“Nice shot” I said to Mark, after his drive on the #13 hole.
“Thanks” he said, but I’m not sure if he really heard me. He was in the 'golf zone’ - an altered state of mind you enter when you hit a shot that feels perfect. It’s a place that golfers like Mark and I don’t get to visit often, but the zone is what keeps us coming back to the golf course. “Your shoes are on fire” I could have said, and his reply would have been - “Thanks”.
He watched as his ball sailed high and far, eventually landing in the middle of the fairway. It was the perfect tee shot. I picked up my bag and started to walk from the teeing area, but Mark was still in the ‘zone’, posing at the top of his backswing as if he were a bronze statue of Ben Hogan.
Hole #13 at Marshall Canyon is the longest par 4 on the course. It’s the type of hole that Mark and I mentally play as a par 5, so that we will be happy when we end up with the usual six. The tee shot needs to carry over an arroyo, and with a slight fade, to keep it in the fairway after it hits and rolls. That’s what we both envision each time we begin this hole. More often then not, we will duff a ball or two into the arroyo, then cross the walking bridge that spans the gully, and drop a ball in the fairway on the other side, tallying up strokes and penalty strokes as we go. Today, Mark hit the shot we had always envisioned. And so, he posed.
“C’mon Mark!”
Mark picked up his golf bag, and we began searching for my errant shot. Once we found my ball, it took me a couple more strokes to advance it to a point beyond where Mark’s tee shot had come to a rest. With my adventure in the bushes over, Mark concentrated on his next shot. He found the 200 yard marker and paced off the yardage to his ball. One hundred eighty five yards - 5 iron distance for Mark.
Hole #13 green is average in size, with a slope from back-to-front. There is a sand trap in front of the green, with rough and out of bounds behind it. The lip of the sand trap is high enough to hide the front-right portion of the putting surface, which is where the flagstick was placed for today.
After a couple of practice swings, Mark addressed the ball, and did something that neither of us do very often – he followed up a good shot with another. The ball was struck cleanly, and lifted into the air on a perfect line to the green. Mark was still in the golf zone, and posed once again. This time, I joined him in watching the complete flight of his ball. When it descended, we both looked at each other, as neither of us could tell where the ball landed, while both hoped the other had. It could have been short in the bunker, perfect and on the putting surface, or it could have flown the green entirely.
I picked up my ball, and we walked forward, our eyes scanning the green with every step. As we approached the green, it became obvious the ball was not on the putting surface. We looked in the sand trap, but it was raked smooth. We both then looked to the back of the green , and then beyond, to the fence and the road behind it. Golfers know that sometimes you aren’t rewarded after hitting what you think is a great shot, and this appeared to be the case now.
We started walking to the back of the green, and as Mark passed by the flagstick, he peeked into the cup.
He stopped, reached down and calmly lifted his ball from the bottom of the cup.
“Two” he said, in case I had lost count somewhere along the hole.
Mark had just eagled a par 4 – something that even the pro’s get excited about. Mark just smiled, said “Two”, and strolled to the next tee box.
That happened about fifteen years ago. It was the best golf hole either of us had ever played or witnessed, and we recalled it often over the ensuing years.
Golf was a passion that Mark and I shared - a passion which I lost when he moved out of the area. I realize today that I need to get the clubs out and play again, because even though there will be only one bag on my golf cart, I know, I’ll be playing as a two-some.
Rest in Peace Mark – Be forever in the golf zone.
Jeff MacCarter
June 15, 2007
