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The members in the hut yelled out at us to go
ahead and play through. Apparently they knew
something we didn't. Searching in my back pocket of
my rain pants for the scorecard, I pulled it out to
get a yardage. Just at that moment, a voice pierced
through the driving wind and rain, in a thick Irish
brogue,
"Doonut bother lookin' at the card laddie,
....it's awl ya gut in the bog."
John and I looked at each other, knowing right away
that what we just heard was so true and so timely.
We could only chuckle nervously knowing the task at
hand required special attention.
With no hesitation we both plucked our drivers from
the bag.
It was my honor and as the ball left the clubface I
knew it had been struck pure and true. Off the ball
flew, never leaving the flagstick, battling the
elements, coming safely to rest on the green, some
30 feet beyond the pin. Now it was John's turn, and
he did not disappoint. His tee shot also was
beautifully struck and rocketed off through the
squall, finding the green, nearer the pin than mine!
Of course we were thrilled to have hit two such
wonderful shots under those trying conditions, but
even sweeter was the fact that they were witnessed
by the "dwellers" of the hut. They shouted… "well
done!" and off we trudged.
Later in the clubhouse after the round, now sitting
with our father James, we were chatting with the
members who had played that day, about how the
course played, the weather, local color and such.
My brother and I were surprised to hear how others
who had played that day had seen our shots… on this
hole or that hole, and remarked how well we had
played the famous course.
More>>
Page 1,
Page 2,
Page 3Photograph by James J. Von Lossow
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