The Torch Is Lit

Let the matches begin....

On an unseasonably warm day at a suitably storied venue, the 2014 matches began, though with uncertainty caused by Theresa's ribcage injury.  But she's quite the trooper, or perhaps just can't pass up an opportunity to kick my posterior.  And really, who can blame her in that...

The venue was Royal Dublin Golf Club, on Bull Island in Dublin harbor.  In the early 1800's William Bligh, of

HMS Bounty fame, recommended the building of a sea wall to facilitate safe passage of ships into port, thereby creating a sand bar that grew into Bull Island.  The club was formed in 1885 (it received its Royal sponsorship in 1891), but converted to military use during World War I.  After the war, the great Harry S. Colt was retained to create the links, and one doesn't pass up the opportunity to sample Colt's work.

An aerial view of Bull Island with the clubhouse in the foreground.

In the early aughts Martin Hawtree was brought in to "modernize" the links, stretching it 7,269 yards.  This bit from the club's website might make a purist scowl, but the reader will be spared a rant as I've not previously played the links:

Hawtree made several significant changes. First of all, he raised and introduced significant contouring to all of the greens. Accompanying this raising of greens is a series of run-offs from which golfers of all levels must demonstrate imagination, touch and ability to achieve the coveted ‘up and down’.

They certainly were challenging green complexes, though the club was in the midst of a topdressing program (we were warned and received a suitable discount for the conditions) which undoubtedly made them more manageable.  

A couple of examples of the green complexes.

The outbound nine is closest to the water, and features tight corridors surrounded by large dunes.  The dunes are covered in Marram grass, about which I had intended to write a separate post for my Ballyliffin blog.  Marram grows long and tends to fold over from the winds, creating a truly evil set of conditions (the post was to be titled Marram de Sade).  One needs to follow the ball closely, because if it bounce there's a chance...if not it's likely plugged.  The folded over grass also affects the player's stance, approximating the feeling of trying to hit a shot while standing on a trampoline.

Bags of divot mix for one's trolley.

The quality of play was quite middling on the outbound nine, some good shots but we struggled to keep the ball in play.  We left a few balls out there, curiously enough one of mine from a fairway bunker necessarily hit with my 58 degree sand wedge.  That last will indicate that when even a short shot plugs in the Marram, fining it is Mission Impossible.

Theresa gifted me the front nine with a missed four-footer for par on the ninth, though again the top-dressed greens were no doubt a factor.  But then she found her form, rattling off a series of tight bogies that had me in a hole most of the back nine.

Some good back and forth late in the round, for those who enjoy a blow-by-blow account.  A tasty up-and-down from a greenside bunker won your humble blogger the 15th and squared the overall.  

The 16th.

The 16th is a fairly well-known short Par-4, driveable for the big boys.  I was hooking everything in my bag all day, but didn't think I could reach anything troubling with a hybrid as the bunkering appeared to all be greenside.  Of course I hooked the hybrid some thirty yards and caught that first bunker on the left, which was more like forty yards short of the green and left me absolutely dead.  Took me two to get out of the steep bunker and only by bouncing it off the face, but that left me in an even worse position, with Theresa on the back of the green in regulation.

Theresa's was definitely in three-putt territory, but I would need to get up and down for a halve.  

The ball was resting at the center-bottom of the frame in the photo above, known euphemistically as "one of those."  One could chip safely to the right, but the only way to get the ball close is to chip into the bunker surrounds, knowing the bounce will be leftward but hoping it carries enough speed to hop over the the face, which it miraculously did to gimme range.  A reminder to the reader that the turf is roughly the consistency of concrete, so opening a sand wedge and hitting that high, soft pitch is not an option.

Fresh off my miraculous halve on No. 16 and determined not to hook any more irons, I of course push a

The 18th.

seven iron into the deepest greenside bunker you'll ever find and, well, it didn't end well.  Theresa mades a well-earned five and cames to No. 18 with a one-up lead, whereupon hilarity ensued.

The finishing hole is a brutal Par-4 that makes a 90 degree dogleg right.  To reach in two the player needs to carry that out-of-bounds on the right, a daunting and disorienting shot (the latter at least the first time through).  I had some 200 yards in but had to give it a go, albeit spectacularly unsuccessfully, and Theresa was already in there in three.

We instituted a retroactive local rule declaring the area to be a lateral, as we hadn't known it was OB and weren't trudging back.  I hit an 8-iron that I was convinced was also OB, but found in play.  Convinced that I had lost the hole, I made a nifty up-and-down off for six, but only realized that I had won the hole and thereby earned an undeserved halve of the match upon a post hoc forensic accounting.  

A plaque honoring the club's most famous member on the 16th tee.  That eagle on No. 18 is inconceivable.

We had a lovely moment on the staircase up to the bar, when we passed an elderly gentleman member in coat and tie.  He noted that he had watched our struggles on the 18th from the bar, and consoled us that we were far from the first to straggle in.  I explained that Madam was one-up necessitating the senselessly aggressive ply, but he correctly surmised that I'd have given it a go under any circumstances.  

The view back down the 18th from the bar.

The club also boasts some of the finest practice facilities you'll find in this part of the world.

Also from the bar, a view of the driving range, part of the large putting green and that bunker on the left is part of a large short-game practice area.

A wonderful piece in the clubhouse from the coronation year of 1902.

The good news is that Theresa's rib issue was not a factor and, while she'll be nursing it the entire trip, there's reason to hope that she might just muddle through.  Fingers crossed...

Today is famed County Louth, and Lowell will be trekking down from Portrush to join in the revelry.  There's rain on its way, though the current forecast is that we should finish before it hits.  But they lie, you know.... Lowell is nursing a sore back, and added to T's ribs and my elbow tendinitis, we've applied for a Red Cross brigade to accompany us.