Castlerock Leg of Mutton

What’s the craic like? is a question fired at me time and again. And time and again I say that’s it’s impossible to tell, and impossible to include in a review because during the winter months clubhouses close at 5pm or are empty at 8pm on a weekday. In terms of having an absolute blast I can safely say that Castlerock was fantastic fun. Not only did I stagger out of the clubhouse at 11.30pm, I staggered out again at 2pm the following day.

I arrived on President’s Day – it was their second attempt – and the afternoon had turned miserable. In the face of such angst, several golfers returned to the clubhouse to drown their sorrows. When I arrived later and set up in the bar, my computer out, my review of Roe Park faltering across the laptop’s screen, there was that volume that only comes from the enjoyably inebriated.

“What you doing?” A bleary eyed man stared at me and then scooted unsteadily around behind my chair to investigate. He was so close I was inclined to ask whether we were on a date. I explained what I was up to. Bad idea.

“Mr. President,” he roared. “I have a book over here writing a man.”

Indeed.

The President pottered over, shook my hand and welcomed me. I discovered later that his 50th wedding anniversary was the Saturday before – the day before my parents’ 45th. “They’re just getting started,” he barked with a laugh.

And then Mervyn arrived. Big Merv. He settled down in the chair opposite and we began chatting. A mine of information was our Merv. Not, he happily admitted, a proper golfer, which was amusing since two of his brothers-in-law were the professionals at Bundoran and Donegal. And as if that wasn’t enough, another brother-in-law arrived at the bar. Paul McNicol. Paul, his dad, Merv and one other caddied some years ago for a bunch of Americans who flew in to play Castlerock. The four were Michael Douglas, Dan Marino, the guy who owns the Miami Dolphins (and made his millions collecting garbage) and his son. So the game commences and they’re standing on the tee when a 13 year old walks over and asks Dan Marino who he is and what he does.
‘I’m a footballer’, Marino says.
‘Yea?’ says the boy, ‘were you any good?’
‘I was OK,’ Marino replies. ‘Actually, I was the best there’s ever been.’
If you’re non-plussed by this, Dan Marino was the quarterback for the Miami Dolphins for many years in the 80s. In essence he was the Colin Montgomerie of American Football – regarded as the best but he never brought home the big prize.

Paul had another story – he was a young boy when he caddied for Fred Daly and he distinctly remembers Fred asking him for his advice on his second shot on the par five 11th. ‘A 4 wood’, Paul responded. Fred agreed and stitched it to a couple of feet for his eagle. Paul doesn’t remember anything else – before or after – which myself and Mervyn found terribly convenient in terms of story-telling.
“So, what was it like caddying for John Daly?” Mervyn needled.
“No,” I said, holding up my hand before Paul could respond. “Not John Daly. It was Frank Daly, wasn’t it Paul?”
“Who’s Frank Daly? Mervyn countered. “Never heard of him.”
“Oh he’s some golfer,” I replied. “Not very good, plays off 15 I think.”
And so it went on.
Paul just kept on smiling, in that way that tells you he’s about to throttle you. But instead he bought another round.

Mervyn’s son is currently in America (Florida, Las Vegas and New York), and is rather sweet on Nicola, who was the gorgeous young lass behind the bar. With a smile like hers I don’t think he should stay away too long.

I found out a fair bit about Castlerock Golf Club – in all honesty I don’t remember that much – and after the bar shutters were pulled down and I’d managed to sidestep the suggestion of going on somewhere else, I sat in the camper desperately trying to remember the previous few hours. Not very well evidently.

My tee time was 7.30am but I had been warned that even that early I would encounter the early morning golfers. At 7.15 there was a heaving throng and I waited my turn. They were all three balls so I assumed it was a competition. But as I walked up the 2nd, one of the guys in front came back in his buggy and asked if I wanted to join them.

Tommy has two plastic hips – hence the buggy – and was going to Puerto Rico the next day for two weeks, so it was no surprise he was taking it easy. He plays off 14, Cedric off 12 and Jimmy off 10. Once I hooked up with them on the 3rd tee, it came down to how much money and what pairings. I played with Tommy and it turned into an excellent day’s golf. We were one down after 8 – my birdie on the par five 5th being trumped by Jimmy’s eagle. Then two down after 11 when Cedric rolled in a 30 footer for birdie. I played the last eight holes in level par and we still lost a further hole. Three down overall and yet Tommy had 42 points on his card. Apart from two blow-outs my card was good too, but it showed once again how important it is on a links course to play with someone who knows the course. There aren’t many blind shots – plenty of flags are visible – but knowing which side of the fairway to hit or how best to approach some of the tricky greens made all the difference. And while driving is mostly straightforward, you can only watch in dismay as balls roll across fairways (7, 10) or fail to clear dunes that appear closer than they are.

With Royal Portrush and Portstewart so very close by, and always getting rave reviews, it’s great that Castlerock can be mentioned in the same breath. Especially as the wicked par three 4th (OB is left of the creek which I, um, didn’t know), which is called Leg of Mutton. The other leg has strayed and is currently residing on the 9th at Lisburn.

And since a fair amount of this blog seems to be about drink, I should point out that Tommy brought along some liquid refreshment. Bishop Daly’s special brew, apparently. It appeared magically on the 12th, and I was in no position to refuse the entertainingly reddish liquid that was offered to me – even if I’d wanted to. How did it go down? I suggest you take a three iron and hit yourself in the back of the head. How did it taste? Exquisite. What was in it? I haven’t a clue, but please sir, can I have some more. Actually, seeing as I’ve already had a blog comment from Gordon, one of the Sunday morning crew, I’m hoping he might offer up another one with the special ingredients so you can all go off and get trollied.

And then it was back to the bar. Again. And after a beautifully sunny morning, it promptly began to rain.

Make the most of Moyola Park

When you play nearby courses and talk to various people in the clubhouse, you’ll always hear various tidbits about the course you’re going to next. Perhaps I wasn’t listening closely enough, because Moyola Park took me completely by surprise. And it hides it all so well, especially as your drive in cuts the 5th in half – it doesn’t look particularly interesting and it is very dangerous to vehicles, as golfers can’t see the road from the tee box.

But Moyola Park is a serious estate parkland course. Huge trees are everywhere and the River Moyola has a beautiful, wide darkness to it as it fronts the 8th hole which is set in a beautiful arboretum. The river appears again on one of the prettiest par threes around – the 17th – a downhill hole that demands at least a couple of tee shots, purely for the thrill of it. You then have a long walk to the 18th – coincidentally, back past the 8th green and over the bridge – and there are few of these walks. I’m always amused at how golfers grab onto something this and milk it for all its worth. Ask someone to describe Rathsallagh and almost the first thing they say is that there are long walks from green to tee – yet there are only two, and compared with Moyola Park they’re a short stroll. If you’re walking the best part of five or six miles around a golf course surely an extra few yards isn’t going to hurt. And if it does hurt, don’t come here. All that will happen is that you will miss a beautiful parkland course.

The day after my visit was the Captain’s Prize – it was the second attempt after the terrible rains. Dunmurry, which I played a few weeks back, took four attempts, and it is a common complaint at the moment. It seems to be almost guaranteed that if you want to play golf in Ireland in August, you’re going to get wet. And with locker room towels at Moyola Park costing £4.50, you might want to make sure that you bring your own.

Killymoon – Everybody Loves Raymond

I wanted to title my book review, Moon River, and then say “Chevy Chase, anyone?” but I couldn’t find a rational link. So it’s here on the blog instead.

I’m rapidly beginning to realise that glitterballs are big business in Northern Ireland. I just can’t figure out if NI are a couple of decades behind, or whether courses down south are missing a trick.

I met a variety of people at Killymoon – Norman knew I was coming and dropped over to me in the bar the night before I played and, the following day, he introduced me to Jack, the club’s President. Conversations ensued with some other folk, but it was my encounter with Raymond that definitely made my day.

A 6am tee-off is a tad early, even for me, especially when it’s so gloomy that you can’t even take a photograph. The greenkeepers were out and working in earnest as this was the big day of the year, with an all-day outing starting at 7am. I met Raymond on the 2nd tee. He was moving the tee box markers around for the day’s event and putting up the sponsor signs. We chatted briefly. Over the next few holes we passed each other a few times, so when he headed over to me on the 10th, in his buggy, I waved. He stopped, opened the door and handed me a container. “Your breakfast” he said. Everybody loves Raymond, for there in the box was a heart attack waiting to happen. And it was delicious. Half seven heaven.

I mentioned it to Norman back in the clubhouse and he just laughed – ‘Raymond does that with me,” he said. But I didn’t get anything this morning.’ I almost felt guilty that I’d got Norman’s breakfast. Almost.

As for the course, it is well worth a visit. Killymoon was a founding member of the GUI and dates back to 1889, so you’ll find an easy maturity to the place, and it is nice and colourful as it flows over a gentle hilltop – almost ornamental in places. I’m not a fan of too many blind shots (9, 17 and 18 are very blind), but because everything works so well here, it makes little difference – it’s probably the anticipation of discovering what lies on the other side. And there are plenty of other exciting tee shots, as well as six good par threes.

Go back? Absolutely.

Dungannon

“No,” he said, gruffly.
I had walked into the pro shop, introduced myself and been told only holes 1 to 8 and 18 were open. I then asked if I could walk the 9 holes that were not in play.
“I just want to walk them,” I repeated.
“No.”
No explanation, no smile. Fair enough.
Holes 9 to 17 are closed at the moment as six new greens are being introduced, so I had to satisfy myself with the remaining 9. When I arrived on the 8th tee box – the only hole of any interest – I happened to bump into the very helpful Hon Sec. He explained that I couldn’t see the other holes for health and safety reasons.
Now, if the guy in the pro shop had said that I wouldn’t have felt so disgruntled.
The Hon Sec sent me back to the clubhouse (the 8th tee sits on the edge of the car park and could easily be mistaken for the 1st) to get the centenary book from the office, and to ask if Paddy, the head green keeper, was around. Paddy would take me around the other holes in a buggy. But Paddy wasn’t around.

[Photo: the Trolleys’ graveyard]

Losing it at Loughgall

I found it very entertaining to roll into a golf club and pull up next to three other camper vans. For a minute I was worried that someone else was writing a golf book too, but it turns out that Loughgall Country Park and Golf Club caters to far more than golfers. It includes a football pitch, tennis courts, walking/cycling tracks and a campsite. And as much as I hate football, I was extremely grateful to the football pitch on which the camper vans were parked. It was a 7.30am round and on the 10th hole I checked my mobile phone for messages. There weren’t any, for the simple reason that there was no mobile phone. There was no wallet either. Don’t panic, I told myself – they’re probably in the camper. Still, I backtracked a couple of holes to when I had put on my waterproof top. Nothing. So I was mightily surprised when I walked off 18, trekked back across the football pitch to the camper van and almost stepped on my phone. Yes, it had rained, but only lightly. It was about 30 yards from the camper. The hunt for my wallet then began and I walked all the way to the 1st tee with that sinking feeling. Yet there it was, lying in the grass right beside the tee. I have no idea how many golfers had walked right past it, but luck was clearly on my side. And I can only assume that I had been the only person in about three hours who had walked the path across the pitch to and from my camper.

Loughgall, for me, falls into that category of parkland courses that have tremendous potential if only a serious designer was to cast an eye over it. That’s not to say it’s not already good, but with some finesse it could become a serious attraction. And it’s a municipal course. Huge trees float around the place, there’s water, there are great undulations and three very short par fours are going to tempt everybody.

On the 10th (before I realised I was traveling lighter than I should have been), I ended up talking to Wayne Haffey – the head greenkeeper – for about 15 minutes. Golf, obviously. Next summer he’s trying to play six courses in six different counties in one day. He and a friend will take buggies at each of the courses, but even then I think the traveling times between courses are going to be a major problem. I wish him luck and I hope he raises lots of money for the cancer charity he’s supporting.

Loughgall doesn’t mess about with rough either – unlike the two nearby courses (County Armagh and Portadown) where it’s all about playability, Loughgall has left much of the rough to grow wild and deep. If you stray you can kiss your ball goodbye – on 15 you’re not even allowed to go and look for it. It really adds to the colour and the drama of the course.

Oh, and for £50 you can become a member. You’ll find that very hard to beat.

County Armagh

Pics to follow

It seems hard to believe that only a few days ago I was sitting at home watching the news, looking at pictures of Northern Ireland under water. I’m going there next week, I thought, wondering if my camper van could float. The reports said that a month’s rainfall had fallen in a day and the pictures of Belfast’s new motorway underwater emphasised just how bad things were.

I phoned the courses at the start of this trip and they all said that they were open. Even so, when I arrived in County Armagh I was expecting a bog. It wasn’t like that at all, and it just goes to show how good drainage can make all the difference. I imagine Portadown, which I played a few weeks ago, must have been in dire straits as the lower holes sit on a flood plain.

I hooked up with Stuart on the 1st tee. 24 years old, 2 handicap and hits his irons dead straight. The flags on the par threes must have been nervous as he pounded all of them into submission. He got a couple of birdies in a row, but it should have been four as he missed a couple of shortish putts. In fairness, the greens weren’t in the best of shape after the rain – that’s my excuse anyway.

The obelisk that sits behind the 10th and 13th greens is a stunning landmark that adds huge drama to these two holes, but it is often visible as you make your way around this tight, entertaining course. And if you have a good score going, you need to be very careful on the final three holes. 16 is Index 1, but the 18th is harder and can wreck a card – like mine (triple bogey).

And it helps that County Armagh sits right on the edge of town – although you’d never know it when you’re playing.

Nice day at Naas

[Photo: Par four 2nd]
Naas is the kind of course that you rarely hear about – I don’t know why because it’s fantastic. The 18 holes are divided into two lots and I had heard that the newer, outside 9 wasn’t nearly as good as the original 9, recently redesigned by Jeff Howes. Even Denis Mahon, the Secretary/Manager, implied as much when we chatted beforehand. There’s clearly a difference but the outside holes are still good. They lack the heavy undulations of the inner 9, so they don’t look quite as imposing, and the presentation/playability of the holes isn’t the same – but I wasn’t complaining. When Mr. Howes finishes the job, Naas will be a perfect golfing destination.

My chat with Denis did raise one interesting issue: he was comfortable enough to say that one 9 was better than the other. I admire that and it is certainly preferable to being told how brilliant a course is – whether it is or isn’t. For instance, I had just finished my round at a course in the North West when the manager started telling me how fantastic the course was. He said that visitors found it so much better than the more highly regarded courses nearby. Personally, it was a load of rubbish. A course in Cork did the same, comparing itself with Fota Island and Cork golf clubs, when it isn’t in the same league. At least, not yet. You expect people to promote their home club, but you can go too far and raise expectations to silly levels. I’ve mentioned Castle Hume before - a golf course that sticks out more than any other in its claims of ‘championship’ quality.

[Photo: Par five 13th]

For the purposes of my book, satisfying expectations is nigh on impossible. If you go to a course, e.g. Castle Hume, and you play out of your skin to score 48 points, then you’ll love the course no matter what I say. And the opposite is true too. Play a true links course in a howling gale and you’re unlikely to return any time soon. My book attempts to highlight what the course is about and what kind of experience you can expect. How you play is entirely up to you.

Lifted at Kilcock

[Photo: The Byrnes tee it up on the current par four 1st]

When I met Tom at Kilcock he asked me a question that made me stop in my tracks.
“Do you understand golf?” he asked me.
“How do you mean?” I replied.
“Well,” he continued, “if I say the hole’s a par three will you know what I mean by that?”

Yes, I was a bit confused too. It’s difficult to write a book on golf courses if you don’t know how golf works. Having said that, I remember a guy I met in London who had just written a book on back-packing in Australia. When I asked when he had been in Oz, he said he’d never been. “I just phoned the Australian Embassy and asked them to send me all the books on travelling around Australia,” he said. “Then I just put them all together.”

Kilcock is undergoing major changes. 9 holes have been upgraded, and the other 9 are, quite literally, going under the knife in the next few days. At the moment, only 9 holes are open and you start at the old 6th. I encountered Kevin Byrne and his nine year old son on the 1st hole. I suppose I should stop being surprised when I meet golfers who know the same people I do. Kevin has been trying to get Neville Galloway up to Kilcock for some time – Neville was Greystones’ Captain in 2007, and gave one of the most hilarious speeches I’ve ever heard at the Captain’s Day Dinner last August. Nice one, Neville.

Kevin pointed at the fantastic new greens and asked if I knew where they had come from. They’d come from the old Bray course. Quite literally, carved off the old course and dropped on the greens here at Kilcock. It’s certainly worked. But there’s only one problem: the old Bray course was a 9 hole course – so where are the next 9 greens going to come from?

[Photo: The current par five 9th]

As Kevin walked off the 1st with an easy par his son held up his putter and proudly proclaimed that his score was four over. I hope he’s keeping a close eye on the rise of Padraig Harrington into the echelons of golfing greats. And perhaps, if he needs some inspiration from someone closer to his age, he should watch the name of Greystones’ own Paul Dunne.