Legends of the links (part 1)

O.K., lets be perfectly clear about one thing. When I use the expression ‘legends’ in relation to the golfing exploits of Glenny, Robin, Adrian or myself thus far on the trip I am using the word in the sense of ‘legends in our own minds’. To be honest, our golf to this point has not been stellar. The courses –  Lahinch and Doonbeg – have been fantastic; the weather – wonderful. Ireland is in the grip of a heatwave right now and Robin has the sunburn to prove it. Our play, however,  has not really come up to scratch – in fact, if anybody asked me what my handicap is right now my answer would be that I’m an 11 at Glacier Greens and about a 21 on a links course. Blind tee shots to tiny fairways, par 3 holes where you can’t even see the green from the tee (#6 at Lahinch), tricky sidehill lies everywhere and massive greens (#12 at Doonbeg even has a bunker in the middle of it!). There’s golf and then there’s links golf…

With the honourable exception of Robin, no one has yet broken 90 – and this in conditions that are so benign that the starter today said “Gentlemen, da course is at your mercy. Do with her what you will”. After three holes  I was seven over par (yup, seven) and trying to find a pot bunker to bury myself in. Obviously I have excuses. In hindsight, the consumption of six Guinness last night followed by an extremely generous measure of  Balvinie whiskey may not have been ideal preparation. Possibly, too, the choice of the full Irish breakfast (black pudding included) on both mornings may have been a tad unwise. In the end, though, my inability to steer the little white thing  over the mounds of marram grass and onto a safe haven has to be my responsibility and mine alone. (By the way, the course marshall told us today that the marram is known locally as ‘love grass’ – once you’re in it, you’re f*cked…)

Not that there hasn’t been the occasional moment of success: Robin has had a birdie in each round so far, Glenny finished with a sixty foot par saving putt on #18 at Doonbeg today and I myself made a birdie on #14, the par three signature hole perched on the dunes a hundred feet above  the Atlantic Ocean. The Chief has not been at his best to this point but, hopefully, better days are yet to come. Although he did finish with an eye catching 300 yard drive at Doonbeg today, the rest of us appreciated it more for the fact that for once it finished on the fairway and not some distant spot in the love grass. He’s my partner tomorrow, so I’m hoping that this a harbinger of good things. Less impressive, though, were Adrian’s efforts to extricate himself from a cunningly placed pot bunker on #2 today: five attempts with his sand wedge failed to do the trick and he only stopped flailing away when we agreed to give him a berger double. I’d only just finished laughing at his misfortune when I sliced my approach shot on the very next hole and hit a picturesque whitewashed cottage. I mean, really, what were they thinking building it right alongside the golf course? (Actually the cottage looked about 500 years old and the course was opened in 2002). Robin’s ball finished up alongside the dry stone boundary wall and his attempt to play a carom onto the green was spectacularly unsuccessful. Glenny, in the meantime, was waiting patiently to hit a fifteen foot birdie putt which he duly converted and then lectured the rest of us about our pace of play.

A quick word about the accommodation so far. Doonbeg was five star all the way. Glenny fit in as we knew he would – totally at ease, dispensing generous tips (on our behalf) wherever he went; Adrian, the seasoned traveller, was also very comfortable in a pretty luxurious environment and full of laughs and jokes along the way. The surprise package has been Robin – his Clem Kadiddlehopper persona is already changing and I fear that Sandy may not recognise the debonair figure he cut around the hotel. Now we’ve arrived at Ballybunion, a short drive and a twenty minute ferry ride across the Shannon estuary. This is more obviously a golf town. We have 36 holes to play tomorrow and Glen and I have decided to hire caddies, in an attempt to gain an advantage and cut into Robin’s lead in our nine round competition, the Celtic Challenge. I’ve decided upon an alcohol free evening – desperate measures, I know – but I’ll not be abandoning the full Irish breakfast just yet. Will the tactic work? I’ll keep you posted…

All da best.

Dave B.