Falling For Golf

Dundee is a wonderful golf course in Cape Breton. Theresa and I stayed at this golf resort during our summer adventure. It called for rain in the morning but sunny in the afternoon as we debated whether we should keep our 9.30 am tee off time. Being golfers we chose to go anyway. It had rained most of the night and the fairways were pretty well soaked and creeks full with fresh rainfall.

We teamed up with a local who was a good golfer and knowledgeable about the course. He guided us along and explained the little quirks about each hole. When we came to the signature hole he proudly took us to the front of the tee box and pointed to the green some 150 ft below and surrounded by sand bunkers. Running across the fairway was a stream rushing down a grade along what appeared to be an erosion ditch. Keep away from that he explained with a smile.

He and Theresa were safely close to the green but my shot was somewhere down near that ditch. Theresa elected to drive the cart around and I decided to walk down the hill to find my ball. Scrambling through bushes and wet from the still rained on trees and grass I approached the ditch. It was deeper than I thought and wider as well. Actually it was 6+ feet deep and 6 feet wide. The flowing water was about a foot deep . I looked around for my ball and spied it on the other side of the ditch.

I could walk 300 feet up the hill to the cart path or down the same distance and cross through a swamp. Neither entered my head as I was a pretty good jumper in my day. With my 8 iron in my left hand and my putter in my right I crouched and with a mighty effort jumped that ditch. For a second all was well until the ground under my feet gave way. Backward I tumbled and my back came in contact with the bank and my feet pointing skyward gave me no option. I dropped the clubs and reached down to keep from getting soaked and for a moment I was wedged between the two banks supported by my arms , now covered up to my elbows in water.

There was no way out, I had to drop to the water and try to escape. Reaching to retrieve my clubs and at the same time climb out of this mess with some dignity was not achieved. The ditch was as deep as I am tall and I literally scratched and clawed my way to safety. By now I was being watched by my smirking golfing partners. They had little sympathy for my bruised hip and back to say nothing of my embarrassment and wet golfing attire.

As I hit my ball onto the green and trudged up to take my turn putting, I could only say,"son of a ditch".