The Comeback Kid

We'll lead with a local news item that has captivated all of Scotland, to wit, that your humble blogger played 18 holes of golf yesterday.  Touched them all, as they say:

Obviously a big relief for the bride and ownself, as the wound wasn't much of a factor.  I started sporting the two-glove look, but the right-handed glove was discarded on the first fairway.  Fact is, the wound is in a location that shouldn't come into contact with my grip, although we all realize that in the one instance it did.... admittedly with some effed up club-turf interaction.

Elsie's first question, after confirming that there were no further injuries, was, "who won"?.  Alas, we felt compelled to avoid one of our typically internecine battles, to avoid your humble blogger doing anything stupid.  Anything more, that is....

I didn't go as crazy as usual with the photos, I had my own golf to occupy me, and we were moving along quite well, a welcome change from our prior loop on the Balcomie.  We found out later that there was a ladies competition out ahead of us, which limited the visitor tee times.  But it was quite a glorious day out there, featuring a cloudless sky, and I caught a bit of it:

Although, apparently Kingsbarns was burning:

File this under "Things that make your humble blogger laugh":

It's the brolly that triggered the chuckle, for in Scotland that's what your pharmacist would call an off-label use....

We had a group of men from Birmingham in front of us, who were quite helpful to us in pointing out where our shots ended, and they were also far more gracious than they might have been on the seventh hole.  That's a short, downhill Par-4, and the signage instructs to wait until you see the group in front reach the eighth tee before hitting.  

As we waited, a full member and his guest came up the path, and he pushed me to ignore the sign.  I was playing from the back tees, more on that in a sec, and he told me several times that the locals just bang away, so bang I did..... And...well, I shouldn't have:

You should be able to make out my pellet, off the back right section of the green....

From the tips, the Balcomie Links stretches to a s=daunting 5,867 yards, playing to a Par of 69.  You'll be rolling your eyes at that yardage, but there's few data points more irrelevant than yardage on a proper links.  It's a links on which you instinctively feel you should score better than you actually do, not least because of those six Par-3's.

"Beware the injured golfer," they say, and I was that guy yesterday.  The logic of that adage to me is that, in nursing an injury, we stay within ourselves and swing easily.  Which is when the ball goes far, which it seemed to do yesterday.  I think perhaps the best measure of how well I was striping it is that I gave myself three legitimate eagle putts, the longest of which was the one actually on the green (the Par-5 11th).  

I didn't capitalize as I should have, making only the one birdie, but for a guy whose Scottish holiday was in peril, it was quite the welcome relief.  I mostly forgot about the wound while we were playing, though, after removing the bandage and butterfly strips, it's still not a pretty sight.  Function over form, right?

Did I mention how baked out the links are?

I desperately want to crop that photo to remove the buggies, but that would simultaneously crop out the North Sea.  When we first started coming over, a buggy was a rare sight, indeed, but now they are seemingly everywhere, both in front of and behind us on the course.  Meaning, that they're not being used merely by ugly American visitors, but by members as well.

Obviously, to the extent it keeps elderly members playing, that's quite a wonderful thing.  But, to our sensibility, we're seeing far too many members riding that should still be walking, and we would prefer to not export our country's bad habits.  Of course, our legs are beat to hell from the rock hard turf and your humble blogger is feeling twinges of his prior shin splints, so we might end up in a buggy before this very trip ends.

Remember how green Dornoch seemed in comparison?  Ross attributed that to the irrigation system, which the Balcomie has as well.  At least one sees the sprinkler heads out there...  I've no knowledge of the sources of fresh water and the economics thereof but, as per the photo above, the tees and greens are green, but everything else is in various earth tones.  

Madam simply owns this hole:

The walk from 14-green to 15-tee includes a local tourist attraction dating back to the ninth century:

King Constantine I met his maker in this very cave, those raping and pillaging Danes up to their old tricks.

One thing that has bemused your humble blogger over the years is the misuse of terms of art describing golf in these parts, the terms "gorse" and "fescue" for sure, not to mention the most mangled of all, "links".  This is an actual gorse bush:

It is to be avoided at all costs.... there are prickly things that will draw blood, but contact will result in the oil from the bush ending up on your hand or clothes, and you'll spend days and many wash cycles trying to clean it off.  

Theresa has taken me to the dark side yet again, insisting that I rent her the power trollies (fortunately they're not too dear at Crail).  And there's also have a rudimentary GPS system included:

That's her hand trying to block the glare above.... Amusingly, she told me that on the Balcomie, the power cart isn't required for the golf itself, but merely for the trudge from the 18th green to the carpark.  And, yeah, I totally get it:

It's far steeper and longer than it appears here, and I was certainly glad to have one for myself.

Care for some of those random musings?  

Tessie's Bag - A few days back I noted that the bride's golf bag does not include a mechanism to disengage the legs, which renders it impossible to set the bag properly onto a trolley.  We had swapped everything out and she played from my bag on Tuesday, so Wednesday I took her bag out onto our little outdoor sitting to confirm that I wasn't missing anything, then applied my characteristic brute force and ignorance:

Your humble blogger's mechanical incompetence is world renown, but I wrapped it using medical tape purchased for my hand at the Strathpeffer chemist for my hand, and it worked like a charm yesterday.  That will give John a wee chuckle I assume, as he was enlisted to assemble a red wagon one Masters Sunday years ago that remains a source of amusement for us all.  In fact, amongst ourselves, Masters Sunday is still known as Red Wagon Day.

Photos/Videos - I've been mostly pleased with the images I've captured, though it's quite the miracle.  the lens seems quite good, but the LCD screen is very hard to see, which may be more a function of the bright sunshine in which we've been playing.  But the real problem is that, wearing sunglasses, nothing is visible as one frames a picture.  In fact, mostly what I see in the LCD is a reflection of my own face, an alarming prospect indeed....

I've also played briefly with some video, which I'll embed here.  There's little need for you spend much time watching them, but I've always wanted to post a series of videos showing the especially linksy shots we encounter.  the problem though, as you'll quickly see, is the wind, making audio capture at best problematic.

Never mind....Blogger is unwilling to embed any of those three videos due to excessive file size.  You'll just have to pretend that you heard that Scottish wind whipping off the North Sea....

Swim Time - Old Tom Morris famously started each day with a wee dip in the North Sea, easy to conceive of in our current balmy days.  But that includes December and January as well, so we'll not hold ourselves to those standards.  But Tessie began her Thursday by grabbing her booties and heading for the Pittenweem pool:

That's her in the middle right, with no shortage of company.  In fact, we ran into our new friend J.J. whom Theresa had met at the pool the prior morning.  J.J,. recommended a few things, including a Pittenweem fish merchant from whom we purchased our dinner, running into (and meeting, for me) J.J. there.  

As noted above, I had a post in progress yesterday, and I'll now attempt to copy-and-paste those thoughts here.  There may be some loss of continuity, but roll back your tape to Thursday morning:

Weather - It remains wacky warm here in Scotland, as we look forward to a return engagement on the Balcomie, including, hopefully, your humble blogger's first full round of the trip.  We have opened every window in the house, which has occasionally resulted in doors slamming from the breeze.  

The weather, alas, regresses to the mean next week when Elsie and John arrive.  Nothing that yet sounds too ominous, but certainly some showers out and about.  I'm relying on terms such as "mostly cloudy"... they wouldn't lie to the colonists, would they?

In any event, I'm about to do something rare, apply sunscreen before going out to play.  I remember a trip to Ireland that required lotion, but otherwise au natural is not an issue at this latitude.

Friday Morning Update: The sunscreen was a good call, as certain bits of my body are as brown as the turf.  I managed to grab a time on the Craighead today, and the bride currently plans to merely walk with me, but sunscreen will be needed again.

Morning Light - With all the focus on the evening light, the morning light deserves a moment, well, in the sun:

Madam enjoyed her cuppa on the pier:

And we keep meeting the friendly locals:

Wednesday - We both had a low-energy day, so we stayed close to home base, though that included a spin over to Elie's "Award Winning" beach (as a snarky aside, pretty much everything here is touted as "award winning"):

The wind was down for the bulk of the day, so we missed a scoring day on the links (of course, it might have been blowing a gale out at exposed Crail).  Though it did pick up later in the afternoon.

We needed a few things at the Coop, and Madam grabbed herself a pair of swimming booties.  More on that later.

The Hand - It's for sure much improved, not that it feels much different from Tuesday, when I took those fullish swings with T's sand wedge.  The most interesting bit on the hand is that the bride is now suggesting that I post the photo, worried that my readership will consider me a wuss for not playing.

My reaction to that is twofold.  First, I saw all five adults recoil in horror at seeing the actual wound, as well as to the thought of my posting it on the blog.  Secondly, folks that put up with my rantings are by now familiar with my lust for links golf.... I'm pretty sure you all figured out that, if I'm leaving the clubs in the boot, it's because I've no other choice.

Friday Morning Update: It's still not a pretty thing with the bandage off, so we'll just hope our luck continues.

Pittenweem - The Art Festival hasn't really been anything more than a minor inconvenience.  More folks out and about for sure, making our path home by car a bit tricky.  Police are preventing any cars, except those of residents such as ourselves, from the village, so the art lovers consider the streets their walking paths, not unreasonably.  It's also true that they can't hear our hybrid, so we leave some rubber to announce our presence.... I kid!

We ambled through the village yesterday afternoon and ducked into a good number of the Art Festival venues, all indicated by sky blue signage.  The art, including ceramics, is about what you'd expect, including a wide range of watercolor renderings of the beautiful harbors and villages.  Of course, there are always those that consider themselves avant garde, but it's hard for my little brain to process what would make someone do this:

When your "art" is merely the desecration of others' art, perhaps some anger management counselling is indicated?  Just saying'!

Over dinner last night, the bride asked my thoughts on Pittenweem, as compared to St. Monans and the other villages.  A fair question, though we agreed that we really need to let the Arts Festival end (which is Friday or Saturday), to render a verdict.  

Driving - This is always a fascination of the folks at home, wherein the following conversation recurs:

Rando American:  The one thing I know I could never do is drive on the left side of the road.

Me: Trust me, that's the least of it....

As I noted previously, the actual driving on the left-hand side of the road is fairly straight forward, the only real risk comes in those moments where instinct takes over.  We've only had the one of those, though perhaps it's better to not tempt the fates.

The real challenge is that everything here is on a substantially smaller scale than we're used to.  These are a couple of photos of the High Street from Pittenweem, a wide boulevard compared to many of the streets in these tiny villages:

But not present in these photos is the prevailing law of the jungle, whereby they park anywhere and everywhere, leaving sufficient space for a compact car to slide through....arguably, with appropriate lubrication.

The access to our house is odd to say the least, and on several of our evening strolls the parked cars at the end of the harbor road have had us wondering if we'd get through....  Of course, we always have, but we're just not accustomed to operating in such tight corridors, especially with an unfamiliar rental car.  But that's also why it's almost impossible to get through a Scottish trip without scraping something, most typically the tires and rims of said rental car.  

I've got some photos of Pittenweem to share, but that will necessarily have to keep until later, as there's a wound that needs dressing and double bogeys to be recorded.