Loved your thought on not recalling where to hit blind shot, even the next day. On my first trip across the pond for a frat brother's wedding in Ireland, we had a glorious round at Lahinch. Upon arriving the weather looked "iffy" as the skies blackened and the winds started to howl, but the goats paid the impending weather no mind. The silly Americans put on their foul weather gear, as the members in the bar looked out and laughed. By the time we went to the tee, the skies had cleared. "Lads, you must pay attention to the goats, not the sky."
Our three ball took off with great anticipation. My buddy Steve had played the previous day, with a member, so we at least had a guide... or so we thought. Once we reached the third or fourth tee (memory fails, as this was summer of '84!), we looked around and saw nothing but large dunes. Where do we go, which way? "Uh, I don't remember." Then... "oh yeah, you hit it over that white rock on the hill." What club can we hit? "Uh, I don't remember." Much good natured abuse followed. Dell, Klondyke, Old Tom. Blind shots, quirk, things we don't get here in the States with our point A to point B golf. Great memories of great fun.
Mark, I get so much pleasure from reading your own reminiscing...I also LOVE Lahinch, and suffered at the fate of what I thought was an urban myth about the goats heading for the clubhouse. Far too long since I was last there! Thanks for the nudge to return...
Loved your thought on not recalling where to hit blind shot, even the next day. On my first trip across the pond for a frat brother's wedding in Ireland, we had a glorious round at Lahinch. Upon arriving the weather looked "iffy" as the skies blackened and the winds started to howl, but the goats paid the impending weather no mind. The silly Americans put on their foul weather gear, as the members in the bar looked out and laughed. By the time we went to the tee, the skies had cleared. "Lads, you must pay attention to the goats, not the sky."
Our three ball took off with great anticipation. My buddy Steve had played the previous day, with a member, so we at least had a guide... or so we thought. Once we reached the third or fourth tee (memory fails, as this was summer of '84!), we looked around and saw nothing but large dunes. Where do we go, which way? "Uh, I don't remember." Then... "oh yeah, you hit it over that white rock on the hill." What club can we hit? "Uh, I don't remember." Much good natured abuse followed. Dell, Klondyke, Old Tom. Blind shots, quirk, things we don't get here in the States with our point A to point B golf. Great memories of great fun.
Thanks, as always for rekindling the memories.
Mark, I get so much pleasure from reading your own reminiscing...I also LOVE Lahinch, and suffered at the fate of what I thought was an urban myth about the goats heading for the clubhouse. Far too long since I was last there! Thanks for the nudge to return...
Wonderful! No nonsense authenticity again!
Must get back there
Played it many years ago and loved so many of the blind holes
Perfect yet again. Thanks, Richard, for making my morning ritual, a simple cappuccino, no nonsense, yet vitally important.
Al, thinking of you starting the day with a nice coffee and my rambling blog makes me very happy in turn!
Great fun playing with Simon and yourself!!