Lundin Calling

We're off to Lundin Golf Club in the tiny hamlet of Lundin Links....  Yes, that's entirely correct, the town has links in its name and the club does not....  Almost as confusing as finding the access road to the club.

It's a bright, blustery day, and the latest forecast indicates that the rain will hold off long enough to allow us to complete our round.  Thus far, the Met. Office has called the timing of rain reasonably well, not that you'd want to start relying on it to any great extent.  Where they've missed, it's been on the apocalyptic stuff, and we'll not complain of the hail and thunderstorms that have failed to materialize.

The clubhouse and golf shop are found right above Largo Bay, and the practice green seems well-suited to curing an unnamed golfer of his speed issues:

Unlike the prior day at Leven, the wind is howling from the start.  And being the mirror image of Leven, we'll start directly into the teeth of it...  Anyone not arriving on form, seems quite unlikely to find it on these first four holes.

The comparisons to Leven are unavoidable....  There, between the clubhouse and water were the kind of ticky-tacky amusements, some kind of action park as I recall.  Here, nothing blocks one's view of the Firth, and stately homes tower over the first and finishing holes.  Heck, even the warm-up cage has million dollar views:

Elsie and John's older son Ross arrives, and captures this image of his elders:

John's resemblance to Pete Townsend seems indisputable, though with baseball cap and shades he appears to this observer to have some Miguel Angel Jimenez showing....  Though, of course, I can't tell for certain without a cigar fired up.

We send the girls on ahead:

The first four holes are really as good as it gets, proper links golf for sure.  This of John gives a sense of the contours of the ground:

Amusingly, the setting dial on my camera inadvertently moves, and I capture Ross' swing in this sepia-toned image:

The amusement, of course, derives from that fact that in a dryer year, the course would look exactly like this.... Ross, not so much.

These first four holes all feature tees up on the ridge line, with lovely views in all directions, including this back towards town:

The shortish second and third holes are manageable even into the wind, but the first and fourth (403 and 415 yards from the members tees, respectively) are brutes.  Two good shots on the first leaves me some twenty yards short of the green, and it would take a small bucket to be closer.

Reaching Mile Dyke is inevitably a bit of a letdown, because the best of the golf is behind us.  But what strikes me this pass through is that both clubs have wedged little side-by-side Par-3's (with apologies to Ross for not capturing his best side):

Here's a better one of the lad:

The young man generates some serious speed, and hits it a good way.  However, later in the burst mode sequence comes this...  I want a ProTracer on the kid's divot:

James Braid, who designed Lundin's new nine holes, then sends us inland, across the old railway right-of way.  The good news is three consecutive short Par-4's.... the bad news is that old rail line, now a walking path, is OB right the entire way.  The other bad news, at least for your humble correspondent, is that end of each of these holes features a putting green.... Yes, the putting woes and three-jacks continue, notwithstanding my perfect speed on that practice green.  

The tee shots have this kind of look to them:

There's an aiming post there, not sure whether you can make it out in the photo.  Nos. 7 and 8 feature wee burns bisecting the fairways, leaving a delicate flip wedge, a decidedly unlinksy kind of play on No. 7:

Downwind, even in soft conditions, that's a tester, and I inevitably end up on the back fringe.  Equally inevitably, I three-putt....  Grrrrrr!!!

Braid then takes us further inland, to two decidedly parkland-style golf holes.  The first is an uphill Par-3 that seems impossible to not over-club on, and a five-par with trees protecting the green.  

The downhill 14th, a Par-3, is called Perfection, though it's a bit of split verdict there...  We see the girls below in all sorts of compromising positions, though fortunately for them my photos are too blurry to use here.  

We then start the trudge for home, mercifully, blessedly straight downwind.  Except for the finisher, the holes are short, especially the 280-yard 16th, where my drive finds a greenside bunker.  Of course I fail to get it up-and-in, remaining birdieless in the Home of Golf.

That last bit is far less frustrating than John winning our Stableford for the second consecutive day, and this time it wasn't remotely close.  John has obviously forgotten the lesson of his forbears... back to that Wikipedia page:

However, his ruthless pursuit of power produced many enemies. He was ambushed and killed in 1363.

Let that be a lesson to you....

We're joined for our post-golf drink by Ross's wife Dace and their six-month old Sebastian, and we are privileged to see Elsie go into doting grandmother mode:

Of course, the reader will hardly be shocked that the doting was not limited to Elsie:

Yanno, it's enough to make a fellow forget his putting woes.  

A delightful dinner at Dreel Tavern completed the day.  This isn't much of a photo, but the pub was barely tall enough for me, and I therefore fear John will arise with curvature of the spine:

We now come to that sad juncture, where our friends will depart to resume their lives.  John and Elsie are off Friday morning, back to their Highlands lair.  Of course, they're already scheming a drive-by to Ross and Dace's home for another Seb fix.... And really, why wouldn't they?  

The other news item is that we appear to have hit the lottery and have an early morning Saturday tee time on The Old Course.  A shame that it's early, as Jewelle departs later that morning, but it was in the hands of the gods.