Round 1, Hole 2: Not a greenie, not a sandie, not a barkie……

Golfers are an imaginative lot. It’s because there’s a ridiculous amount of time between anything resembling action. We walk (or ride or push and pull) and talk, or think to ourselves about the horrible duck hook or top we just made or the rare beauty we just hit. Some of the funniest, most clever and entertaining conversations in my life have originated on the links. Especially with the knuckleheads in my group.

We name putts (usually with degrading feminine names – sorry). We name eccentric members awful things. We name certain clubs. And of course we name certain kinds of shots. As mentioned above there’s the greenie, the sandie and the barkie (off a tree). The catch is that one needs to make a par to claim the “trash”. I’ve seen more violent arguments than Custer and the Sioux over those claims.

But there’s one type of trash I’ve only seen once.

Our club has a par 3 that’s more deceptive than Joseph Stalin. An innocuous little hole that’s seemingly easy – a simple 7 iron from the whites. But between the reds and the absolute front edge of the green is turtle-infested, algae-covered, evil-looking water. Just water, not lava, it’s not boiling, it’s just water. But the green drops off 7 feet to a rock-lined bank that can resemble the Grand Canyon to the duffer on the tee. To boot, the lake angles way away to the left and drinks the slight pull or the hook. I’ve seen men cry on that cruel 3 acres – 2.99 being water!

I play with pretty good to pretty lousy golfers. Me leaning to the lousy side. I honestly can’t remember all four balls in a foursome clearing the water. Oh yeah. To the right is another pond, smaller, making the geography an isthmus leading to the green. I can’t even pronounce that word sober! So naturally, the bottoms of the lakes tell the endless stories of the tops, fats, duck hooks, dead pulls and other ugly, ugly shots. And the lakes drop off immediately to 10 feet or so. Even with a ball retriever it was like trying to find an honest gypsy.

Pond divers to the rescue! Our club hires Dick and his nephew Larry once a quarter to retrieve balls which they sell to Walmart and other elite golf shops. I guess they clean them in a nuclear plant hot water core and sell them as “used” balls. That’s like calling a fossil fairly old or Siberia a nice size lot.

Larry and his uncle park their little bass boat beside the lake. Now Dick has a wetsuit, scuba, the mask, the whole getup. He dives with a bright flashlight in the lake. Think Monster from the Black Lagoon.  Larry walks on the bottom at the edges and feels the golf balls with his feet. I’ve seen snapping turtles in that water 18 inches long from snout to tail tip. Larry is barefooted. It’s a lost big toe waiting to happen.

I saw Dick and the Rhodes Scholar at the lake just last week. Dick was on the bank shaking off the abyss and Larry was slowly moving around, head above the water. It was 95 degrees. I thought Larry was part of the grounds crew.

So I hollered “getting cooled off?”

“Nope, hunting balls” Larry deadpanned. My playing partner nearly fell into the lake laughing!

So about 6 years ago Steve I were playing this infamous little torture chamber of a golf hole. Dick had parked the boat on the right edge of the lake. He was submerged and Larry was walking the bottom. We approached the tee.

“Wait for ’em?’ asked Steve.

“Nah, just hit, they know the danger” I calmly responded.

Steve is a 6′ 2″, 220. He can kill it!  I hit a 6 or a 7 at #3 and he hits a full wedge. “Screw it, they’ve probably been hit a million times”, mumbled the big guy.

He won #2, so Steve’s up. Slowly he makes his turn and hits the ugliest shank you’ve ever seen. It hit the little ship square in the hull, bounced 50 feet in the air and landed on the isthmus. We gaze at each other in amazement and the rifle shot made Larry lose his footing and disappear into the muck.

“Well, it’s up!” I told Steve.

Shrugging it off, Steve meandered to the right as I walked to the drop area for my swimmer. He hit a soft lob wedge within 5 feet and drained it! For the exceedingly rare “boatie”.

Wonders never cease out there.