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BUNKER SHOTS
Most high handicappers have an ingrained fear of bunkers shots. Here are a few simple tips to alleviate stress and keep things simple. Take a traditional open stance but instead of playing the ball off of your left heel, move the ball forward slightly. This will promote a shallower swing and allow for more room to maneuver the club through the sand. Remember to always accelerate through the ball and not just dig the club head into the bunker. Try this simple tip and you'll find how easy a bunker shot can be.
Joe Stevens
PGA, Head Professional
Wild Dunes Links Course
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was recently uncovered
at the customs house at the Port of Leith, near Edinburgh. It clearly
showed that some semblance of golf was enjoyed on Yankee soil long before
a clutch of mashie-armed gents called themselves a club.
The 96 clubs and 36 dozen balls went to David Deas, a merchant who later
went into business with his brother, John. The brothers hailed from a
shipping family in Leith, where, it is speculated, they received their
initiation into the royal and ancient game and on the five-hole Leith
Links, home to the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers, which is
recognized as the oldest golf club in the world.
David and John apparently could not shake their addiction when they
reached America. According to their descendants, at least, the honor of
having introduced golf to the New World belongs to the Deas brothers.
But wait.
There is evidence that American golf didn’t get its start in Charleston
at all, but in Fort Orange (now Albany), N.Y. It wasn’t the most
glorious start, granted, but local records reveal that in March of 1657, a
group of irate citizens complained to the town magistrates that
inconsiderate golfers were playing in the streets and causing damage.
In 1659, an ordinance was passed that prohibited the playing of golf in
the streets.
Never mind. That form of golf was more like street hockey.
Charleston is where the Scottish passion officially sank roots. Although
this graceful, moss-draped city has no Old Course or imposing edifice to
which pilgrims solemnly trek, it has in its archives intriguing data about
the sport that determinedly found its way across the Atlantic.
Andrew Carnegie called golf the "natural adjunct of the civilized
man." If that’s true, the sport could not have chosen a more
appropriate place to begin a second life.
The post-Revolutionary era in
Charleston was classically genteel. There were soirees, balls, plays and
concerts. Many of the elite traveled regularly from their mansions to
second homes in Britain.
Conjecture has it that the Deas brothers fashioned the holes at Harleston’s
Green after those at Leith Links. Whatever their inspiration, their course
was smack in the middle of a public park.
But then, that was very much the custom in 18th century Scotland
and England. The term "green fee" evolved from the use of public
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parks, or greens, as golfing ground. Said monies were collected by town
authorities.
Golf at Harleston’s Green was a wildly random affair.
Teeing areas, putting surfaces and flagsticks were nonexistent. One simply
aimed for a specified hole in the ground. Keeping score was unheard of.
To facilitate this "blindman’s" version of golf, a
"finder" a kind of forecaddie, possibly another member or a
slave was delegated to keep ahead of the players, locate each hole and
mark it with a gull’s feather or simply point to it.
Those forecaddies of yore had quite a job on their hands. They not only
had to zero in on the obscure holes, but they had to clear traffic as well.
Harleston’s Green was a popular park, and golfers could sometimes find
their round blocked by a horse race, a cattle show, a cricket match,
children playing or a nanny pushing a perambulator.
If any of the above was in the golfer’s line of fire, the forecaddie
would cry, "Fore!" (short for "You are forewarned!")
and point to the advancing golfers who wore scarlet coasts for high
visibility.
The South Carolina Golf Club was
Scottish to the core, a clan whose members stuck together. There was still
a good deal of anti-Scottish sentiment after the war.
Indeed, one Charlestonian wrote in 1787 about his distaste for the
seemingly omnipresent burr: "I regret that in walking our streets,
whether convinced by the Dialect or the Names of those supply our wants
... we should rather conceive ourselves in the Highlands of Scotland, than
in an American state."
The formidable Scottish mercantile community (almost all of Charleston’s
merchants were from Scotland) was socially non grata. Planters would have
nothing to do with the Scots or their pastime.
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