To The Linksland - An Appreciation

The passing reference to Golf in the Kingdom in the Van Sickle post has reminded me of my intention to discuss Michael Bamberger's wonderful To The Linksland - A Golfing Adventure with you.  

Mike has long been one of the senior golf writers at Sports Illustrated and Golf Magazine,and this is

far from the first time you've seen him mentioned here.  Originally published in 1992 and long on my list of required golf reading, I opened it with the conviction that I knew exactly what lay in store.  Of course my certainty was completely unwarranted.....In fact, it's actually two quite separate books, neither of which was what I had anticipated.

Based upon the title (especially the subtitle) and the evocative cover photo, I anticipated a mystical paean to the primal glories of ancestral links... and to be fair, there is some of that to be found.  But the book is structure around two distinct plot lines and broken up into nine chapters....so there's an outbound nine and an inbound nine...kinda like a ...I think you get it at this point.

The outbound nine is the tale of Mike's budding caddie career, looping for American Peter Teravainen, an American journeyman struggling to make cuts and support himself on the European Tour.  Mike had himself just gotten married, so he took a leave of absence from the Philadelphia newspaper (for my younger readers, newspapers used to be a thing) for which he toiled and he and his new wife took off on a grand adventure.

Peter Teravainen

He had contacted Teravainen beforehand, who agreed to take him on for two events.  After that he was on his own, so off to the Mediterranean Open in St. Raphael he went, intending to make a sufficient impression on his client to be retained at least through the Scottish Open, after which Mike had other plans.

A reminder that this was the Euro Tour in 1991, when the money was small, the travel hard and the trade a tad rough.  Teravainen was known in the day for a particularly violent action through the ball, but was also known to be one of the tighter guys with a buck.  In fact, the best story in this section is when the three of them, including Peter, traveled on the "Caddie Bus" between events, when violence was narrowly averted.

You'll understand how readily hooked I was when Mike tells us of losing Peter's 7-iron during the second round of that first tournament... Oh Mike, what a colossal rookie mistake.  It does happen out there, but a word to the wise, when losing one of your player's weapons, the 8-iron is the club of choice.

Fortunately for Mike (and the reader), Peter reacts with similar equanimity to my client, and the partnership continues through the Scottish Open with some limited success.  At that point point they part ways and Bamberger sets off on his journey-withing-the-journey, to cure his own golf game.  he describes himself as a seventies shooter in the midst of a thirteen-year slump, and is referred to John Stark at Crieff Golf Club.  

John Stark is a minor legend of Scottish golf, an iconoclastic student and teacher of the game who also played an outsized role in the growth of golf in Sweden.  His first lesson with Bamberger, during which they never left Stark's cramped office ends with this exhortation, one of my favorite passages of all time:

Do you know what I mean when I say linksland? Linksland is the old Scottish word for the earth at the edge of the sea—tumbling, duney, sandy, covered by beach grasses. When the light hits it, and the breeze sweeps over it, you get every shade of green and brown, and always, in the distance, is the water. The land was long considered worthless, except to the shepherds and their sheep and the rabbits, and to the early golfers. You see, the game comes out of the ocean, just like man himself! Investigate our linksland, Michael, get to know it. I think you’ll find it worthwhile. Drop in on your travels. I’ll be curious to know what you learn.

I excerpted that passage more than once before actually reading its source, as it captures the primal beauty of linksland better than I could ever hope to.  

Bamberger does as Stark suggests, making his way to holy shrines such as Cruden Bay, Machrihanish and Royal Dornoch.  He also stops back in to see Stark and their "lessons' do move to the practice tee, but always with a twist.  There's even an outing to a magical private golf course...

These lessons, for which Stark would not take payment, involved aspects of psychotherapy and other unconventional means, such as recreating the sound of a proper swing.  But about halfway through this back portion of the book I had a minor revelation, that this is what Golf in the Kingdom should have been...ironic considering that Michael Murphy provided the cover blurb.

It hits all the right notes, while remaining completely, and I can't emphasize this enough, readable and believable...  This is no doubt because it actually happened, but is also a testament to Bamberger's writing skills.  His descriptions of Stark and his office ("Surrounded by boxes of shoes awaiting feet") are vivid and quirky, as is his initial bewilderment at Stark's methodology.  John Stark, a Shivas Irons for the rest of us...

I'm unable to find a photo of Stark online. but I did find Bamberger's remembrance after his death in 2008:

You know the cliche of the Scottish golfing man: all tweedy and trim and austere. Stark favored bright red polyester pants, cheap cigars and gold fillings. He taught by asking questions. Like, "Whatarya tryin' to git from the gahm?" He did not use the word laddie.

He taught me, at first, with mealy balls and a hickory-shafted club. He'd accept no money from me, as he was already rich, although not in the conventional sense. 

Eventually, he took me to a secret place (and course) called Auchnafree, not far from Crieff, where he was professional emeritus. There was a primitive six-hole golf course at Auchnafree, tended by sheep. Stark drank water from the river that ran through the Auchnafree glen. His swing looked downright regal in that setting, his bright red pants against the lush green grass.

A delightful trip with all manner of interesting characters, faithfully rendered by a man as tormented by the game as any of us.  It took me far too long to get to it, but I'm glad that I finally did...