The Haarror Of It All

Seems a bit hazy as we arise in St. Monans, but that will surely lift.  Right?

Theresa asks me if this is a haar, though I'm unclear as to whether they use that term down here (though I'm quite amazed she remembers it).  It's a more common occurrence on the Aberdeenshire coast, but in the balmy East Neuk?  We pull into the Kingsbarn's Links and I ask the gentleman that helps us with our clubs, "Do you call it a haar here"?  "Aye," he answers, "and we call it much worse than that as well."

Here's our view of the first hole:

Beautiful, scenic Kingsbarns.... Guaranteed to be a perfect weather day...  Son, there are no guarantees in Scotland.  

In the photo above, that red light is a flashing blinker, powered by a battery.  Despite the appearance, it's not attached to the permanent directional marker, it's on a separate stake placed next to the marker.  Here's a better photo of it:

Of course, this never happens.... though they've got a specific name for the phenomenon and just happen to have a supply of flashers on hand....

Sad to say, but most of my front nine pictures exhibit a certain sameness to them....We know the North Sea is out there somewhere, but this is about as close as we get.

The other interesting aspect of our round is that we're paired with a Danish father and son, with the wide/mother walking with us.  They seem nice enough, but they're Godawful golfers.  Big swings, lots of speed (both father and son), but not the slightest clue where the ball might be headed.  As you're no doubt aware, this can be problematic at the best of times, but we're enveloped in a friggin' haar...

The four of us, Theresa, our caddies Mark and Mal and I, try to help them initially, but quickly see the folly in it.  There's not all that much we can do for them, and both come equipped with only the one gear.  It's actually quite difficult managing the pace of our play, and at one point I see Theresa speeding herself up on the greens and explain to her the facts of life.  We can't do anything to speed them up, but I'll be damned if I'll let them affect our play...  

The son is a trip, both sartorially and his golf.  I had noticed him on the practice green, and the long black socks I find amusing.  I know it's done, I just can't imagine why:

But it's the rolled-up shorts that's most curious....  You can tell, though, from the shaft flex that much speed is being generated, though in this instance that's not necessarily a good thing.

I ask Theresa to step into a deep fairway bunker, though she doesn't go to the bottom where it becomes clear that the bunker face is taller than she is.  Also note the unusual rakes, which I've not encountered anywhere else.

Theresa has been struggling a bit, and my birdie on No. 9 stands me three up at the turn.  The fog does finally lift, and this lovely little pitch from a plateau above the tenth green salvages a natural par, but two down is, alas, as close as she'll get:

The Danes have begun to fascinate me, as it's difficult to understand how they can be having much fun.  Amusingly, they're playing some kind of match, though their games seem incompatible with  any handicapping system known to man.  They do show some anger, Theresa's not amused, though it's not all that bad...  I'm mostly amused that every shot the son hits off the continent seems to come from completely out of the blue to him, as if such a fate has never previously befallen him.  Of course it has, on the prior swing....  Without being too rude, I get what photos I can:

I'm not one to use another person's game for humor, but I've got far too much time on my hands out there.

The haar clears as we come up No. 9, and it's very much a tale of two nine.  Kingsbarns reveals itself as quite the beauty:

To get to the 12th tee, we actually pass through a delightful grove of trees:

The twelfth is a beautiful Par-5 that wraps around a bay off the North Sea:

From here, the Crail clubhouse is visible in the distance...  and the 12th green, at the far end of their property, is quite a nice spot:

The Kingsbarns course guide is well done, and this hole is featured as a foldout, yanno like I've been told Playboy used to do.  Included is an oversized rendition of the hole, but also architect Kyle Phillips original plan of the hole.  We like and appreciate little things like this...

The thirteenth is a typical one-shotter for these parts, only a lofted iron or wedge, but in the wind that can be the hardest shot of all, and the penalty for missing is all too apparent.  This one looked good for an awfully long time:

On the next hole, comedy ensues.... Theresa's caddie, Mal, tells her to aim for the red beacons, and she does.  So well, that she hits the thing squarely, and pops the flasher off:

Their most famous hole is the fifteenth, a Par-three on which the green angles out into the North Sea.  

The pin is as far right as they can put it, and most folks would think this hole ill-suite to my draw.  But our match has been decided, and I'll not be laying up, although my line is, well, Norway:

It was perfect.  A ton of fun to hit, but really much more fun to just watch, waiting for that draw to kick in.  My favorite shot in Scotland thus far, at least in the full-shot category.  It comes to rest without much room to spare:

From behind the hole, it gives a far different look at high tide.

Mark, my caddie, hails from Pelham, NY, and has a daughter that lives in Harrison.  He's also working on a book project, so we exchanged cards and will pick things up back in the States:

Our round concludes as it should, though of course one can't always do this out of doors:

That's the 18th green in the background....

We're mostly caught up to date, and we've a late tee time back at Crail tomorrow.  I played the New Course this morning, so we'll cover that and our other adventures then.