The Greatest Course That Never Was by J. Michael Veron

Author:J. Michael Veron [Veron, J. Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-43420-3
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2001-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

ONE THING HAD become obvious to me about the links at Bragg’s Point: Jones and Maxwell wanted to keep players off balance. On the back nine, the course seemed to change direction every other hole. A player was required to adjust to changes in elevation and wind direction at almost every turn.

There didn’t seem to be any pattern in the layout of the holes, either. Some bent to the left, and others turned back to the right. As a result, the course forced the player to adjust his ball flight continually to the layout. I was beginning to understand why Jones, Hogan, and anyone else lucky enough to experience the magic of Bragg’s Point believed it to be such a great test of golf.

The 14th hole was the longest hole on the course and ran to the far south end of the property. The card in my pocket said it was 571 yards long. Most of it ran slightly uphill. It was a subtle double dogleg, bending once each way. The first bend in the fairway appeared to be about 200 yards or so from the tee.

I saw Moonlight pull my 3-iron from my bag. Although I had resolved not to question him again, I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you sure that’s enough?” Then, before he could answer, I attempted to justify my question. “It’s uphill, you know. Won’t it play longer?”

He chuckled. “Lad, Helen Keller could tell that’s uphill. Ya’ don’t think I can see it, too?”

I felt my face turn a little red, and it wasn’t from the afternoon sun. He let me dangle a bit before adding, “A three’s enough to get ya’ to the corner. Anythin’ more risks the sand dunes beyond. It’s the right club; just trust it, now.”

I teed the ball just above the grass to make certain I would make clean contact. I then lined up for the right side of the fairway, as Moonlight suggested, to make the most of the angle of the dogleg. “Always aim where ya’ can most afford to miss,” he told me.

The shot felt as solid as anything I had hit all day. Moonlight grunted his approval as he picked up my bag and began walking off the tee before the ball even landed. He didn’t look back or otherwise wait for me. For whatever reason, he was still giving me lots of space.

We walked toward my ball without talking. Without the distraction of conversation, I was able to observe him more closely. He still seemed to move without any sign of fatigue, which I found remarkable for someone his age. I knew that the Scots were a tough lot, particularly those who were hardened by a lifetime of walking the links. But Moonlight was exceeding my expectations. Ever so briefly, I wondered if that was another sign of the magic of the place. It certainly appeared that coming here had rejuvenated him.

The silence between us had allowed Moonlight to do some thinking as well. Even though we were standing at my ball, he appeared to be in no hurry to play the next shot.

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