner, and may well do the same tonight simply as an excuse to gaze out at the golf course and Pollen Bay in the evening light.  It really shows the course at its best, all sorts of vibrant shades of green mixed with lengthening shadows.  We also love to see the surprising number of people who come out and tee it up at 7:30 or later, often whole families.

Top, a group of evening golfers make their way down the first fairway of the old.  Bottom, the evening view of the two finishing holes, the Old in the foreground and the Glashedy behind it.

Glashedy Rock Island from the clubhouse terrace as the sun continues its inexorable decent.

 We were also blessed with a beautiful moon last evening, which necessitated a brief detour to the beach, where the surfers were still at it hoping to catch the big one.

Top, the moon from just outside the clubhouse.  Bottom, the dramatic lighting as the sun set at the Pollen Bay beach.

One last brief stop on the way home, this time at the house that Theresa has decided we should rent on our next visit.  As you'll see, its location is somewhat appealing.

The view towards Pollen Bay (top) and the clubhouse (bottom).

The house looks nice but there's one minor problem, it has five bedrooms and sleeps nineteen.  So it makes little sense unless every reader of this blog, including the guy in Peru, agree to come visit.