Front nine again

 

Had to play the front nine again, Ladies League on the back 9. Getting a bit bored with this front nine, I think I'll head to Walpole for my next round. 

First tee shot, amazing distance, sounded lovely off the club, only problem was direction. Sailed off into the woods on the right. Lost ball #1. Hit another one, not bad, not as far but at least on the fairway. Searched for Lost ball #1 with no success. Hit second shot, which turned out to be  my first failure of the day with my 5-iron, and it bounced sadly into the scenic little stream that bisects the first fairway. Lost ball #2. Hit a third shot from just in back of the stream and it landed perfectly on the green, a resoundingly wonderful 7-iron that was one of my prettiest shots of the round. Very nice. Two putts to drain it. Gave myself a bogey 5 because I cheat. Don't tell anyone. 

Second hole, the one up the side of Mt. Everest. Tee shot went a little left but not too bad. Trouble with hitting it left on this hole is when you go for your second shot the landing zone is just a little thin strip of nothing before it widens out again below the green. Very little margin for error. I erred. Lost ball #3. Put myself approximately where it would have been if I'd hit it well, then hit a boring little shot up Mt. McKinley, not far enough to reach the sloping, dangerous green. Then a wedge that popped on the green beyond the pin. You have to be very careful not to hit it too hard from there since you're in danger of rolling it right off the green and watching it roll down to the bottom of the Eiger. But I was careful and after frightening the hole with my first putt tapped it in for either a bogey 6 or a sad 10, depending on whether you're me or an honest person. Being me, I gave myself the bogey.

Third hole, nice straight par 4. Gorgeous drive with my 3-iron, just gorgeous. Spectacular. Hands-arms-shoulders-hips just like Ben Hogan says. Unwound hips-shoulders-arms-hands and it went a long way, nice and straight. "Ok," says me to myself, two bogies to start (hah!) and let's get a par now and we're doing good!" Right. Big swing with my 6-iron to get it on the green and the fucking thing went 20 feet. Golf, they say, is a game of misses, and I missed that one bigly. But hit a nice shot the next time and got it on the green. A dandy long putt got me near the hole and a tap-in gave me an actual, honest bogey. 

Fourth hole is a short par 3. Sometimes I get it on the green and feel good about myself. This time I popped it right into the great gaping maw of a sand trap that over-protects the right side of the green. Fuck me. Normally I would hit another because why not, but there were a couple of guys breathing down my neck on the previous hole so I just went with it and, most surprisingly, managed to convince the ball to get out of the sand onto the fringe. Then of course I three-putted for a sad 5. Stupid par threes, they often confound me and make me not feel good about myself. 

Fifth is my favorite hole on the course, have to hit it over a DC-like swamp then there's a sharp dogleg left. It's a pretty hole. Fairway bunker right at the dog's leg that you have to avoid. Trick is to aim for the bunker but give it enough of a ride to clear the bunker and enjoy your day. Or you do what I did which is hit it in the general direction of the bunker but short. Then, if you're a terrible golfer like me your second shot barely makes it to the bunker, a whopping shot of almost 30 yards. Next shot just short of the green, then a  wedge clanked over the green and by now I'm tiring of this hole, my favorite hole. Finally putted about 38 times and found the cup for a seven. At least I didn't lose another ball. 

Sixth, that "driveable" par 4. Driveable my rosy rear end. However, with my favorite club off the tee, an old 3-"wood" of my Dad's, I did in fact almost drive it to the green. A majestic shot. Ben would have been proud. A shitty pitch put me on the wrong side of the green, though, and, being me, I 3-putted again for a mediocre 6. 

Seven. By this time I'm hot and tired and hungry and frustrated, which is exactly the wrong frame of mind to be in when faced with this strange par 5 that includes a 800-foot drop down a mountainside. A fair tee shot left me on the edge of the abyss and all I needed was a nice strong 5-iron to leave me on that left side of the fairway with a good approach to the green. I've done it in the past and felt good about myself. This time the pesky 5-iron let me down again (it fought me all day long; when I got home I put a dunce cap on it and made it sit in the corner. Bad 5-iron.) This time it was particularly pernicious and instead of floating gently over the precipice and landing softly on the fairway it looped off to the right. "Ohh nooooo," I exclaimed, plus a couple of other exclamations that would offend a delicate ear, because off to the right is Lake Michigan. Sure enough, I trundle in my cart down to the lakeside, look for my poor ball without joy. Lost ball #4. A watery end to that ball's life. Glug. Were a nickel to appear in my pocket for every ball I've drowned in that pond I'd be a wealthy man. So I plunk down another ball and continue slogging through that hole. Finished with a generous seven after lofting yet another wedge shot over and beyond the green. 

Below, an image of the bottom part of the seventh hole. If you look carefully at the pond you can discern the hundreds and hundreds of balls I've splashed there. 

Eighth hole, a curious little par 3. I always have to mull: six-iron or 7-iron. It being this round, I chose the seven, hit it badly and plopped it into the little stream that lies in wait for badly-hit tee shots. Fuck me. So I grab my 6-iron and try again, and sure enough it arcs perfectly and bounces right on the green, to my astonished amazement. Woo-hoo! I looked without success for my first ball, almost capsizing the cart on a wet patch. Lost ball #5. This is turning into an expensive round. But two nice putts for a par cheered me up, Mulligan aside. 

Ninth hole. From the BCC website: "a classic par-4 (the second of the “old” holes on the course) which merely requires a stout tee shot and a perfect iron to a raised green." Right. Merely.  So I get ready for a stout tee shot, I channel Ben Hogan, take a deep breath and wallop that sucker almost thirty feet. Which was extremely embarrassing because those guys behind me had just finished the eighth and were approaching and had to see me completely fail to hit a stout anything. Then I muffed my second shot, thank you very much Mr. 5-iron, you lousy traitor. Played the rest of the hole like an old, crippled lady and finished with a pathetic 7. 

Not my finest round, but hey, it was a pleasant day and I did hit a  couple of beautiful shots and, except for every time the 5-iron was in my hand, had a nice, if not memorable, afternoon. And the Tanq & tonic with extra lime afterwards was cold, strong and delicious. And my former golf buddy, Adam, who deserted me for the horrible climate of Hawai'i, and with whom I'd been texting throughout the round, called me on the phone and we had a lovely chat, so that was fun too.