Most Memorable Hole
Guest Author: The Colonel
Reading the recent ‘Horror Hole’ blog, in which Ed confessed to his worst ever score on any one particular hole, it struck me that the exact opposite – the once-in-a-lifetime most memorable hole was a similarly suitable topic for consideration. Watching Sergio Garcia clamber up a tree recently, and hit an extraordinary one-handed backhand chop straight back into the middle of the fairway was, for me, confirmation that the spirit of Seve Ballesteros will live on forever in the hearts and minds of those golfers for whom the swashbuckling ‘against-all-odds’ miracle shot is far more important than a tidy scorecard. 
It is not quite two years since the much-loved Seve passed away, and it was perhaps fitting, and possibly inevitable that his protégé, Garcia, would be the one to rekindle memories of this most charismatic golfer. Garcia is not the first professional to play from a tree – Bernhard Langer famously used his ‘tree iron’ at Fulford in the 1981 B&H International – but it is his spirit of adventure which most amateurs will most readily identify with.
I am sure that each and every golfer has a particularly memorable and absurd shot or hole they have pulled off against all probability that left an indelible mark upon their memory, and a sense of joyful satisfaction intensified by the knowledge that no professional could do better! I refer to that happy band of golfers for whom the daredevil, stuff-the-consequences, once-in-a-million shot actually comes off; the impossible recovery shot, the left-handed bunker swipe, the down-on-your-knees biff, the bounce over a frozen pond type of stupidity, that, when it does actually succeed, leaves one’s playing partners speechless, at least until the story is recounted (and inevitably embellished) in the bar afterwards.
My own most memorable hole actually occurred very recently, at the iconic 10th hole on the magnificent Ailsa course at Turnberry, scene of so many wonderful moments in Open Championship history (whilst it is not essential to have a grand canvas on which to paint one’s picture, it does help!). Reaching the turn in atrocious weather conditions, I then enjoyed a rather lengthy (and necessary) hot soup break at the halfway hut. Concentration broken, I proceeded to snap hook my drive on the tenth onto the beach. The ball was clearly visible from the tee, and thus eminently playable, I reasoned. (On reflection, hypothermia may have clouded my judgement). Having negotiated some rather slippery rocks, a lot of shingle, and the waters of the Firth of Clyde, I was faced with one tricky decision; am I prepared to take the risk that if this shot goes wrong, it will definitely ricochet back off the rock immediately in front of me, and probably hit me in the face from point-blank range?
One good whack with a wedge from ankle deep seaweed later, I was back on the fairway, and a rather good fairway wood to 18 inches left a simple tap-in for a par four that was more satisfying and memorable than any I have ever made. I would have loved to have heard what Peter Alliss would have said as I clambered over the rocks and trudged through the shingle; perhaps he would simply have used the name of this iconic hole…”Dinna Fouter”…’Don’t Mess About’!