My regular foursome plays one course that has a particularly tough par-5.  Most 5-pars have some room for error.  Not this one.   It’s only 543 yards, but, it’s a three-shot hole.  Three good shots, that is.

  The last time we were there, this hole kicked us all.  In the odd way that golf does things, this hole sits near the entrance.  Driving in, one of the players looked out at it and said, “I’ve got something for you today, Sweetie.”  I didn’t repeat it.  That didn’t mean the thought was absent. 

  A couple of hours later I’m trudging up the steep hill to look out on this hole.  I could see it in my mind before I got there, though.  The fairway appears through a gash in the woods.  “When they built the place, this was a good bit wider” my colleague said.  It can’t be 12-yards wide.  A ball right is dead in the woods.  To the left are more woods in the form of a lateral hazard.  Straight ahead, about where a Driver would land is a bunker, with water just beyond that.  Hit is dead straight at 240 and the fairway lays straight ahead…water on the left, a ski-slope hill with 4″ fescue on the right.  At it’s narrowest, it’s 11-paces wide.   Hit it 220 and that second shot goes blind.  Up ahead, if all goes well is a six-iron into a green guarded on three-sides after carrying water.  Par is a very good score.  I was still looking for it Saturday after about a half-dozen attempts in the last two years.

  By the time I got to the top of this hill I had told myself one thing: “Look at where this thing is going to land.  Ignore the trees.  Ignore the bunker.  Ignore the 15 knots of Northwest wind in your face.”  Still huffing and puffing a little I put the tee in the ground.  Took one practice swing.  Went through my address procedure.  And, then stared at that landing spot…for more than a few seconds.  With that I ripped off a frozen rope three-wood right down the pipe.  In flight it was a beautiful study of light and tree shadows headed out towards the bunker and pond. 

  It was then I noticed the whole picture: That was one narrow, little chute. 

  Walking down the hill towards the fairway my partner said, “Man, that’s one tight tee-ball.”  “Oh really?”  I replied.  “I hadn’t noticed.”