U.S. Women's Open Championship at Lancaster Country Club

Yesterday, hubby and I drove out to Lancaster, PA, to check out Round 3 of the 2015 U.S. Women's Open Championship at Lancaster Country Club. This is the third time I've been a spectator at a major golf tournament, so I knew to wear plenty of sunscreen and comfortable golf shoes for walking the course.

I snapped plenty of pictures of the big names in women's golf, but I used my phone camera from far away, so the images are a little fuzzy after cropping. The first thing we did was go to the practice area, where Michelle Wie happened to be getting ready. Her left ankle was in a brace but it didn't seem to affect her stance.

Or her ability to make perfect contact.

She did a drill with a stretchy exercise band:

She also did practice swings with only one arm:

Here's her famous putting stance, with her caddie respectfully looking away and not staring at her butt:

Michelle Wie definitely had the largest number of people following her around. Not as many as Tiger Woods, but this is women's golf after all. I would imagine that a lot of the male golf fans are deterred from watching a women's golf event because they don't want their wives to catch them staring at women all day.

The current world Number One is Inbee Park. Very few people followed her around, but then again, she wasn't playing spectacularly well.

Here's Lexi Thompson, with the petite I.K. Kim, who is famous for missing a 14-inch putt at the Kraft Nabisco Championship in 2012 and losing the tournament as a result. As someone who could find a way to miss a 6-inch putt, I totally sympathize.

The current world Number Two player is teenage sensation Lydia Ko, shown here walking with what I think is too much forward head posture. If she keeps it up, it could be a problem in middle age. Take it from someone who knows.

At least Lydia Ko stays hydrated. Drinking plenty of water is a good habit at any age.

And she has a very balanced finish.

Here's Morgan Pressel, who we saw texting on the practice green:

Occasionally, she practiced her putting too.

Here's Paula Creamer and amateur Muni He. These are two golfers who know how to strike a pose. Muni was leading Paula by two strokes. That must have been embarrassing.

Off in the distance, we saw Stacy Lewis. That's about as close as we wanted to get to her. Let's just say we're not fans. 

The leader so far is Amy Yang, and here she is looking cool and confident with her caddie:

I hope she strides on to victory. I'll be tuning in later today to find out.

Mid-Season Update

So it's July, and in case you're wondering, I didn't join that ladies league. The first day I was scheduled to play, it rained and the league canceled, and then the following week, the league starter "forgot" to put me on the tee sheet. By then I'd heard from various rangers that the leagues are notoriously slow. Most of the ladies are actually high-handicappers (like 25, 30 and even 40) and take up to 5 or more hours to play. Plus I had a new work project and wasn't sure I could commit to a regular league.

Lately I've been playing mostly with hubby on trips and weekends. My handicap is trending toward an 18.7, due to traveling to unfamiliar courses, which always adds on strokes, and soggy weather. It's just more of a challenge to play on wet fairways that haven't gotten mowed and hail-pelted greens that haven't been rolled for a week.

My driver and woods are in a slump and my wedges still need work, though I finally started using this 58-degree wedge hubby bought me last year. It's perfect for high lob shots over bunkers and mounded rough. At least my irons have been somewhat consistent, so over the July 4th holiday weekend, hubby and I played the local course where most of the par 3s are 139 yards and in from the red tees.

While I got stymied by the overgrown fairways and matted rough, on one of the aforesaid par 3s, I got reacquainted with that feeling that every golfer lives for -- that moment when you realize you've got a sure-fire, tap-in for birdie:

Walking down to the green to mark your ball, you feel a combination of joy and relief. It's a short-lived moment that reminds you what golf is all about.

If you look closely at the photo above, you can see where my ball landed, a few inches left of the ball. Hubby said my ball landed at that mark and actually bounced toward the hole, and if the green hadn't been so wet, it might have rolled all the way into the hole. Ah well, I already had my first hole-in-one years ago. These days, the way I've been playing, getting that close is close enough.

The "Secret" Beach at Port Royal Golf Course in Southampton, Bermuda

After our day at Riddell's Bay, hubby and I went back to the cruise ship. The pool areas were crowded with screaming children and tipsy adults, and I longed for a quiet place to relax in the sun. We had a map of Bermuda that marked beaches with pink splotches, and we noticed that three pink splotches flanked the Port Royal Golf Course, where we had a tee time the next day. It appeared that you could literally walk off the 18th hole and dive right into the ocean. I decided to wear my tankini under my golf clothes for the round, so I could be ready for a post-golf beach adventure.

Port Royal Golf Course was host to the PGA Grand Slam of Golf from 2009 to 2014, so its layout may look familiar to television viewers. Greens fees are $150 per player, and sometimes they have a special deal offering free rental clubs to cruise ship passengers.

The course is strikingly tournament-class, though it still has a tropical island charm. The golf attendants wear crisp white uniforms, which gives them a naval vibe. The rental club selection consisted of late-model TaylorMade Burners, with a choice of ladies flex, regular men's flex and stiff flex shafts. Hubby chose stiff flex, while I opted for the regular men's flex, without realizing that the irons were heavy steel shafts. But the driver and woods had graphite shafts, so I fared okay.

The practice area includes driving mats facing the ocean. If you can hit one that makes a splash, pat yourself on the back.

The first hole is a long drive downhill. The guy in the maintenance truck on the right seemed quite confident in our abilities.

Here's a shot of where hubby's ball landed, taken once we got down the hill.

I could sense immediately that I might be taking more photography shots than golf shots during this round.

The ocean is, like, everywhere on this course. Here's an amazing view of my ball on a green, with some seriously aqua blue waves. How's a girl supposed to make a putt with that in the background?

Here's the same view but taken horizontally, suitable for framing. I think I'll enlarge this one and put it over my couch in the basement.

Port Royal is a hilly course, like Riddell's Bay on steroids.

I didn't make a single par during the round. I blame the distracting ocean views.

From every vantage point, you can see that this is a course made for television.

As if the ocean weren't enough, occasionally there were inland water features to contend with, too.

But the 16th par 3 is a jaw-dropper. If your ball goes in the water, you're almost jealous of it.

The slope on the 18th makes it look much longer than it actually is.

After the round, hubby and I asked one of the uniformed staff about the beaches we saw on the map. Of the three, he said Whitney Bay is a private beach for the cottage residents and Pompano Beach is very small and more of a water sports beach. But West Whale Bay is public. He said he'd drive us there in a golf cart.

I'd worn my bathing suit under my golf clothes, but hubby had to change into swim trunks at the clubhouse. After that, the staffer drove us in a golf cart down to the 14th hole and showed us the way.

The "secret beach" is off of the 14th green, which has houses along the border.

The beach path is hard to spot, but if you follow one of the white hazard posts, you'll see that there is a path.

Here's a shot of hubby on the steep path, which I snapped on the way out. On the way in, I was trying to keep my balance and prevent myself from getting caught in the prickly stuff.

Once down the steep but short footpath, you'll see a narrow road. The ocean is in sight.

The beach is part of West Whale Bay Park, a tiny grass field with a park bench and a brick shack with restrooms. You can also get here by taxi (from the island's main thoroughfare, Middle Road, take Whale Bay Road). But if you're golfing at the Port Royal, walking off the 14th green is the way to go.

Beyond the sign, follow the path to the beach.

It's a small beach, but perfect in size just for two, with no one else around.

The sand is white, not pink like other Bermuda beaches. But the water is clear as far as the eye can see.

Hubby and I stripped off our golf clothes and took a dip. After a tough round in the hot sun, ahhhhhh!

We stayed almost an hour, till the tide showed signs of coming in and hubby got pinched on the foot by a crab. If I had it to do over, I would have planned a morning round, so we'd have more time to spend on this wonderful little beach. The next day, we'd visit Horseshoe Bay and Church Bay, which were on the beaten path and crowded with cruise tourists. Nothing would compare to the seclusion and calm waters of West Whale Bay.

It was about 5:30pm when we decided to head back. I threw on my pink cover-up dress over my swimsuit and hubby put his golf shirt back on. The course was empty by now, but drenched in a warm afternoon glow. As we walked slowly back through the course, hubby found several errant golf balls, including a Titleist he'd lost.

From the clubhouse, we called for a taxi to take us back to the dockyard. But we paused for one last look at the course.

I don't know if I'll ever get a chance to return to Bermuda, but if I do, this day definitely deserves a replay.

Riddell's Bay Golf & Country Club in Warwick, Bermuda

In mid-June, hubby and I went on a cruise to Bermuda with his family. Now I'm the kind of person who would rather poke my eye out with a knitting needle than go on a cruise, so the only thing I had to look forward to was the two rounds of golf we had planned. Bermuda is a small island, but it has a total of nine golf courses, which is the highest per capita number of courses than anywhere else in the world.

We decided not to bring our golf clubs on the cruise ship, which was a good decision. Cruise ship rooms are tiny and we would have had to store two golf bags and two travel cases under the bed for the three days at sea, then once we docked in Bermuda, we would have had to lug our clubs ourselves off the ship and race down the pier to the taxi stand. It just seemed like asking for trouble. So we decided to rent.

Our ship docked at Heritage Wharf on the most northwestern tip of the island. Our first round was at Riddell's Bay, which is a 30-minute taxi ride from the Royal Naval Dockyard. It cost about $30 including tip. Built in 1922, Riddell's Bay Golf & Country Club is the oldest golf course in Bermuda. It's a private course, but tourists are welcome to play there. Greens fees aren't too steep: $95 per player plus $50 for rental clubs.

I was kind of looking forward to playing rental clubs, but I was disppointed in the scraggly old set of ladies' TaylorMades I was given. I ended up borrowing clubs out of the men's TaylorMade set my hubby was given. I was also disappointed that there was no driving range and a very meager practice facility consisting of a small soccer net that we were expected to bat golf balls into. It was also cloudy and drizzling, so the day just didn't seem to be starting off the way I expected. But after being held captive on a noisy cruise ship for 3 days, being outdoors on stable land was refreshing.

Riddell's Bay is a pretty course. When there's a roundabout with nicely landscaped flowers to greet you, you know the grounds crew takes pride in their work.

Hubby played the blues, and I played the white tees, since the pro shop staffer said, "Our ladies play the whites." But I probably should have played the reds. The 5457 yardage from the white tees seemed doable to me, but it turned out to be quite challenging due to elevation changes.

I thought it was a hilly course, but walkable if I wasn't bloated from stuffing myself at the cruise ship buffet.

The fairways were Bermuda grass and the rough is Bermuda rough which can hang onto your club like a comb in tangled hair.

The rain eventually gave way, leaving behind a searing heat. It was only in the mid-80s temperature-wise, but it felt hotter because of the humidity.

But the amazing views were a cool distraction.

Finally, the clubhouse was in view. I did not break 100 during my round, but at least now I can say I've golfed on Bermuda grass in Bermuda!

My next round was at Port Royal Golf Course, which has a "secret" beach. Tell you about it soon...

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I've been playing the local course so often that almost all the staff knows me by name. I guess I am not hard to miss, since I've been showing up 3 times a week. I've been playing solo, which is unusual for a woman. But I finally feel comfortable holding my own no matter who I'm playing with. I've been going out solo mainly because I really want to focus on my game, which is easier to do when you don't have the social obligation of talking to the people you're golfing with.

When you play with strangers, you can talk as little or as much to them as you want. Since the starters know me now, I feel like they make sure I don't get paired with douche bags. And the rangers always wave or stop and say hi when they see me on the course. But still, because it's 90% guys out there on any given day, I've learned survival skills such as wearing shorts instead of skorts, and mentioning my husband within the first few minutes of meeting male players. (It's kind of sad that I have to even do these things, though. It's 2015 and the male-to-female ratio on a typical golf course is the same as the female-to-male ratio at any given Yankee Candle store.)

With one or two exceptions, the staff at the golf course is probably the friendliest bunch of folks I've ever known. Of course, who wouldn't be happy going to work where the grass is greenest. Plus, they get to play for free.

The other day, I happened to go out when there were a bunch of staffers going out. These were the top-of-the-food chain guys, the ones who worked the starter box in the mornings or did marshall duty on weekdays, not the peons who wash carts or worked the weekends. I ended up playing with one of the rangers and his friend, a former pro at a private club. Hubby and I had played with that ranger before. I'll call him Ralph, since his white curly hair and blue eyes reminds me of the designer Ralph Lauren, though he's actually a contractor by trade. He's a single-digit handicap, as are pretty much all the staffers. He paid me a compliment by saying that I played like a 9 handicap. "Are you kidding? I'm like a 20," I said. (Since that day, though, I've gotten down to an 18.5.)

Ralph's friend hit long but errant balls. He said he gave up golf for a number of years after working as a club pro and seeing the evil in it. I was curious about specifics, but there wasn't time to delve deep. Strangely, I think I had an inkling about what he was talking about. When rich people are involved, evil must lurk.

It's June now, and my 2 months of unlimited afternoons of public golf has come to an end. Tomorrow I try out for that ladies league. The forecast says there's a 70% chance of rain and it will be unseasonably cool. Not exactly the best conditions to start, but that's the rub of the green, as they say.

The Tour Class

It's the weekend of The Players tournament, which usually marks the official start of my golf season. Although I've gotten almost a dozen rounds in, it's only now that I've started to focus and begun scoring in the low 90s again. I've been playing about 3 times a week and the past month has been kind of a blur. I'm realizing more and more that, in golf, mental focus is as important as muscle memory. After all, your body can only do as much as your mind tells your body to do.

Most of the time out there on the local course, it's just average amateurs trying to get a workout. But last week, I had the chance to play a few holes with two guys that were quite possibly tour class.

It was a late afternoon on a weekday, after I'd finished 18 holes with a couple of Korean golfer gals, and we got a slot to tee off again and try to get another 9 holes in. On the tee before our slot was a pair of guys hitting from the blues. Most guys hit from the whites, and the blue tees are right next to the starter shack, so when anyone tees off from the blues, you can't help but notice. After they hit two perfect, monster drives, I noticed that even the starter was impressed, rolling his eyes and throwing out his hands towards them as if to say, "Those show-offs!"

The two guys were young and clearly tour long, but they also carried themselves with the kind of gracious demeanor that you see in professional golfers, the kind who have won some and lost some but have the confidence in knowing that, on any given day, they are still much better than most. They walked nonchalantly, with their bags slung like quivers of arrows against their backs and not a care in the world.

They'd obviously made the green in two, and by the time my threesome teed off, they'd already cleaned up their putts. We kept pace with them for 6 holes, and then my two playing partners said they needed to stop and head home to pick up their kids from school and get dinner on the table. I was playing relatively well and wanted to finish an even 9 so I continued solo.

I made par on the 7th hole and found myself waiting at the next hole, a par-3 semi-peninsular green that reminds me of the 17th hole at TPC Sawgrass, where The Players is held. The tour-class twosome was waiting on the tee. Things always slow down at a par 3. I rode up, but not too close, and pretended to check my phone so they wouldn't think I was watching. After I'd heard the sound of two balls being hit, I drove my cart closer.

"Hey, do you want to hit on with us?" one of the guys called out.
"Uh, okay, sure," I said. "If you don't mind." I felt like I'd been invited to dance onstage at a rock concert.

As I rode down the winding path down to the forward tees, I saw two balls on the green, one of which was long left from the pin and the other which was about 6 feet from the hole. "One of you made a great shot!" I shouted.

Then it was my turn to make a great shot. Pin was front so all I needed was a wedge. The trick was to keep it straight and not let any left spin pull the ball toward the water. I addressed the ball and took a deep breath. Then, swing! The ball flew high and landed soft -- about 4 feet from the hole. I was elated.

The two guys both said, "Great shot!" and then it was on to the business of putting. The long-left guy had no chance. With a sloping downhill green, it was all he could do to make double bogey. The 6-footer guy, well, I could tell he wanted a birdie. But he missed it for par. I didn't make birdie either, but I parred it. I think the 6-footer guy was relieved that I didn't beat him on that hole.

As we headed to the next hole, the 6-footer guy told me he was from Canada, in town visiting his girlfriend, but that he "spends a lot of time in Florida."

"Oh really?" I said. "Trying to make the tour?"
And he said, "Yeah, pretty much."
I didn't have time to probe further. The next hole was the par 5 Number 9, the last of my day, and I wanted to make it a good one.

The two guys hit way over the trees, cutting off the massive dogleg left fairway which I can only hope to land clean with a bit of a draw from the way, way forward tees. I hit a decent drive, but I was still away so I rode ahead to hit my second and third shots. On the third, my club face was slightly open at impact, sending my ball right of the green, between a bunker and the cart path. I trusted that the two guys would hit arrow-straight into the green, so I had no qualms about riding to my ball even though they were behind me.

I waited till they took their approach shots to get on in two. Then it was my turn to try and get on in four. I had wedge in hand again, exhaled and made the shot. To my surprise, it stuck right by the pin, within about 3 feet.

"Good shot!" the guys shouted. As the long-left guy walked up the pull the pin, he said, "I thought it went in the hole!" They seemed genuinely impressed. The cynical side of me thought they could have been patronizing me since I am a woman. But the hopeful side wants to believe that they really were impressed. A good golf shot is a good golf shot, no matter who makes it or where.

They were away, so they putted out. And then it was time for me to make a 3-footer for par. Since I was leaving after this hole, and they were playing on, I told them to go ahead so I wouldn't hold them up.

"If I miss my putt, I don't want any witnesses," I told them. We shook hands, and I waved them off saying, "Maybe I'll see you on the tour someday."

After that, it was just me and the hole. I wish I could say I made the putt for par. But I bogeyed. Still, I felt inspired. I know I will never be a member of the tour class. But at least for a hole or two, I can act like it.

Golfing Like a Rock Star

This week is sort of turning out to be celebrity week on the golf course. First I get randomly paired with the chef and bartender of a celebrity restaurant, then today I got paired with the dad of the drummer in a band whose album just made number one on the Billboard rock music chart today. Of course, I have never heard of this band since I am well over the age of 40, but I am sure my college-age nephew knows who they are. Also in my random foursome was a 70-something retired couple who had just picked up golf in their 60s. It was a relaxed round with upbeat strangers, though I only shot a 98. My handicap index is trending toward 20.1 and I am not exactly happy about it. This season, the allergies have kicked in with a vengeance, so I partly blame the constant distraction of an itchy throat and nasal congestion.

In other news, I have started applying to join a ladies league in earnest. I know I've mentioned joining a women's league before, but now I think I am going to jump in and do it. I sent feelers out to four different leagues, and so far the most appealing group seems to be a Tuesday 9-hole league at a nearby course. I really prefer an 18-hole league, but the one I want to join started their season in April so it may be too late. The Tuesday 9-hole league has a spring coffee kick-off meeting at the end of the month and starts their season in May. I'm going to attend the meeting and check out the membership first to see if I'll fit it. I spoke to the league VP on the phone, and she seemed friendly. She has an Irish accent and said she often walks the course, so if she's representative of the group, they could be my kind of gals. We shall see!