Down The Rabbit Hole

In South Uist. the Gaelic gets top billing

No, that post title doesn't refer to my frustrations with the South Uistian Internet provider...you'll see in a bit.

We've arrived safely to Strathpeffer, Elsie and John's lovely home.  So let's begin at the beginning, shall we, which was Benbecula Airport.  Benbecula is a smallish island smack between North and South Uist, where Elsie and John fetched us midday Monday.  There apparently was some circling of the airport involved, but that can happen first time in a large metropolis, but we were quickly on our way across the causeway to South Uist.

We made a beeline straight to the golf club, using their restrooms for a quick change into golf costumes.  Elsie and John had a quick bite to eat, and then it was time to fire up the flux capacitor and head back to 1891.  The weather, you'll recall had been characterized by our pilot as "reasonable", but alas took a decided turn towards the un-, drizzling as we made our way to the first tee box.

The rain came and went during the outbound nine, and with moderate winds it was actually

Our fourball prepares for the day ahead.

somewhat manageable.  Accordingly, some actual golf was played on the early holes.  If you've done your Unplayable Lies homework you're well aware of the remoteness of our location, but the appeal of the property is obvious.  In fact, in reading the contemporaneous 1891 newspaper account of Old Tom Morris' visit, he noted that there's a good ten miles of such coastline and, while he chose that which he considered the best, there's room for additional golf courses.  Perhaps when we return, they'll have 72 holes for us to play.

You'll understand that the facilities tend towards the rudimentary... The club has a part-time greens-keeper that moonlights singing in bars and at weddings, and I believe two other staff, plus two folks that alternate manning the clubhouse and small cafe.  It's all rather low--key, for instance when we had completed play on Monday the clubhouse was closed, and we left Theresa's hired clubs on the porch without concern (she used them again Tuesday, but there was no fitting them in the car).  And when we arrived today, they weren't exactly open so Tom sent us on our way and told us to settle up when we finished, which we did after fortifying ourselves with toasties.

John surrounded by several German aircraft, there were
 more hovering around the head of his driver.

As for the golf course, the opening holes are on rolling terrain, with seemingly adequate landing areas.  The problem as we quickly deduced, is that once off those fairways, the ground is covered with meadow grasses and wild flowers and it's a stroke of pure luck to find one's ball, even with four pairs of eyes following it and eight feet trampling.  I kept it in play for eight or nine holes, but John and Elsie had the early benefit of lighter golf bags.  The other hazards were the bugs... we had been warned by our friend Jewelle (John and Elsie's prior guests) about the midges, but these were something far larger, think of a German Stuka, making approximately the same volume of noise as when dive-bombing the golfers.

The greens are another kettle of fish entirely, with more slope that you've likely experienced.

Two-dimensional photos can't quite capture all the humps
and hollows on this green.

Because of that they leave them quite shaggy, as I would imagine they'd have been for the Old Tom's contemporaries.  Ran Morrisett, in his review I shared recently, said they were in the 6-7 range, though I'd have guess more around three.  We struggled early in getting our putts to the hole, I mean like four-footers... and yet the downhill putts could get away from you because they were like 45 degrees downhill.... I had one up and over a ridge today that, in snark-mode, I referred to as the first blind putt of my golf career.

The severely-sloped greens require shots you will not have seen before, and we all took turns looking foolish.  As for the actual putting, you'll note in those ancient newsreels that the players have far more wrist involved and hit down on the ball, and their putters also had far more loft than we use today.  I suspect that's for good reason, as those four-footers never really got started, snagging in the deep pile greens.  Not as much of a factor on longer efforts, but I can see the need for loft to get the ball on top of the shag carpet...or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The turf quite surprised me with its softness.  Now it's been an unusually wet summer in Scotland, and we were warned that nothing would play as firm and fast as usual.  Still it didn't seem like links

The course has only four bunkers, so John
naturally wanted to visit the first he saw.

turf and we certainly played more of an aerial game than is typical.  It's also a long day out there, as Tom told us that out five-hour Tuesday round was typical.  I'd guess that 90 minutes of that was spent looking for errant shots, as none of our four can be accused of playing slowly.

But the primary defense of the course is not wind, firmness or blind shots, it's rabbit holes.  Of which there are a gazillion...I'm not kidding, I counted them.  They range from the small and easily overlooked, to those that would comfortably house a family of six.  Interestingly, I'm reading Kevin Cook's wonderful history of the two Tom Morrises, Tommy's Honor, and he speaks of filling rabbit holes as a duty of the Keeper of the Green.  But they are a serious hazard and I'd be surprised if the over-under for broken ankles per season was under five.  Both Theresa and John had close calls and were lucky to not seriously damage their ankles.

It's quite a walk as well, up and down the dunes to tee boxes and towards greens.  II noted during play

Theresa drags her trolley up to a tee box, far
steeper than iit appears in this photo.

and then Tom unprovoked noted that it';s far preferable to carry one's bag, as the steep pitches of the walking paths (trucks would be required to shift into a low gear), combined with the ubiquitous rabbit holes,made for a strenuous bit of exercise.  And I'm still not quite sure whether uphill or downhill was easier...

Now I've opted for full disclosure and you might think at this point that it wasn't worth the effort, but you'd be incorrect.  It's certainly not for everyone, but it's a fascinating endeavor and visually quite spectacular.  The golf course really begins on the seventh tee, as you climb to en elevated tee box with the Atlantic Ocean on your right.  This hole is quite reminiscent of the famed eleventh at Balybunion, at least from the tee, and the next four holes run along this wonderful stretch of coast, most using the dunes for tee boxes.

The view along the coastal holes.

The weather turned harsh as we headed inward on Monday, and the golf became increasingly ragged.  John and I finally gave up the ghost and walked in on No. 18, with everything soaked to the core.  The good news is that Tuesday's weather made up for it, mostly overcast with a decent breeze, but no rain.  

Askernish is a stern test in the most favorable of conditions, though far more manageable having seen it the once.  It's not a place where I'd encourage an excess focus on one's scorecard, as the inevitable loss of balls will run up the tally.  But it would be a hoot for match play and works fine for a Stableford, as you just need to shake off a few indignities, such as losing two balls on one shot as happened to me, though in my defense only the first deserved its fate.

You'll also not make too many putts, as we rarely see five-footers with four distinct breaks.  but no need to grind over the line as you're unlikely to get it to the cup in any event.  But the holes are imaginatively placed in and among the large dunes, the more so as the ground is as Old Tom found it.  And because it's a stern test, the successes are all the sweeter....

I'll leave you with some miscellaneous photos from our two days on Askernish:

The rabbit holes were everywhere, including in this bunker on the Par-5 twelfth.

Elsie's golf ball was readily identifiable.

Your humble blogger driving off the spectacular seventh tee.  The r-to-l wind required me to start the ball towards Ireland to keep it on the left side of the fairway.  Mission accomplished, at least this once.

The bride fortifies herself for the inward nine.

John did quite well in extricating himself from this nasty spot short of the 12th green.  Taking the line over his trolley added helpful degree of difficulty points, but just getting out was impressive.

A typical Scottish single lane road...actually this is typical of the conditions just off the fairway.

My trolley wanted to linger longer at this spot off the back of the 11th green.

I could do a short dissertation on the 16th hole, Old Tom's Pulpit, though perhaps you've suffered enough.  It plays down through a valley off the tee, then up over a dune to a blind green, a directional marker providing the line (though on the outward holes you see where you're headed if one is astute enough to take note).  This is the view on the second, though a strong drive puts one fiurther down the fairway to a point where the flagstick is not visible.

And your problems have hardly ended once you reach the most severe of the greens:

Nor, alas, do the rabbits respect the greens:

The clubhouse has many artifacts on display, including this 1891 photo of Old Tom during his 1891 visit:

As well as this reprint of the contemporaneous newspaper account of the events of 1891, without which Askernish Old would have been down the rabbit hole of collective memory: