Haste Ye Back

We chose Balcomie for our swan song, which will come as no surprise to those that have been with us since we landed.  It's another sunny, blustery day, but the weather is about to change, which is our cue to get out of Dodge.  But we'll have a little news for everyone at the bottom of this post.

The camera is in hand, but it only comes out for the occasional scenic shot.  The golf, on the other hand, is of the spotty kind, as both combatants are awfully tired by this point.  Your humble blogger, for instance, fans on two consecutive 5-irons on the Par-3 third, and even at low tide there's no available land on which to land....  

Better to focus on the lovely beach running to the right of the opening two holes:

My caddie John tells me that the first few feet of water can be quite warm, though after that it's, you know, the North Sea.  I'll just take his word for it...

The second green is delightfully close to the water:

The equally picturesque fifth green, though not sure what's become of the livestock:

I make a tactical blunder and decide to play for the Medal Tees, which are a scant 5,861 yards on the scorecard, but feels more like 7,861...  We have some wind, for sure, but nothing like what we had early in the trip.  

The seventh green is interesting, it plays downhill but with an odd landform, actually and old roadway of some sort, in front of the green.  

A view from the thirteenth tee, a long, uphill Par-3 (the ladies play it as a Par-4):

The joke is on your humble blogger for choosing the medal tees, because I'm forced to hit driver both here and on No. 18...  It's hard to make a decent living hitting driver on Par-3's.  Equally hard giving Theresa Simpson a shot on three-pars....

This, from the 14th tee box, is actually a better view of that beach:

My best swing of the day comes here, as my nine iron takes a good look at the hole, but ends up twelve feet past:

But, of course, Madam has an answer:

Theresa is in control of our match the entire time.   I make a few runs, but never get closer than one down.  But we're grinding, finding some clever up-and-downs, mostly due to finally dropping a couple of medium length putts.  

John does his best to get me around, but his player can't find his best stuff:

I do keep things alive until the 18th, but the outcome was never really in doubt.

We head to the clubhouse for a post-round drink and, perhaps, an early dinner, and the bride and I get to talking.  We've been mulling things for most of our time here, and we finally decide, and I walk into their administrative offices... before we leave, we submit our applications to become Overseas members of the Crail Golfing Society.

We sit with Elaine Johnson to discuss, and amusingly the Admissions Committee is meeting that very evening.  Before we depart we notice this listing of membership applicants affixed to a notice board:

I know you can't really make it out, but ours are the last two names on the list, quick work indeed.

The timing of the committee meeting is for amusement value only, as our membership would coincide with the start of the club's new fiscal year on October 1st.   And, of course, there's always a chance they'll come to their senses before it's too late.  Time to start looking for a house in Pittenweem for the summer of 2020....  We also told Elaine that we might want to spend a full season with them, and were assured that we can readily convert to full membership then.

This is likely the end of our time together from The Kingdom of Fife.  We'll have a lazy morning packing our things up and loading the car, though we'll find time for a last walk around St. Monans as well.  Especially as rain precluded our usual evening stroll....  We'll sleep at Glasgow Airport tonight, OK, not literally at the airport, flying home early Thursday morning.

Given the new professional golf calendar, I'm unclear as to when regularly scheduled programming will recommence.  Check back early and often, as you'll not want to miss any of those random musings....

Flotsam and Jetsam

We're in wind down mode, culling our food supplies and thinking about our homebound logistics.  We're off for a last loop on Crail's Balcomie Links, which we've discussed previously.  I'll not bore you with too much from there unless, of course, things get interesting.

Have I mentioned The Diving Gannett?  An adorable coffee bar cum gift shop in the heart of St. Monans, I plan to head there after my arrival home.

That image, as well as the one below, are lifted from this lovely review of the joint by the Scone Spy:

Theresa arrives back from a long walk just then, and she's carrying a wee piece of art in bubble wrap.  Which amuses me, because there was a piece that I noticed last time, that I wanted to consider purchasing.

We have a lovely sausage roll and cappuccino, then venture upstairs to look at their offerings.  For the first time ever, Theresa actually agrees with me, though she did reject out of hand some tiles that I rather liked.  But we go ahead and purchase this piece, called The Colors of St. Monans:

Nothing out of the ordinary here, but then a woman at the first table tells us that her mother, sitting next to her, is the artist....

Best of all, Frances, the artist, tells us that this never happens, because she never eats here.  The Gannett folks are selling your art, so you might not want to make too strong a point of never frequenting their place.  Lovely folks and they profess to be happy that the piece has found a good home.... We do invite them to visit it in its new home.

We head back to the Dreel Tavern for dinner:

They do a really good job with their food.... Scottish food is a bit of a mixed bag, but there are many examples of pubs that have upped their game.  To Theresa's right above is a plaque in the ancient wall:

I spent all of my twenties and thirties trying to wet my hose, but it's not for everyone....

We take another lovely walk down by the harbor, enjoying the late day light:

The woman with the stroller (her husband is to the right) we've noticed on prior evenings, and we strike up a lovely conversation with them at the end of the pier.  They live in Glasgow but have a house in St. Monans, and she's been coming here her whole life....  In fact, she tells us of her earliest memory, her third birthday party here in St. Monans.  

We're off to savor our last full day in the East Neuk, and I'll check back in as I'm able.

New, A Relative Concept

Tuesday morning here in the East Neuk, as our trip winds down.  I'll confess to a bit of blogging burnout, and hope you'll bear with me.  I enjoy greatly the process of putting my thoughts and reactions into words, but it can at times feel a bit like a job.... 

Yesterday I left the bride in bed and ventured back to the Auld Grey Toon to play... well, to play this:

The Open Championship began in 1860, though it wasn't until 1873 that the event is played on the Old Course in St. Andrews.  The period through the end of the century is a battle for primacy in the game among St. Andrews, Prestwick and Musselburgh, but the rehiring of Old Tom in 1865 starts a gradual trend in St. Andrews' direction.  The unintended consequence of this is that the increasing popularity and tourist play (mostly a result of the rail lines), renders the links too crowded.

Land is readily available, but the scarce resource is money.  Thus, the R&A agrees to pay for the building of the New Course, in return for a permanent allocation of tee times on both courses.  These arrangements are codified in an 1894 Act of Parliament, and remain in place today.  Thus, when you show up in September and the Old Course is unavailable due to the R&A's Fall Meeting, remember that cash changed hands for those tee times back in the day...

The New Course is directly adjacent to the Old, on one's right on the outbound nine of the latter.  Amusingly, as I'm talking to the starter I see a player and caddie suddenly playing a shot from the tee box of New No. 1, back to the Old.  Apparently it's not OB, which is good to know, though the gorse bushes separating the two seem sufficient deterrence.

The new feels a bit like a less eccentric version of its sister, and I mean that favorably.  The land is similarly undulating, but without the crazy landforms that we find nest door.  There are shared fairways and even a single double green (the third and fifteenth, maintaining the practice of adding up to eighteen) , and only one severely blind shot (the tee shot on No. 10).  It feels very much like a course one would be happy to play every day, and it has the reputation of being the locals course in St. Andrews.  That said, I see nothing but Yanks while there...

The starter and I have an amusing conversation:

Starter: I remember you from the last few days. Welcome back.

SS: Yes, my wife and I played the Old on Saturday... were you there?

Starter: Yes, I was in the starter's hut that day.

SS: I'm a bit surprised that you'd have taken note of me, as everyone else seemed more focused on our playing partner.

Starter: The young lady? She did have quite the lovely swing....

SS: Yeah, I tried to convince my wife that it was her swing I was admiring, but that sale didn't go down any better.

The legend of Jenna lives.  I tried to explain that she might not have broken 90, but he was off in his rich fantasy land....

We have just about given up on finding playing partners, when two singles, both Yanks, show up and off we go.

The bunker is very reminiscent of that found on the Old:

This is my moment of greatest distress, as my ball miraculously stops short of a nasty greenside bunker:

The shot's a bit tougher than it looks, on a more severe downslope than it appears, but your humble correspondent gags on the chip, dumping it into the bunker.  These things happen in the best of families, but in that moment I'm angrier than a Dane in the haar....

This photo comes of well, I think, picking up the devilish contouring around the greens:

My ball is just at the bottom of the frame, and the instinct is to pull the putter, but the ground route is a challenging read.

I believe the photo below is the Par-5 eighth, where the challenge is to find a safe place to land one's golf ball:

I'll remind that we're seeing everything in soft conditions, where the runout is somewhat controllable.  The challenge is she's running fast is obvious, as you'd have to lay the second way back to ensure it doesn't run forever into one the bunkers.

The green is quite good as well, laced between two dunes with intimidating bunkers to draw one's eye:

Old Tom has a reputation of designing straight golf holes, but he knows how to provide interesting angles as well.  My second is pulled to the left, and I'm quite lucky to avoid that singleton bunker on the left of the photo above.  But this is the resulting view I have of my target:

The ninth is a lovely one-shotter that runs along the Eden Estuary:

This is a good view of the nature of the ground, with gorse bushes seemingly everywhere:

And this view back to the famous 11th hole on the Old:

It feels vast out here....this is the ninth green:

Another sepia mishap at a lovely spot on the inbound nine:

Not to bore you too much wit my own travails, but it was a day where I hit it well enough, though not as solidly as previously.  We've played the Old in a virtual dead calm, but wind is up on this day.  Not at the strength we've seen earlier in the trip, but it's a strong presence.  We play homeward in a right-to-left wind, and my attempts to keep the ball down are adding quite a bit of draw spin, but this why wind is the ultimate test.

I know better than to submit to the tyranny of the scorecard, and yet when we play the Old in calm conditions, I'm annoyed when my 6-5 finish leaves me with an 80.  The better approach is to focus on the shotmaking, enjoying pulling off those specifically linksy plays.  Today offers many such opportunities around the greens, and I'm dialed in on those runners struck with an eight or nine-iron, using my putting stroke.  After I finish with three tasty such up-and-ins on our final three holes, playing partner Ralph comments that I've been using that shot with dead weight all day....  The only thing missing would be the hear it in a Scottish brogue....

The home green:

A fine test of golf, it makes a fellow wonder how it would be received if not in the shadow of its older brother.  Think of it as Bethpage Red, perhaps, though this seems unnecessarily hedged:

This makes it one of the oldest "new" courses in the world!

One of?  Is it remotely possible there a new that's older? 

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.