"I'm having a good time," she said. "My point is, your family does not need more than one martyr per millennium. Hit the ball."
The mad persistence of playing in a downpour is what you'd expect on a buddies trip -- you know, two rounds a day, grouse hunting, salmon fishing, whiskey appreciation. The trip Biz and I put together was more nuanced.
In Northern Ireland, not even an impending storm can drive off golfers at the classic Royal Portrush Golf Club.
(David Cannon/Getty Images)
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After our pilgrimage to Saint Oliver, we spent two nights at the Nuremore Hotel and Country Club in Carrickmacross, County Monaghan. The hotel, in the design of a Georgian country home, is nestled in rolling hills midway between Dublin and Belfast. Its cream-colored facade is framed by formal gardens and a tree-ringed lake. The golf course does not have the same reputation as the Greats such as Portrush or Ballybunion, but it is a respected track -- it hosted the 1998 Irish Club Professional Championship. The back nine play out across the tops of the hills, offering lovely views of the surrounding country: green pastures patchworked together with hedgerows.
We had a post-round Guinness, then Biz got a massage in the spa while I practiced my putting. We convened in the Jacuzzi before supper at the hotel's restaurant, which offers local ingredients prepared with flair (roasted Lincolnshire duck with foie gras, caramelized endives and butternut squash) and an extensive wine list.
As it turned out, the rain at Portrush -- about 100 miles north of the Nuremore -- was not altogether a bad thing. It did not last long and once it was over we had the sense of a fresh start. By No. 14 we had begun to dry out. Calamity Corner, as the hole is called, is as intimidating a 200-yard par three as you can imagine, requiring a long, accurate T-shot to carry a ravine from which no ball returns, to a green that caps a 100-foot precipice. It was not a place for doubts or equivocation about your swing. But that was not an issue for Biz and me: Having endured the storm, we were veterans. I cannot report that we parred the hole, but our performance was creditable -- the turning point in a memorable round.
As if in apology, the elements put on a show for us as we played in. What remained after the rain clouds blew through were rows of white puffs way up high, which the setting sun painted deep red and purple. The hills cast long shadows that offset the velvet fairways and greens. Even the wretched gorse turned soft and beautiful, glowing yellow and red in the fading light.
That evening, we headed east along the Antrim Coast Road to Carnlough. It was late when we arrived at the Londonderry Arms Hotel and the receptionist was chagrined to report that, alas, the kitchen was closed but would soup and a sandwich be welcome, at all? We took our meal in the public room amid conversation of locals about the ongoing Ryder Cup -- an event of near universal interest to the Irish, the more so this time because the Europeans had the U.S. team well in hand. In the morning we would head back to the Republic of Ireland. At Baltray, near Drogheda, we would play the County Louth Golf Club, another one of the Greats.
But as Saint Oliver might counsel, we would take that as it came. The waitress brought chicken and noodles in a creamy broth, rough bread and thick slices of ham -- warm comfort as we savored the trials and splendors of Royal Portrush.
Oliver Patton last wrote for Travel about a father-and-son sailing adventure.
Details: Irish Golf
GETTING THERE: Belfast is the central airport to the three golf courses we visited, but we started in Dublin because the flight worked best. From D.C. to Dublin, round-trip spring flights start at $485 on such carriers as Aer Lingus and US Airways, with connections; to Belfast, flights are about $300 more.
