Glashedy Days

Before we get on with the news of the day from Ireland, a quick view of the Blogger stats page informed me that this will be my 400th post since kick-off in January.  And they said we wouldn't make it...

We resumed hostilities yesterday, though with new friends in tow.  Whilst walking the streets of Ballyliffin, and it's quite the stretch to use the plural, Theresa started up a conversation with a woman doing the same.  Turns out that she and her husband drove up from the Dublin area after consulting a weather map and identifying our little burg as having the best weather in all of Eire.  People driving hours to share our vacation weather, that'll give you a hint of how lucky we've been.

We ran into the couple, Monica and Barry were the aliases used, at the Pollan Bay beach and then

With our new friends near the 12th tee.

later at the golf club after dinner.  We invited them to join us for our 9:30 tee time, and they foolishly accepted.  The weather remains improbably spectacular, allowing for a second consecutive day of golf in shorts, quite the unexpected pleasure.

Monica arranged for a better-ball match, and astutely chose Theresa as her partner.  I kept the card for our individual match,  We broke form as the first four holes involved strokage, and when I found myself two down it was, I thought, actually not too bad.

Meanwhile Monica was sinking putts from Glashedy Rock and the girls were chirping up a storm, but it was way too early for that.  It took me a few holes, but I settle in nicely and started reeling off gaggles of pars (six straight at one juncture).  I clawed my way back to win the front side and simply steamrolled the unfortunate lass on the incoming nine.  I was blessed on this day with a great innate sense of the speed of the greens, sending numerous missiles from long-range to within Monica's rather strict interpretation of concession range.  For the bride, alas, the exact opposite condition presented...

Theresa's tee-to-green games was still quite good, as the photo at left will attest,  But the putting was quite dreadful.  The rock-hard turf makes the soft pitch a most difficult shot, but here she pulls it off quite well at the Par-5 fourth.

I don't know whether Monica actually sews, but I can attest that she's quite skilled with the needle.  Her best effort came at the 13th hole, a Par-5 that ate my lunch during our extended stay in 2012.

It plays 525 yards for the men, a fairly staright hole where it is, as they say, all in front of you.  A narrow landing area makes it a difficult drive, with a small pot bunker perfectly situated on each side of the fairway to catch the wee tug or push.

The thirteenth on the Glashedy with eye candy in the foreground.

The second shot should be easy, a mere layup, but sometimes those are the most difficult of shots.  More dangerously, near the green the turf throws everything hard left into that cavernous bunker visible in the distance.  I managed to thread one of my signature driver stings between the bunkers and had some 220 yards in.  But knowing the penalty for anything short, I pulled off only the smallest of headcovers to punch something just under the green, and I hear a voice behind me mutter, "Rory wouldn't be found laying up."  It took only a second to remove the shiv from my back and proceed with my plan, however neutered it may have seemed.

T'was indeed a lovely day with delightful people.  After golf I bade a quick farewell to the folks in

the office and golf shop, and we ran to catch the Lough Foyle ferry.  We unfortunately could not enjoy a post-round adult beverage with our new friends, but as Monica e-mailed later that did not deter them from their appointed rounds.  That's Monica and her Guinness on the right, Monica of course being the tall one.

Care for some more pictures of the Glashedy?  Of course you do...

The sixth green.

The Par-3 seventh, the least links-like hole ever on a proper links.

Looking back up at the seventh tee, where that Stonehengy thing is new.

The brides' usually reliable putting stroke.

I love how the courses weave in and amongst each other, with many of these signs of necessity.

The bride accepts her setbacks with dignity and equanimity.

Your humble corespondent launches a sub-orbital nine-iron on the downhill fourteenth.

There's much more to sort through, including important kitty-blogging, but precious little time.  We're off to Portstewart to tee it up with Lowell, with the current standings 10-8 in my favor.

Much more later....or not.