"Ohhh, the driver is made with graphite. So is my fly fishing rod."

Well, my surprise column fell through again this weekend. Mechanical difficulties.
So how about golf?
Now golf may not seem my usual, tromping-through-the-forest type of outdoorsy adventure.
But trust me, my version of golf involves plenty of hiking through the woods.
I decided a few weeks ago to take up the sport Mark Twain called “a good walk spoiled” and Winston Churchill deemed “a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into a even smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose.”
This precipitated a trip to the library for a book called, “Golf for Dummies,” and one of the most humiliating athletic experiences of my life.
And there’s a lot of competition for that title.
I’ve generally been a pretty quick learner. I remember learning to roll a kayak in less than an hour while athletes from my high school floundered for weeks.
But showing up at Royster Memorial Golf Course at Shelby City Park one morning was an embarrassing revelation.
I hadn’t even started before committing a faux pas.
Waiting on Alex, my partner in futility, to arrive, I walked over to the putting green, set down my rented gear and started swinging all by my lonesome. After a few minutes, someone came by, picked up my bag, and moved it to where the grass was a little longer.
Umm, okay. Apparently folks can walk all over the practice green in spiky shoes and tartan polyester shorts but my bag doesn’t go there. Live and learn.
Golf – from the same nice Scots who gave us haggis, caber tossing and very skittish sheep.
So it took me ten strokes to make the first hole, I lost three balls on the next hole, passed on the next three links and then we just left, skipping the last half of the course.
I decided I needed some time on a driving range. And my own set of clubs.
So last weekend I got a nice set from a used sporting goods place in Spartanburg.
Ohhh, the driver is made with graphite. So is my fly fishing rod. And so is that little pencil at the golf course. Wow.
I head out to the range, get a bucket of balls, tee up for my driver… and the ball ricochets off the metal small fence dividing driving positions like a BB shot into a metal pail.
Not promising.
I wound up back on Royster Memorial course last Sunday. I finished with 64 strokes – a really great score for an 18-hole course. Unfortunately, Royster only has 9 holes.
But my slices were shrinking (I was even starting to hook some!) and I was spending less and less time in the woods, feeling like I was improving with each hole – 10… 8, 7, 4…. I found more balls than I lost, including one I think I’d lost last time. Can I count that off my score?
Two days and a bucket at the driving range later I was back on the golf course again with my good friend Mulligan.
I only lost one ball and dropped eight strokes.
If I keep that up a few weeks I won’t even have to play.