"currently battling with my dear friend, the Silverstripe CMS" - 18 hours ago
"is thoroughly relaxed at another Irish farmhouse B&B, this time one run by a character and a half, Sharon Moore.... http://fb.me/Fd1zVe5z" - 1 day ago
"Is this the Nellie bunker you were talking about mate? Safely avoided I'm pleased to report http://fb.me/EHAvCmyU" - 2 days ago
What a way to bring our 45 day Scottish leg to a close. It’s fair to say we’re leaving this bonnie land on a high note, after a tremendous 36 hours at Turnberry: the jewel in the crown of the gorgeous Ayrshire coast, and site of four Open Championships. Mike’s already told you about yesterday’s fun and games on the Kintyre course, a superb “little brother” track. He’ll also have mentioned that last night our accommodation options were slim pickings; that we were odds on to be kipping in The Tank. That was until Graeme Russell – chief, champ, boss, captain, skipper that he is; Macallan Whisky’s ambassador to the US – played Fairy God Mother and spotted us a room at The Turnberry Hotel on his points! You wouldn’t read about it. I’ve already thanked Graeme privately (several times), but would like to do so publicly now too: as our caddy Ray at Cypress would say, “you’re the greatest.”
A momentary blip in the fairytale though: I awoke this morning with my first illness of the year (worry not, my friends – just a common cold). Standing outside in minus 6 degrees last night having a quick chat with Radio New Zealand I joked with the producer that I’d catch a cold. Then I did just that. There’s a lesson in there for all of us. Maybe even a couple.
But a mucus clogged sinus passage couldn’t dampen my spirits when I opened the curtains to find that the bright sunshine we were treated to yesterday hadn’t yet packed it in. That big ball of gas was out in spades. Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssss! With a spring in my step I hopped into the shower (read: emptied 6 pints of snot down the plug hole) and went in search of some appropriate golfing attire. Sadly my respectable golf breeks were in the car, so I was forced to don the Argyll Loudmouths (which I would inevitably get a hard time about in these parts). Sick and looking a tad stupid; but who gives two shakes when you’re about to play one of the best courses in the world. On a bluebird Thursday morning, no less.
The commute from the Hotel carpark to the club carpark is a very short one. Roughly 36 seconds if you don’t run into any traffic. Downhill too. Had we not been lazy Gen-Y’rs we might’ve even walked! (But that would’ve left an unpalatable walk back up the hill – a solid justification to my mind). In any case we ran into our host – Alan Stevenson (whose father played in several Open Championships) – on the tarmac and were soon introduced to his pal John, host #2. John like me likes cardigans and is all the more a man for it. They’re both locals and quality humans in their own right. Sharp banter exchanged between the two was evocative of the Laurel-&-Hardy-like Alan Melville & Mike Macdonald, our hosts at North Berwick & Gullane. I must confess I wondered whether we’d be able to hold our own.
There was no mucking around with coffee or cocktails or kummel or anything of the like; straight to business. With an 0820 tee time we were ahead of the pack – alleviating any concerns of being held up behind a fourball of 29 handicap tourists (each lining up every putt as if it was for The Open, of course). PERFECT. Peter McCoy the Starter provided yardage books and light amusement, including a cracking story about Juan Quirros, whom his son had been caddying for recently on the Senior’s Tour. Juan’s apparently a hothead and on this occasion lost the plot. The nearest object towards which he could direct his anger was a sponsor’s billboard. After chucking his club in disgust Juan gave it a good boot; only problem was a lassie was leaning over it at the time, munching on her lunch. In the melee the sandwich got splattered all over her face, poor thing. Juan either didn’t notice or care to notice, so Peter’s son went over to apologise on his behalf. As unfortunate as it would no doubt have been for the young woman, I can’t help but think it would’ve been hilarious to be a fly on the wall. Anyway. Turnberry.
The 1st hole plays parallel to the road, perpendicular with the view from the omnipresent Hotel above. “Ailsa Craig” it’s called, after the big (I can only assume volcanic) chunk of rock sticking up out of the deep blue Firth of Clyde. A dawdle at 354 yards you might think, but there are 9 bunkers – setting the tone for the morning. And the pin was at the front, which made it difficult to get near down wind. I tried not to smile when I saw my opponent’s ball had come to rest deep in a divot in the middle of the fairway (one of the peril’s of the heavy traffic the course gets over the summer). Whether I succeeded or not, who knows? You know what they say though: every golf shot makes someone happy. To Mick’s credit he got it down there, there or thereabouts, and made a 4 which was good enough for the half.
Loved the name of the 2nd: “Make Sure.” Make sure what?? The yardage book pearl of wisdom offered a clue: “Poor shots will be punished with trouble lurking in almost every direction.” The Scots don’t beat around the bush do they? It continued: “Strategically placed fairway bunkers and a steep slope to the left of the fairway and green are just a few of the problems facing players. The green is deceptively long and will require careful club selection to avoid leaving a long, difficult putt.” Don’t sugar coat it boys!
Those forking out 110 squid for a game would get their money’s worth out of the dry humour of the yardage book alone. Rather than make the golf course look and sound easy – as is conventional in amateur golf and sports psychology generally, I imagine – they’ve gone out of their way to do the opposite. The fairways on the pictures look like pieces of string. Thin ones at that. “Woe-be-tide”, the 4th, is aptly described as “a light hearted warning to be aware of the Firth of Clyde and other possible hazards on the left of the hole.” Ha. It’s a glorious short hole in any case; the first of the Ailsa’s coveted set. The contours of the green and the dune to the right of it encourage you to bring the ball in from right to left, especially given the aforementioned drop off to the left is severe. However. Y’er man cut a nasty looking bunker into the front right of the mound upon which the green is perched. So you better dam well hit that draw out of the middle of the club (or end up in Purgatory as Michael did).
Speaking of y’er man. Life would be much simpler if the Ailsa Course had been designed many moons ago and not been touched since. But that’s not how things went friends. A brief history lesson:
In 1900 the Marquess of Ailsa (a keen golfer and former Captain at our beloved Prestwick) decided to build a course on his estate at Turnberry. So he commissioned Willie Fernie, the then pro at Royal Troon, to do the design. It opened in 1901, Turnberry GC subsequently forming the next year. Turnberry quickly became popular with the expansion of the railways and when word got around about the luxury of the Hotel. World War One then got in the way of everything as it had the tendency to do (the Hotel and courses being requisitioned as an officers’ mess & airfield respectively). When Zee Germans surrendered James Braid did a redesign of the Arran Course, following which it overtook the Ailsa as the course of choice. So Cecil Hutchinson God Bless Him was brought in to do a re-design (hooray!). But wait for it: the course re-opened in 1938, just a year before Hitler went mental and declared war on The World. Again Turnberry was requisitioned (who would have guessed?), this time as for RAF Coastal Command. The final chapter? MacKenzie Ross was brought in to do a(nother) redesign, creating “the masterpiece that exists today.”
Now where was I? The 5th (“Fin me oot” - i.e. “find me out” - i.e. find the putting surface or give up). One of the best par 4s of the year. Graeme had warned us about it last night and The Boy wasn’t wrong. Take a breath and enjoy the moment sorta stuff. (In a cockney accent I ask of you) d’ya know what I mean? Perfectly formed but no less nasty for it greenside pot bunkers await unsuspecting 2nd (or even 3rd) shots, as does a coffin bunker to the right of the green – which I carelessly allowed myself to get stuck behind. The real treat came when we stood on the next tee and looked back at what had just come before us. Check it.
Turnberry’s the sort of place where you just look around in reverence and wonder how you managed to find yourself there despite your abundant lack of recent prayer (by recent I mean in the past decade). It’s tempting to swear to impress upon you just how moved I was by its beauty, but that would betray a linguistic laziness on my behalf. How should I say...soul nourishingly stunning? Whatever. I’ll let the photos do the talking.
What this photo of the 6th won’t capture, however, is just how bloody difficult it was. “Tappie Toorie” is all of 230 yards over a ravine to a raised green DEAD INTO THE WIND. Oh, and there’s a bunker carved into the face of the sharp rise guarding the entrance to the green that would make Hell Bunker at St. Andrews look like a toddler’s sand pit. Poor John had an intimate encounter with the (unnamed) hole of death (which I took it upon myself to decree as “That Bastard Bunker On The 6th”); and the...bunker...won. Convincingly. I must’ve been so pleased with myself at having killed a 3 wood onto the front edge that I lost the plot and 3 jacked from 40 feet straight up the hill to lose the hole. “Oh dear” I exclaimed.
Between the dry wit inherent in the hole descriptions penned in my yardage book; the incrementally ascending difficulty of each hole; and the bitterly fresh wind that was growing in strength by the second, I was starting to see the funny side of all of this. A string of opening pars and I’d had the naivety to at least consider that maybe Turnberry wasn’t so hard after all. Then reality found me wherever I’d been hiding as we stood on the 7th tee. Why? Because “Roon the ben’” is 500 yards of par 4 (stroke index 1 of course) into that dastardly wind. To a green that slopes hard from right to left and that’s guarded by two little sods at the front right entrance. If you make a 4 in these conditions then you should give up as that’s as good as your golf will EVER get. I guarantee you that. What fun though, pitting yourself against a Leviathan like the 7th.
At this point my good partner Alan and I found our way back to where we should have been: namely, with our noses in front. Just finding our stride we were. Just as we were getting within clear sight of That Lighthouse, the sight most people come here to see. Why lighthouses on golf courses are so intriguing I don’t know. But they are. While at The National Golf Links of America I remember second guessing myself as to why there was any merit in taking so many snaps of that red and white construction on the hill. I did the same today. Why? The angles you take photos of holes or humans would have to be adjusted to as to incorporate the lighthouse in the background. For the avoidance of doubt that one was at Turnberry. Perhaps I’m simple minded.
In Any Case. “Goat Fell” the wonderfully named 8th hole is a mouth watering long-ish par 4 (432 yards for anyone who cares) that takes you right out near the rocks. From the green I gazed starry eyed at the beach below and the coastline stretching for miles behind it. And at the lighthouse ahead, of course. For goodness sake I’m only human. Mick and I scuttled off with a couple of 4s pleased to find the next tee unscathed. Goat Fell by the way is the name of the tallest peak directly across the water on Arran. Why it was called Goat Fell I have no idea. Use y’er imagination folks.
9 may have one of the most photographed (championship) tees in world golf. You march back down a rocky outcrop to a meticulously mown square of lawn which seems to float above the Firth of Clyde. On a day like today the scene is almost one you’d find in those golf calendars of imaginary holes that you can’t quite believe would exist. 360 degree views of splendour. Looking at the golf hole in front (we didn’t play from the championship tees because 1. You’re not allowed to; and 2. The wind was blowing and the hole was hard enough) you begin to understand why pros like Tiger Woods go off the rails. If I had to make a living teeing off across mischief like that I’d be driven to abnormal behaviour I have no doubt. A cairn is optimistically placed in the middle of the fairway, giving the player an “ideal” line over which to tonk the ball. I found the cairn to be as optimistic as goal setting during your early years of high school (“When I grow up I want to: 1. Become a millionaire; 2. Find creative ways to spend my millions; 3. Marry a Victoria’s Secret supermodel; 4. Play off scratch consistently and with consummate ease; 5. Become a respected and cherished member of the local community; and 6. Always remain in my mother’s good books, etc etc).
In very un-Scots like fashion we paused for coffee after 9. By now the breeze was getting rather fresh, so the shelter of the half way house had a more settling effect than we might have thought. It’s like a wee standalone conservatory, with 180 degree views of The Firth of Clyde and That Lighthouse. With a coffee in hand and a good bit of craic it’s a tough spot to beat. Unpretentious but perfectly adequate.
Although our party could quite happily have camped out for a good hour or two, the aptly named 10th hole beckoned. “Dinna fouter” translates to Don’t Mess About. “The Firth of Clyde awaits players who hit their tee shots too far left and, if that’s not enough, EVEN MORE TROUBLE AWAITS PLAYERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FAIRWAY, in the shape of two pot bunkers and a further bunker on the right hand side of the fairway...” Over coffee I’d forgotten entirely what entertainment might await me in my strokesaver readings on the back side. As it happened I didnae fouter, instead choosing to chip in from the deep stuff left of the green for my opening birdie of the day (one of two – both of which came from off the green!). The opposition were spewing. Good riddance.
The views back up to the 9th and beyond from the 10th, and along the 11th, are something rather special. The deep blue sea hypnotises you like the Pied Piper did to those rats. Contrast the fresh white paint of the lighthouse and you have a postcard scene and a half. The caption might read: “Stay away from Scotland: all the trouble is in the middle of the fairway...”
13 is a glorious sweeping dogleg right with 3 left side fairway bunkers and a huge plateau green. With the wind hurling off the left; gorse along the right; and that trio of bunkers guarding the dogleg, it’s an improbable proposition that you’ll smash one down the middle. But you must. And don’t be shy with your approach either, because that upslope rising up to the putting surface won’t think twice about spitting your ball back down to the fairway below, leaving a tricky up and down. In all honesty I was just trying to get the ball near the hole but unfortunately it went in for a second lucky birdie in 4 holes. John by this stage was very animated, and even began to call me unkind names. Which I won’t repeat.
On the 14th you’re told to “Risk-an-hope.” We all did just that and it didn’t work for any of us. The pot bunkers on the “Ca Canny” 15th – a par 3 playing short with the wind behind – were gruesome, particularly the one over the back. John as he was prone to doing picked another fight with one, and was again forced to accept Second Prize. Luckily he has a good sense of humour (although by this point it was no doubt running thin).
Many photos must’ve been taken over the years of “Wee Burn”, the 16th, particularly around the green complex. It’s a gorgeous “little hole” (at 455 yards...) that plays shorter than it sounds, but is no less difficult for it. Not a time to thin a 9 iron Jamie...into the burn... Michael hit a smashing drive down the right as he was instructed to, then made a very good par indeed after coming perilously close to finding a watery grave over the back right of the green. It’s no “Wee” burn let me tell you.
Perhaps the most evil little bunker we’ve encountered all year is positioned sadistically just off the fairway – into the face of a rise – on the par 5 17th, “Lang Whang.” When the wind’s behind us as it was, assuming you get a decent drive away the little codger shouldn’t come into play. It’s 88 yards of the green, which you can hit with a driver and a 9 iron if you play your cards right. However. In less favourable conditions this thing could give you nightmares for life. I wouldn’t wish an adventure in there on my worst enemy, unless he deserved it.
Many of you will remember The Duel in The Sun, the showdown between Watson and Nicklaus at the 1977 Open Championship at Turnberry. Well the 18th’s name has since been changed in reverence to “what is regarded by many as the finest Major Championship ever played.” A nice touch. By the time we were coming in it was becoming a Duel in The Wind, and a nailbiting one at that. After having been up for most of the match, Alan and I somehow found ourselves dormy 1 down after 17, courtesy of a characteristic Goldstein par 5 birdie. So we needed some magic. I’d positioned myself menacingly just off the front edge with a Texas Wedge at the ready (angling for my 3rd off-the-surface birdie to pull equal). Goldy knocked it relatively close. And John appeared to be in no man’s land way back left somewhere. Alan was gone. Then John much to my dismay pitched in, the rascal! After he’d been giving me so much jip for it too... A lovely moment to finish a well fought battle. Credit where credit it due: the heathens combined well and probably deserved their victory in the end. There, I said it.
No sooner had we finished than we found ourselves in the bar with an American size bowl of chips in front of us. The clubhouse by now was buzzing as big groups were readying themselves for their day of reckoning. We inhaled the chips then realised it was time to get back up the hill to check out. And check out of Scotland altogether. Stranraer was our last port of call on what has been an incredible 45 days here in this bonnie land, my homeland. It’s no St. Tropez, believe me, but it softens the blow by making the next destination – Belfast – all the more enticing.
Before I knew it we were out on deck on the Stena Line ferry, pulling into Belfast Lough. The old Harland & Wolf cranes – David & Goliath – looked to have had a paint job since I last saw them a decade ago. Sadly the ferry doesn’t take you all the way past them anymore as it used to. Och it’s still a lovely introduction to Nor’n Ireland though, which’ll be our adopted home for the next week. It’s the land of my fathers too. Slainte.
JP
After a great nights sleep in the highland tourist town of Braemar we took to the roads to make it to Blairgowrie where a 1042am tee time on the Alister Mackenzie designed Rosemount course awaited us.
After scooting through the highland roads in the merc, through a couple of Scottish ski areas such as Glenshee and Cairngorm we emerged in Blairgowrie a township situated in the northern part of the Perthshire district.
Greeting us was the familiar face of Marc Gentles – our pal from St Andrews, and his colleague who also keeps occupied by keeping the Old Course in tip top shape - Gavin. After a steady steam of rain all morning, the skies lightened some time between going in to change my shoes in the locker room and making it to the first tee. Perfect.
The first hole was a rude awakening. After playing a couple of short tracks yesterday our ‘warm up’ hole was a 438 yard dog leg left to a green surrounded by bunkers. No time to loosen up and definitely no practice balls but we’re used to that now in Scotland. The second hole said ‘welcome to a MacKenzie course’. If the brown sand was turned a shade of white and the heather around the bunker edges turned into fescue, we could have been back at the Meadow Club on day 131… Although even compared to San Francisco (the worst winter I ever had was that summer in San Francisco…) the temperature was cool and the jerseys were firmly still on.
The haggle? Gents and I against the pretenders. Gents, coming off a 65 at the new course last week (read: this boy should stop messing around and become a pro golfer as he sure can play) was always going to be the trump card so when the balls came down I was safe in the knowledge that my partner had strong shoulders need I be carried for a few holes...
The course reeked Mackenzie. Most of the holes had widish fairways with half the bunkers guiding the way and the other half acting mainly as a visual deterrent. If I got a pound for every time someone said one of the cross bunkers that were often 30-40 yards short of the green ma de the hole look deceptively short, I would have left the course a rich man. A few of the green complexes reminded us of Pasatiempo – for me the par three 17th sat back up at the tee almost like the famous 16th green at Pasatiempo. The only issue was that the greens were rolling at about a 7 on the stint meter and therefore did not play as A. Mac. probably would have liked – navigating the slopes on and around the greens required far less skill to conquer than they ordinarily would.
Some excitement happened early in the round after a string of a few pars had Gents and I out of the box running. From about 100 yards out on the par five 5th hole, after pitching out of the heather, I managed to hole out with my trusty gap wedge and thereby break my Scotland Eagle Drought. Finally! It’s a crazy game – I’ve had all kinds of putts for eagle over the last month and missed them all but then this! 30 pounds for The First Tee (10 from each of our donors – we’re currently looking for donors to take part in the Irish Birdie Challenge starting at Royal Belfast on 27 August!!!).
Another unusual feature of MacKenzie courses that popped up at Rosemount is back to back par fives – here on holes 10 and 11. Back to back long holes is a great way to make or break your round particularly when each hole weaves through the trees and heather meaning that there is a premium placed on hitting the fairway. Gents ate up the par fives hitting short irons into many of them and if he could putt would have been about 6 under through the stretch of four of them between the 5th and 14th holes.
Another cool hole followed the set of par fives – the 290 yard par four 12th. MacKenzie at his best with bunkering everywhere and a huge element of risk reward if you try to drive the green. Gents went with the reward option missing his 4th eagle putt of the round whilst JP and I went for the ‘risk’ option and managed to scrap out pars from all kinds of places you’re not supposed to visit.
Turning for the last four we were warned by the local lads that we were in for a treat of a finish. I was hoping they wouldn’t be too difficult as after choking yesterday on going under par I was hoping to crack the nut again today by coming in with a birdie and a few pars. The 15th didn’t disappoint - a short wedge to a tiered green sunk below a front bunker that blocked out the bottom of the pin and thus impacted our perception of distance. We all flew it over the pin but Gavin and I were lucky enough to sneak our putts in – to half the first hole of the double or quits match (the main affair had been completed courtesy of another of Gents two putt birdies on the par five 14th).
16 was another gem of a par five snaking around a bonnie loch to a bowl green some 470 yards away. It’s really probably a par four-and-a-half (like many of the par fives here). 17 again has a spectacular green and then 18 snakes down to the right although I missed that completely after playing down the first fairway…. Missing it big is key. A putt for -1 on the last hole lipped out and so for a second day it wasn’t to be. Gents on the other hand bottled a three footer to miss out on an under par round, but it was some display of golf after his horrendous start had him 4 over through 4.
As we finished out on the last and went in for a shower the rain begun. Wet rain. People were fleeing the course and it looked unpleasant. Again, it was perfect timing as we sat in the pristine clubhouse and had a spot of lunch before our drive through to Dundee in the afternoon. Carnoustie tomorrow – better get a good nights sleep!
There are days in life when the Gods really smile on you; when you can’t quite believe that you’re in the moment you’re in, just how lucky you really are. Today was one of those days. The first thing I want to say is a heartfelt thank you to Craig, the gentleman who kindly hosted us as his guests at Cypress Point – one of the most phenomenal places on earth. I hope some day I’m in a position to make possible experiences for other people like Craig did for us on 18 May 2010. Really we owe him a huge debt of gratitude.
The second thing I want to say, before I launch into a gushing rant about this hallowed parcel of golfing paradise, is another thank you – this time to a man whom we’ve known for even less time than we have known Craig. I mentioned Liam Doust in Monday’s blog; he’s the gentleman who contacted us out of the blue a few days ago, after reading about us in the SF Chronicle, offering his hospitality. Well on this fine morning Liam rose at the crack of dawn with us, cooked us an amazing “you’re-about-to-play-the-best-golf-course-on-earth” omlette, brewed us a strong coffee and gave us directions to the course. When we returned in the early evening, Liam took us down to The Beach Club (a private club he belongs to that sits adjacent to the 17th at Pebble) for a beer, swim, spa and shower (we also had a dip in the Pacific, on a strip of beach between the 4th and the 17th holes...more about that later). Then he cooked us up a barbeque dinner at his home and shared with us a beautiful bottle of pinot noir that his family vineyard – in the Awatere Valley of New Zealand – produces (Doust-Cimino). Truly some of the most amazing hospitality I’ve ever received – again, from a guy we’ve known for a couple of days. Liam, thanks again – hopefully we can repay your hospitality next time you’re down under.
And so to Cypress Point, ranked #2 in the world by Golf Digest. Mike’s put together a video blog of the day, which will tell a better story than a few hurried words of mine can. The atmosphere and beauty of the place can’t be captured by my modest vocabulary, or even by our pretty flash camera. But we’ll do our best to paint y’all a wee picture. (When we get ‘round to writing a book after we complete this journey we’re on, I expect 18 May will have a whole chapter devoted to it; this is the abridged “on the run in the back of a car en route to LA” version).
We head to Cypress along 17 Mile Drive via Pebble Beach, where we grab a couple hundred bucks out of an ATM for the compulsory caddy fees (c. $70-$100 each). We’re running on time, but only just. It’s a misty morning but the sun’s trying to break through. The past few days have been freezing cold and foggy; we’re praying those clouds lift. As we pull into the car park, they do (well, not at that very minute – I’m not suggesting clouds part for us...but you get the picture, things started looking up).
Forgive me for stating the obvious, but we’re pulling into the very small car park – right in front of the starter’s hut, putting green and clubhouse – in Dodgy, our 1988 Dodge Ram Family Wagon. There aren’t any other cars like ours in sight – just a few Mercs, BMWs, and the odd Toyota. Maybe not a grand entrance, but an entrance all the same. Dodgy is parked smack back in front of the clubhouse. We’re worried that if we step out of the car a gentleman will appear out of nowhere and politely suggest that we’re in the wrong place; that we should turn around. He doesn’t appear, and we reach the starter’s hut unscathed. So far, so good.
Our pal Robert Kaufman’s in there, with his buddy Steve who would join us on the day. Robert’s been playing pranks on Steve for years, telling him he’s got them a game at Cypress. Very cruel. When Robert called a week or two ago to let him know about today, Steve doesn’t believe him...you know, the boy who cried wolf and all. But here they both were, just as excited as we were. This place’ll do that to you. The other non-members – who are all members’ guests; you can’t just turn up and play here – are in the same boat; smiles all round.
Keith and Riley in the pro shop are incredibly relaxed and welcoming, and put us instantly at ease. Once you’re here, you’re treated like royalty – whether you’re a CEO of the Bank of America or a janitor from Oakland. I like that. With half an hour until our tee time, we take our time to change our shoes in the locker room; grab a few cards, ball markers, pencils, etc; and have a putt or two before we get started.
From the hustle and bustle of the caddy squadron camped by the starter’s hut emerges Ray, who would “double bag” for Michael and me today. Ray is an amazing chap; I could write a whole blog just about the man himself. Anyway he’s been caddying at Cypress for 33 years (some have been there for 50+), so knew exactly how we were feeling, and importantly what to do to put us at ease. Namely, make a lot of jokes. He was hilarious, from start to finish. Not to mention a dam fine caddy, on the golfing front. Granted he’s the first caddy I’ve ever had, but I can’t imagine they could get any better. Just a true gentleman, and a barrel of laughs. It’s not overstating the case to say he lifted a special experience up a notch or two, to a once-in-a-lifetime one.
When the time comes, Mike steps onto the blue tees and takes counsel from Ray on what on earth he should do. The mist is still hanging low, but the sun’s doing its best to burst through – creating a luminescent, almost blinding glow, straight ahead down the 1st. Over the Cypress tree on the right, or just inside it, are the instructions. Mike blocks one O.B. and takes the permitted mulligan (it’s tradition here to have a mulligan on 1 if you need it) and flushes it 280 yards down the middle. I take aim then hook one onto the 14th fairway; take my mulligan but hook it less severely into the trees; and end up taking the first ball from the wrong fairway. Playing the courses we’re playing we don’t have the nerves problems your Average Joe gets when he tees off 1 at a good track – but today was a different story; we could hardly hold onto the club we were so wired!
The first few holes are a bit of a blur. At that time we’re trying to absorb the experience; get a feel for the course; and play some decent golf. Mike succeeds and is 2 under par after 5 holes (including a couple of lip out birdie putts that could’ve seen him 4 under thru 5 on another day!); I make up the numbers but am having a whale of a time with Ray & co. Robert and Steve are getting to know their caddy – Louis, who’s been at Cypress a month longer than Ray – and doing their best to hit the ball properly. But as I said, a blur.
After number 1, 2 thru 7 snake up and down through the forest before you see the Pacific again. They’re all great holes, but 4 is a pretty remarkable one. From the tee you see a swathe of bunkers that frame a gentle double dogleg which climbs some 10 yards or so. But when you get to the green (hopefully in one piece, for two), you look back down the hole towards the ocean and can’t see one sand trip. MacKenzie at his best. Apparently the bunkers were used as camouflaged cover during the war – a story that I’m not sure whether to believe or shoot a wry smile at. It came from Ray so you never know.
Anyway 8 and 9 are some of the best holes I’ve ever played. On 8 you hit a blind tee shot over the dunes to a sunken fairway that climbs sharply upwards and right to the green. There was a lovely moment when Ray gave Michael his instructions from the tee, which went something like this: “Now Tiger and Duval took it over that right hand tree, all the way to the green, from back here... But we’re gonna try a different line...” His comic timing would rival the late Tommy Cooper, so he had us all in stitches. To be fair the wind was puffing slightly in our faces, so the Tiger line was never on anyway. Ha!
Once you reach the fairway – which is sandwiched by white sandy scrub on both sides – you play a short iron or even a wedge up to a small bowl like green, from which you can look out over the rest of the course. Just a beautiful spot. I underclubbed; ended up just off the front edge; and had the ineptitude to take 5. Mike had 8 feet down the hill for birdie but missed low side. Never mind – a truly great golf hole.
On 9 you have a couple of options. At 289 yards gorillas can get there, but there are risks involved (of course). The lay up isn’t easy either, with said scrub on both sides, and a couple of waste bunkers in there too just to remind you that you’re at Cypress. The green seems only a few paces wide; is raised about 5 yards from the fairway; and runs at 45 degrees from south-east to north-west on my imaginary compass. At this moment the mist was still flirting with us, adding to the mystique of this magnificently designed wee number.
When we reached 12 Ray said, “now the golf’s really about to start” - as if playing the first 11 holes at Cypress Point was somehow just a warm up hack in preparation for what was to come. Looking back I can see where he was coming from.
12 is (or was) Ben Hogan’s favourite hole. (You’ll see these all labelled in Goldy’s video segment, so I won’t bore you with details about every hole). 13’s a classic that’s pretty similar to 12 – a downhill short-ish par 4 that veers to the right (although each has a very different dynamic around the greens). Coming down 13 fairway you’re staring down the Pacific Ocean, and pinching yourself ‘cos you know what’s about to confront you.
14 might just be one of my favourite holes in the world (it’s up there with 6 at Royal Melbourne West). By now you’re playing parallel with the rocks, and heading along the coast until the 18th tee. The fairway ahead is wide, but it’s all about angles, so you need to play your tee shot middle-left to open up the green up the hill. A couple of amazing old Cypress trees frame the gap; one of them has a branch that dives into the ground and emerges again as if it were a different tree. Mike ends up under a greenside Cypress labyrinth but manages to dig it out to 10 feet while I’m standing behind him filming with one hand and taking a pee with the other!
On the walk to 15 our hearts start to race a bit more. As Ray quips, “the greatest walk in golf”. When you get round the corner and the infamous hole reveals itself, a 6 feet wide grin grips us each of us – and being in America, we all throw a few high 5s around. Ha. The camera, of course, gets a good work out, before we get down to business. I knock a wedge to 20 feet and Mike flies the green. Check out the photos on Mike’s segment...even with our inadequate photography efforts, they’ll blow you away.
16’s up there with 17 at Sawgrass and 17/18 at St. Andrews as being one of the most famous holes in the golf world. At 240 yards over the ocean to a green perched on a narrow isthmus – with drop offs on both sides, and on this occasion into the wind – it’s a monster. Between 15 green and 16 Ray points out an old “hobo hut” in the forest – right on top of the rocks – that someone he knows used to live in for 6 months a long time ago. Modest it may have been, but the view when that chap woke up every morning couldn’t have been too bad. He also points out the members’ suggestion box: a rocky atoll about 800 yards from shore...
I need to hit my 3 wood right out of the screws, without draw or fade, if I’m going to get the ball up there. As fate would have it the ball draws off to the left – aided by the wind – and ends up on the beach of a little cove (where I find a few other balls too...). Mike’s 2 iron drifts left too, but catches the ice plant 10 yards from the green, leaving him a tricky hack out. Robert flushes a driver to the front of the green – pre-empting another few high 5s – but 3 putts disappointingly for 4. He won’t forget that drive in a hurry though. Steve drives it on there on his second attempt – a shot he won’t forget any time soon either. I should add that after my first attempt I had another two – neither of which were any more successful! Ne’er mind.
By now the adrenalin is really pumping, and we’re wishing the moment wouldn’t pass us by so quickly. But there are members behind, and holding them up on their course is like leaving the toilet seat up: you just don’t do it. 17 is just as good as the holes before it, but I’ll spare you the rant. 18 gets a lot of flack for being weak, but I liked it. When you climb up the fairway to the green and look to your left, the beautiful clubhouse is perched between a few trees and the 16th sits out there below you. An amazing place, truly. You can’t go in there unless you’re accompanied by a member, and have a jacket and tie. We weren’t and didn’t, so the hut was off limits – maybe a nice thing, to leave a little bit of mystery at Cypress, keeping us guessing.
On 18 I have 8 or 10 feet; my last chance to snatch a birdie, after having played and putted like a donkey all day. I miss. Mike makes a good up and down for par, and shoots a glorious 75 (3 over par). He lost 3 shots in the last 4 holes, and lipped out a bit on the front 9 – so you have some idea of how he played. Robert, Steve and I were on a different planet, but had an absolute ball nonetheless. Between the beauty of this land; Dr. MacKenzie’s brilliance; the company of my playing partners; and Ray’s banter, it was a few hours of absolute bliss I will never forget.
All good things must come to an end. Don’t worry, this blog will come to an end soon too.
Steve very generously took us down to Pacific Grove and shouted us a jalapeno burger and beer at 17th Street Grille. We’ve been eating more burgers than we would care to – from a cholesterol perspective – but couldn’t refuse and savoured every bite. Go there, if you can, and have the jalapeno burger - with a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Do the same after you’ve played Cypress, and you have the recipe for an unbeatable day. We farewelled the boys and thanked them both for all they’d done for us – particularly Robert, who’d arranged 4 games of golf for us over the past week.
I mentioned before about our episode at The Beach Club with Liam. That couple of hours deserves a few partings words before I leave you. Drained and overwhelmed, we arrived – after getting very lost in the maze of streets around Pebble – early in the evening, when the sun was blazing. Liam introduced us to a few of his pals, one of whom is Ken Coleman (or “The Old Mench of the Sea” as he likes to be called). Ken’s a retired doctor who studied over at Trinity College in Dublin; has a severe penchant for Irish women; owns a dog called Bella that defacated on the 6th fairway during our walk out to the 7th; and lives on the 18th at Spyglass. He’s also a very interesting gentleman indeed (he’s a Mench for goodness sake!), and took a grand off Oscar De La Hoya on a casual bet that neither Oscar nor any of his pals would make birdie on 17 (at Pebble). (Ken was on the patio while they were passing by the tee, and struck up the yarn leading to the bet). Oscar’s agent – also in the fourball – pulled the cash out of his jacket pocket on the spot!
The four of us walked in the evening sun along 4, 5, 6 and up to the famous 7th hole. With the US Open approaching, all hell was breaking loose, with tents, grandstands and the like being erected by 6 million contractors. Amidst the melee we marched on up there to the tee – sand wedges in hand; ball each in the pocket – and delivered one down the hill. The Old Mench of the Sea, after initially refusing to have a hit, knocked it calmly to a foot. He doesn’t play any more these days, apparently. And do you know why? Because he made an albatross at a nearby club, and figured he may as well quit while he was at the top. On that day he was expecting the bar tab about to hit him was going to hurt. But there was only one guy in the bar...and it was Clint Eastwood (who owned the joint). So he bought Clint a drink. His order? “Orange juice, junior.” Classic. (Clint also has a house and land right on the coast between Cypress and Pebble, and is a partner in the Pebble Beach Company).
But I digress. Atop the 7th, just in front of the tees, I also found one of my Top 10 Spots On A Golf Course In The World To Have A Pee – a segment that’s going to be delivered in due course. Right now I’ve snapped 2 or 3 that no doubt will make the final cut. To spend a penny under the evening sun on 7 – on the day I also played Cypress Point – was memorable, if not a little sacrilegious.
Liam, Ken, Mike and me got back to The Club without being arrested, I’m pleased to report. We had a spa and swim in the pool – both of which are outdoors on the deck and overlook the bay, with the 4-7 stretch on your left and 17 on your right. Not a bad view. Not a cloud in the sky. Then madness overcame us – and we charge into the ocean, which can’t have been more than 18 degrees. Liam does the staunch thing and wades in slowly; Mike and me are less concerned about our rep and more about our health, so we get straight in and straight out.
I could go on about this day, but if you’re still reading this far it’s an amazing feat on your part. So I’ll leave you with this little something that I’ve learned. If you put yourself out there, and reach out to people, anything can happen.
Thank you again to Craig for giving us an amazing gift; to Liam & family for your incredible hospitality; to Ray for being the best caddy in the world (we’ll see you in Scotland in July); and to Robert and Steve for everything. You’ve all made a couple of ambitious young lads feel truly privileged. It’s only Day 138, and we’ve got a long way to go, but this day will stay with us to the grave. I can guarantee you that.
JP
Dr Alistair MacKenzie, the great golf course architect was a bit of a lad. He grew old drinking his scotch in a place one hour south of San Francisco called Pasatiempo. Mac had a great fondness for this course as it was one of his finest designs and after our round there today I can see why he could never grow tired of playing here and living in this peaceful setting.
The serenity was contrasted today, not with our van ‘Dodgy’ but with our attire. In particular, our golfing pants which we have been hooked up with from a new supporter of puregolf2010 – a company called loudmouth golf. They have other upstanding persons promoting their kit such as John Daly, Michael Hill (Jeweller) and the Norweigen curling team. So clearly we fit the mould... What am I saying, these pants have no mould, they are unique and Loud! If you want to make a statement on the golf course check them out. Even better they fit like a glove (well at least the one pair I could find in my tiny waist size do).
Jamie started with a bang today. A big bang. Into the trees initially, but a smart play to pitch out and he was standing over a sand wedge for his third into the par four first hole. “Shot mate”, I said as I saw it sail up only to lose sight of the pill as it landed on the slightly elevated green. We walked up and his ball was nowhere to be found – except for the hole! The longest shot ever to be drained by JD Patton. Awesome stuff and one way to make birdie on the first hole!
Jamie paired up the four-ball today with a chap named Andrew Guillen. Andrew is a friend of Robert Kaufman and is from our part of the world. In fact, meeting Andrew at Pasatiempo GC proves how small the world really is – he is an uncle of a friend of ours who we went through school with in Christchurch – Sacha Van Beek (who incidentally is a Top Notch jazz singer these days, and her grandfather and Andrew’s dad Sam is a champion cricketer who played for both NZ and the West Indies). So Jamie and Andrew took on myself and Robert and needless to say that after JP’s heroics on the first RK and I were one down.
Two down on the third tee, after watching our man Andrew (off a 12 handicap) make a solid tap in par tap after hitting it to 15 feet on a 420 yard par four…. The third hole (below with Andrew) was brutal. 235 yards, uphill bunkers everywhere. MacKenzie style bunkers. Two in your face which don’t come into play unless you skank it along the ground but they definitely have a huge visual effect on the hole. The green was a long sloping beast, and the greens here are quick (although not as quick as some days as we were told by a member and puregolf2010 blog reader whom we met at the beginning of the round who goes by the name of Rob Babcock and publishes a ‘where-to-golf-in-the-UK guide’). This hole was so gnarly and the slope around the hole so penal, that I won the hole with a 4. This proved to be one of 8 fours that I made on the front 9 (which looks good but isn’t so flash when there are three par 3’s on the nine, and the 9th score on the card is a double bogey 6).
I’m going to skip over most of the front nine, not because it wasn’t tremendous – indeed it had some quality holes such as the signature 6th where MacKenzie lived and a par five which looks like you should take 6 iron off the tee, but we all managed to hit the fairway with driver. The narrow fairway is unique for this course as most of the fairways are very wide and true to MacKenzie form this golf course is a game of angles and hitting it down the side of the fairway that best opens up the green. But the 6th is narrow and has OOB rolling down the left – something Jamie learnt after some intense sledging from Robert and Andrew caused him to duck hook his 2 iron into the great mans fence where it duly popped back out onto the path for a free drop. Jamie and Andrew were Red Hot through the front nine and combined to make three birdies in the first five holes but a couple of fours on the very reachable par fives (6 and 9) helped Robert and I to only be two down at the turn.
Which quickly turned into four down and despite a courageous comeback the match ended on the 17th green with a comprehensive 2 and 1 victory. The story, however of Pasatiempo really begins on the back nine, non-golf fans skip over this section, but for the purist here’s how it goes:
10: The tee shot is over a canyon and then the fairway slopes severely down and to the left. From the top of the hill (unless you really bomb driver) the approach drops in elevation to a green which slopes from back to front and from the bunker long you’re dead to a back pin placement, unless you can roll in a 20 footer to save par like JP.
11: An ultimate two shot hole. Only 400 yards but stroke 5 on the card. Sting it down the neck of the fairway on the right – a draw will end up in the hazard, right is OOB. But you can hit it 280 yards before you run out of room and from there it’s just a 9 iron or so. The green is guarded by bunkers and crazy swales - and today the pin was on the top of the severe false front. Both Andrew and Jamie had 20 foot putts from above the whole which upon rolling past the hole, just, then rolled 20 metres off the green and down the fairway. I hit it to 2 feet for the only uphill putt on the green and made birdie.
12: Where I got “MacKenzied”. Wide fairway. Short hole. 2 iron and then wedge. Sure.. The slopes on the green were truly baffling – somehow despite the green facing into you, it actually slopes away from the front of the green? I sure didn’t see it for my putt which I thought was dead but ended 10 feet past. Jamie and Andrew were both spooked and missed their easy birdie putts. Fortunately none of us went down the left side of the fairway which would have made the approach very difficult.
13: A par five which if you hug the left side is reachable it in two. Of course there are bunkers on the left so you don’t feel inclined to do this. Around the green – well there is sand. Check it.
14: A hole that I couldn't take enough photographs of. It's not the signature hole, but it has an awesome trench running down the left side of the fairway which gives it a unique character. The trench is still part of the fairway, but it is definitely an advantage to hit your drive onto the flat part to the right (of course there is OOB just to the right of the fairway). Easy par, difficult birdie some would say of this hole. The green slopes away and to the right, of course the opposite way from the fairway (there is a name for this feature?). Classical par four.
15: Gorgeous wee par three which is set amongst the trees with amazing bunkering short, right and long. There is a gully with a hazard short if you really chunk it. The pin was right on the edge of a slope. I lagged a 20 footer for birdie, twice, for my four. Anything past the hole and the ball rolled 30 feet away.
16: This is the signature hole. A blind tee shot over a hill which bounds your ball left towards rough and a hazard. We all took a wild guess and smoked it down there somewhere ignoring the pro's advice to lay back a bit. The approach - wow. Well it needs a picture so when you read this, make sure to come back to this blog post for the visual aids. The green is elevated and slopes at you and is massive. It is like a giant dart board that you have to ping it at from the elevated approach back on the fairway. There is a ravene short and right and ginormous bunkers on the right and left. It looks like the ball cannot stop on the green, but there are three or four tiers that they could probably put the pin on. Today it was middle left on a small hollow that wouldn't have been larger than a Coolamon green (20 feet across tops). Jamie and Andrew both were wizards to leave their chips from the top tier within 6 feet.
17: An innocuous par four that spat a few of us out. Mentally exhausted from thinking my way around this course and you can't stop for a breath on this straight away par four 17th. Short left for two the green actually has the most revolting slope from left to right. Doesn't look like it mind you. Three of us putted from about 10 feet.
18: Pasatiempo finishes with a par three. A spectacular par three down hill to a green that slopes crazy loudmouth styles from back to front, and of course has MacKenzie bunkers everywhere (and a giant ravene) to make it just that little bit more inviting. No place to chill out at the end of your round - as the entire back nine is..
JP and I were going along OK but the last few holes really nailed us as we started to get beaten by the greens. Final scores were M:78, J:82. We finished the day with a drink or two in the bar and then were given some home cooked biscuits by Andrew - what a chief champ boss captain skipper. Just what you need after 5 months on the road.
Thanks to Pasatiempo and Robert and Andrew and LOUDMOUTH golf for making this all possible!
So after the longest day on Wednesday at Harding & Olympic (and all the rest that went with it), we had another redeye start. Although to be fair we got a lie in, since we were able to catch the 5.40am BART train, rather than the 5.10am one... Robert God Bless Him picked us up at the other end, from South San Francisco station. He didn't have any trouble finding us - unsurprisingly we were the only two Kiwis in the parking lot (we don't call them carparks any more), shivering to death under the San Fran fog. Poor little souls. HA!
Anyway as it turned out the Cal Club is a stone's throw from the BART station, so we could've just toddled up there ourselves. Now we know. Meandering up the driveway you get the feeling you're approaching somewhere special; the huge white pillared clubhouse was painfully impressive even in the morning mist. The staff kindly ushered us into the Grill Room to grab a pint of restorative cawffee, to blow away the cobwebs before we embarked on round number 133 of 2010. Two pints did the trick - we were ready for action. Mark (the pro) handed us the most beautiful yardage book and leather holder I'd ever seen, which didn't do us any good as it turns out! i mean to say that it wouldn't have mattered what help we had - because both of us were chopping it all over the place. Robert wasn't much better, I'm afraid to say.
Dr. Alister MacKenzie the man himself came through these parts some time ago - during the 20s - and was asked to do the bunkering. You could see straight away, from the first hole, that his influence remains. There are hundreds of the blighters, and each of them looks more fierce than the next. They've all got hairy eyelids too.
A stupid decision was made on the 1st tee. We would play from the Venturi Tees, named after the famous Ken Venturi, who was a member here for many years. It won't surprise you to hear that we don't hit the ball like KV at the best of times, but on this occasion we were even further from the mark than normal. In the cold fog the ball wasn't flying very far, and when it did it wasn't running either. So we got beat up. But dam it was fun.
Robert was great company, as he was on Tuesday at Meadow. Over these past few days I've been tremendously endeared to the Americans and their ability to take golf for what it is - a game. He chuckled and cheered when he hit an ugly shot, and was equally amusing when one of us was on the receiving end. And so despite the fact that we really were playing some of our worst golf, I think I can safely say the three of us had a ball, just enjoying the fresh air.
Cal Club's a pretty formidable test of golf. The greens are what got me boggled; they're a dark olive green, and seemed to break uphill. I don't usually miss many 4 or 6 footers, but managed to leave a few out there today. Four 3 putts in 5 holes. And thanks to Dr. MacKenzie's dark sense of humour, you don't stand over many approach shots feeling relaxed. At times it's almost a case of deciding which would be the least severe to play out of. At least we got plenty sand practice.
One or two of the holes play back towards the White House-like clubhouse, which sits atop a knoll and has a huge star spangled banner flapping in front of it. They're awe inspiring holes, especially the 11th (which veers down the hill and to the left, to a green sunk into said knoll). Really the 12th was the start of our demise, as the doubles and triples started to flow. Things went pear shaped.
JP
Shinnecock
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