Links love lost — the passing of a golf paramour
To the Editor:
A golfer’s love affair with a golf course is a very personal thing, and decades of dalliances take on even greater meaning when the end is near. Soon, another course will disappear in favor of so-called development. The particular paramour of which I speak is Limekiln Golf Club in Horsham Township.
“What forms such a romance?’”a non-golfer might ask. Memorable shots? Memorable holes? Memorable rounds? Yes, yes and yes. But also memorable experiences such as the one at dusk in August 1981. It occurred on the erstwhile eighth hole, where a lake borders the left side of the medium-length dogleg-left par 4. I hit a decent drive, but it bounded left off the slanted fairway into the water. Unfair, I thought, especially since it was my last ball. Off came the shoes and socks; in I went. The arches of both feet found treasure with virtually every other step beneath the brownish sediment of the lakebed.
About an hour later, I laboriously dragged my golf bag to the parking lot where moonlight revealed mine was the only car left. Previously submerged golf balls occupied every pocket of my pants and golf bag. My tucked-in shirt contained dozens, forming a temporary saggy beer gut. I even jammed balls inside the club compartment of my golf bag, wedged around 14 steel shafts.
If you meet my dad in heaven someday, he’ll verify my ball haul, which numbered over 400 and included, among prized Titleists and Top Flites, brands that have since gone the way of the dinosaur: Dot, KroFlite, Tom Cat, et al.
Limekiln was also the scene of my two best scores: 73 and 75. Rounds with my dad, rounds with friends, pickup rounds with strangers and sneak-out-of-work twilight solo rounds all form the tapestry of my romantic recollections with this course.