As we enter the home stretch, the weather becomes our primary concern for our remaining time in country.  In fact, the weather was the lede story from yesterday's golf...

As I hinted at in yesterday morning's ruminations, another unseasonably warm day was forecast, and Employee No. 2 and I lathered ourselves appropriately with sunscreen (sun cream in the local argot).  But somewhere between the village of Crail and the Society's carpark, we entered an entirely different microclimate, far more humid, cooler and with a low cloud ceiling.  One could almost get the sense that the weather is highly changeable...

Heading to the golf shop, we ran into David Snodgrass, only the second Head Professional in the long history of the Crail Golfing Society.  The odd bit, about which I've never asked, is that Graeme Lennie, David's predecessor and a bit of an institution in Scottish golf, was appointed in 1986, leaving one to ponder the 200 years from 1786 until 1986, wherein no head professional was deemed necessary....

Jack, one of the young men who works in the shop, was kind enough to set up our trolley (Theresa has brought me over the dark side, as I'm now digging the power trolleys), and Theresa asked him about the weather prognosis.  After the obligatory, "I don't really know," Jack explained that it was sunny when he arrived for work, but shortly thereafter the haar rolled in.  I'm sorry, did you say haar?  It just so happens to be a localized meteorological condition with which the bride and I have a passing familiarity....

Per Wikipedia:

In meteorology, haar or sea fret is a cold sea fog. It occurs most often on the east coast of Great Britain between April and September, when warm air passes over the cold North Sea.[1][2] The term is also known as har, hare, harl, harr and hoar.

Sea fret?  I like that and you might see it pop up in these pages from time to time.  A proper haar is no joking matter, as it can feature dense fog with unexpected high viscosity, icy particulates that'll sting your face nicely, thank you very much.

To be fair, there are haars and there are haars, and this wasn't anything remotely like the full frontal version described in the link above from our 2019 trip.  I did throw an undershirt under my golf shirt, but played the entire round without needing the long-sleeved jumper, so I took to calling this version an haarette....

We've no need to spend much time today on the golf, as I played the Craighead and Theresa enjoyed her walk.  We had thrown her putter into my bag, but there it stayed all day.  It might have been our quickest round ever in Scotland at exactly three hours, a delightfully brisk pace in which my camera, like Theresa's putter, stayed mostly in my golf bag.  Mostly I just handed the camera to Theresa on the Par-3's, because were something magical to happen.... 

This from the third hole confirms the absence of anything magical but, more importantly, gives you a feel for that haarette in which we/I played.  Again no issues with the hand, in fact the only time I was conscious of it was on my last full swing of the day, a chunked long-iron to the final green, which left me in linksy, hellish no-man's land:

The wind was down and the bride and I took some video of the options for playing this shot.  Alas, for now, this is just a placeholder, as the video is too large to embed in this post.  Before posting this I'll attempt to edit it down to a size that will allow me to embed it.

Success!

At the risk of sounding the braggart, that wee pitch was hit off turf the consistency of asphalt, and you'll skull it more often than you'll pull it off.  Of course, had I skulled it, you'd never have seen the video.... 

Homebound - We grabbed a quick pint at the club's bar, where I grabbed some photos of those final holes on the Balcomie.  Are you familiar with the agricultural term, the "Back Forty"?

Definition of back forty

: a remote and uncultivated or undeveloped piece of land of indefinite size (as on a farm)

I call these the Back Four.... 

It's the 18th green in the front right of the frame, and the fifteenth green closer to the Sea.  Just over that wall to the right is the 10th hole on the Craighead, which can be seen better in this photo:

As of our arrival home, the haar had not made it as far as Pittenweem, although I had noticed a change in the wind direction.  It had been out of the west previously, but seemed to be coming out of the east yesterday, off the North Sea, and Pittenweem is due west of Crail, so....

We had done an ice cream run on Wednesday, something that was a daily feature of our trips in bygone days.  Now your humble blogger has been limiting his dairy intake, but how many times can one pass this establishment without supporting the local merchants:

I can't make it out in my photo, but the ice cream is touted as being from Janetta's, the go-to Gelataria in St. Andrews.  Late afternoon the bride sends me on an ice cream run, in which comedy ensued.

First, sometime between our arrival home and my dispatch to the ice cream shop, the haar arrived in Pittenweem.  So, dressed in a tee shirt and shorts I was freezing on the short walk, the wind whipping along the harbor.  Complaining about the cold in Scotland is akin to taking coal to Newcastle, but my bemusement was at how quickly we had internalized those unusually warm days.

The other bit is quite silly, as I've been living in a pair of L.L. Bean cargo shorts through the heat wave.  I did forget one step, however, as I used the belt I usually wear with these shorts for golf, and left the house uncinched.  I typically throw my camera, which is small but heavy, in, along with all the other accoutrement, so there's a bit of weight to be support, and en route to the ice cream shop I found I needed to constantly hitch up the shorts.

It was the walk home that devolved into comedy, as the necessity of hitching up those shorts was complicated by the two tubs of ice cream in my hands, and I contemplated various scenarios of dropping trou in the historic Pittenweem Harbor, or worse, tripping over them and performing a face-plant for the Art Festival crowd.  It felt a very senior moment, funny for sure, and yet also just a wee bit alarming in that preview of coming attractions sort of way.

Some photos of Pittenweem in its haarette:

Didn't keep them from the tidal pool:

Didn't think there would be enough light to capture this image at full zoom, but it came out pretty well:

On our walk home we saw these guys, Turtledoves per my avian authority:

Given the day's weather, I didn't know what to make of this Art Festival sign:

Who knew?  Unsure why you'd want a nasty localized weather phenomenon in the name of your textile brand, but that's above my pay grade...

Supermoon - As you've likely heard, we've just had ourselves the last super moon of the year, one amusingly called a Sturgeon Moon.  OK, perhaps it wasn't technically a Supermoon:

Is the Sturgeon Moon a 'supermoon'?

The National Space Centre said it did not consider the Sturgeon Moon to be close enough to the Earth to be called a "supermoon". Although there is no official definition, it said supermoons must be closer than 360,000km, but last night's, which peaked at 02:36 BST, was 361,408km away.

So, a supermoonette, perhaps? 

Amusing to see it bear that name while in Scotland, mostly because they're largely lost their appetite for sturgeon over the last couple of years.... Or, so it seems to this visitor.

theresa was up in the middle of the night at got a look at the moon, and took this great photo with her phone:

That would sell in a heartbeat at the Pittenweem Art Festival, no?

We are off to the Bowhouse Farmers Market for provisions then to the Craighead.  Based upon the weather forecast, we swapped out tomorrow's game for one this afternoon, which may have been unnecessary.  Nonetheless, it's another beautiful day (not that it being beautiful in Pittenweem has any relevance to Crail), and Madam has commenced with the smack talk....

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.

East To The Craighead

Back in the day, Employee No. 2 and I used to schedule our trips for September, when kids are back in school and their parents back to work.  In more recent years that's evolved to August, due to a light golf calendar at Fairview, as well as an understandable desire to be as far as humanly possible from a television during the FedEx Cup.... Hey, you can't be too careful.

But the golf news is coming at us pretty fast this August, and it's triggering some mixed emotions in your humble blogger.  I'm itching to blog it all of course, I mean that doofus attorney called the FedEx Cup the "Super Bowl of Golf"!  How does a fellow not write 1,000 words on the Saudis hiring an attorney that can't spell "Golf."  But I digress....

Shall we set aside our crocodile tears for Talor Gooch and talk some golf?

One of the obvious appeals of Crail Golfing Society is that it features 36 holes of golf, a relative rarity in these parts.  More to the point, at Crail the second course is far more than an after-thought, Gil Hanse's first original design.  Where other clubs have a second course, such as the Struie at Dronoch, it's quite a step down, though I should add that my opinion is offered without having actually played the Struie....  

Blessed with an historic, if quirky Old Tom Morris original, the folks at Crail had the good sense to create a second golfing experience based upon the nature of the available land, which presented no shortage of challenges, as per this from Golf Club Atlas:

Hindsight shows that the Society made a correct decision because a very fine course is the result despite there being several limitations that complicated the design task. Firstly, the property was only 114 acres, which is small for a windy site, and that was exacerbated by the fact that it was irregular in shape. Also, though the property is located along the coastline of the North Sea, it is clifftop and as such, it isn’t true links land blessed with natural humps and bumps. Indeed, the property is on broadly sloping ground with holes 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, and 11 on one side of a gentle hillcrest and the remaining holes on the other.

Not true linksland?  Care to step aside and settle this like men?

I'm not a geologist, nor do I play one on TV, but there is no shortage of links on headlands and clifftops, though certainly this parcel of land is quite different than the grounds on which the Balcomie sits.

More personally, as Theresa and I headed to the first tee, which is set awkwardly across the entry road, I took out her sand wedge and dropped a couple of balls to chip.  The first ball landed with a thud equivalent to dropping a ball on the hood of a Pontiac, so I'm declaring these grounds authentic linksland (I'll defer the update on my hand until the end of the post, but it's good news, indeed).

There's two other architectural points to make, the first in the words of Gil Hanse:

‘One of the most interesting challenges we had to deal with at Crail was the emphasis on the archaeological importance of the site. Running through a section of the site is The Danes Dyke, which is a wall that was erected by the Danes and it precedes the birth of Christ. Adjacent to the course is the ancient harbour of Crail, which is one of the oldest harbours in Scotland. The Vikings would land in this harbour and then set forth to rape and pillage the Fife countryside. After some bruising battles, they finally erected a wall as a last line of defense, before getting in their boats and setting sail for home. Needless to say, this is a very important archaeological site, and one that is remarkably preserved. Our challenge was to route the golf course on a small piece of property, and use this wall as a strategic feature because their was no way to avoid it. With the archaeological interest in the site, the Club had to hire a full time archaeologist to follow us around site. So whenever, my associate Rodney Hine, or I went to shape a green or bunker, this guy had to sift through the dirt before we could proceed with final shaping. It worked our okay, because he was a good guy, and oddly enough he was Danish. I also think that we used the wall in several creative ways, as well as in varied ways on the holes that it intersects. It does create a few blind situations, however, the Scots are not as squeamish as we are about blind shots, and I thought that this might be a great opportunity to incorporate the element of blindness into one of our courses. ‘

Yanno, people have gotten so damn precious, a little raping and pillaging isn't such a big thing....It's an ever-present feature and used cleverly by Hanse.

One last bit and then I'll set my architectural geekiness aside:

Apart from the ancient walls, the land itself was only moderately interesting and it was up to the architect to instill character into the holes. And knowing that your handiwork would always be compared to Old Tom Morris’s Balcomie course across the club entrance drive didn’t make the task any easier!

After the routing, Hanse focused his energies on the two design elements that would matter the most: the bunkering and the green complexes. Hanse did little shaping with the rest of the property as such movement of dirt would have invariably looked manufactured and man-made.

The bunkers have revetted faces but Hanse wanted more than just that. According to Hanse,

‘We also wanted to be a bit more artistic with the bunker shapes, and we were able to change the angle of the revetting in order to accomplish that look. Walter Woods, the former greenkeeper of the Old Course, came down every now and again to give us some advice, and he was quite keen on our bunker shapes. Jim Finegan also gave us some nice complements on the bunkering, stating that it was ‘the nearest thing to Muirfield bunkering, apart from the great course itself.’

That's must be the liquor talking, because Muirfield's bunkering is the gold standard.  But we find many homages, such as this from the third hole:

As you can see, the turf is quite crisp and the ball is running forever.  The bride and I have had some amusing moments as she's attempted to adjust.  First, we're on the Balcomie on Monday, with Tessie about to play into the eight green (that's the outbound hole on the their double green:

Me: Sweetie, you can't hit just yet.

Employee No. 2: What are you talking about? They're like 180 yards away?

Me: All the same, please wait.....

At home, she probably drives the ball 150-160 yards, but she then proceeds to hit her 3-wood onto the front collar, some 179 1/2 yards.... Thanks God she had an experienced caddie....

Fast forward to yesterday on the Craighead, where on the Par-3 17th hole, playing some 140-145 yards, she pulled her driver:

Me: Sweetie, that's way too much club.

Employee No. 2: What are you talking about? It's a little uphill.....

Me: Yes, but it's downwind and it's gonna run forever.....

 I then proceed to find her ball in the deep hay a good thirty yards over the green....

On No. 18, a similar conversation ensues over the approach shot:

Me: Sweetie, please tell me that's your 5-wood.

Employee No. 2: No, it's the 3-wood.....

Me: We're still downwind and I'm thinking your 3-wood will put you in the North Sea...

Whereupon her 5-wood runs over the green.....

It's crazy hard pulling a club in such conditions, but it's equally rewarding when you pull it off.  Of course we've done this before, but the last few times we've been here it's been lush and soft, so no surprise that the adjustment is a tricky thing.  We had some great laughs over our foibles, so it's all in good fun.

Shall we show you what the Craighead looks like?

This was one of Theresa's best shots of the trip, cleverly played to the left side of the second green, utilizing the slopes to feed the ball towards the hole:

I believe this reverie is on the Par-3 seventh:

The weather has been spectacular, if anything perhaps a bit too warm.... Our third floor bedroom was bit too warm last night, and the great weather is forecast to continue through the weekend.  Alas, next week doesn't look nearly as good, but it's hopefully far enough out on the event horizon to ignore for now.

We'll title this one Still life with Tessie and Sausage Roll:

They are quite good and hit the spot mid-round.

The routing takes one on the back nine over towards those back four holes on the Balcomie, allowing one to see the table at which the post-round lager will be enjoyed:

This of the bride on the 11th tee....

... reminded me of this epic photo of our dear friend Jewelle from 2019:

I know, don't try this at home, kids.

One plays over Dane's Dyke on that 11th hole:

Did I mention that post-round pint?

It was at such a table that we decided, rather impulsively, to join Crail.  

Good News/Bad News - We're obviously learning about Crail, and there's much that falls into each of the header categories.  The good news yesterday was that, as I predicted, pace of play was far better, we got around in just about 3 1/2 hours.  Even with the bride a virtual single, our waiting was always brief and the men's three-ball in front of us moved well.  

The bad news is that there is a drag racing track nearby.  Yesterday we heard one idiot out screeching around, but it was mercifully brief.  However, we're next on the Craighead on Sunday, and a sign at the track  indicates that there's racing on Sunday, so we'll experience the worst of it.  My sense is that future rounds on the Craighead will best be midweek.

As much as we love the quirky Balcomie, we fear that pace of play will always be an issue there, just because of that quirkiness, the six one-shotters and the rather tight playing corridors.  

Hand in Glove - I think you'll agree that the white cap was a fashion stroke of genius, given the Tommy-Two-Gloves look:

But it's mostly good news on that front.  The pain was mostly gone yesterday morning, as evidenced by our ballot entry for the Old Course (which came up snake eyes, as expected).  I took my putter and used the bride's sand wedge, with which I hit reasonably full shots without incident.  She uses the same sand wedge as I do, though the grip is much smaller, perhaps not a bad thing given what my own grip did to my hand.

Amusingly, the only time I felt any pain from the wound, was my own damn fault.  I scooped up my ball left-handed with my putter, but when I caught it in my right hand, it hit that very spot.  A small owie, but probably good for me to know it's still there.

Fashion Commentary - Yeah, I don't go there often, but we can't help what we see, can we?  I was thinking that perhaps our club sets the bar slightly too low with this:

On the Course

We don't mind if you prefer to play your golf in a woolly jumper or performance polyester. If the weather is nice, go on, get the shorts out. We simply ask that you leave behind any replica shirts of your favourite sports team, no beachwear and no sleeveless athletic tops. You never know, looking your best might help you play your best.

But the bride and I were suppressing the giggles when we saw this get-up:

 

One could spend a lifetime acquiring the full kit in lime green, and respect is due for the matching cap and shoes.  But the best part to me I didn't capture in a photo.... every time the wind came up, hos coat caught the breeze and billowed like the the jib sail on a schooner, calling to mind images of George Costanza in his puffy jacker.  Walking into the wind could be problematic, but he'll make good time downwind.

The Evening Stroll - We again ate outdoors, and even Elsie found that remarkable for Scotland.  As an aside, Elsie also told us that, as a young lass, she swam in the Pittenweem pool that I showed a couple of days back.  The water was balmy as she recalls, and she was planning on bringing her swimsuit, until we told her that our neighbors warned us of the jellyfish.  

Tessie went rogue as we began our after-dinner stroll, turning left towards the harbor and village.  Not a bad call:

Still an active fishing village:

Did someone mention that evening light?

And then, as we wound down, it got fiery:

We've an open day ahead with nothing planned, so we'll start to focus on that.  See y'all later....