Tee time for One – Why Playing Alone Can Be the Best
by Crai S. Bower
I know I’m not alone when I’m filled with first-tee anxiety. However, my reasons for nervously glancing over my shoulder have nothing to do with a watchful gallery. No, I’m worried someone is going to join my round at the last minute. I’m not considered antisocial by nature – far from it – but I love, love, love playing solo golf. When the stars align, and I’m well down the first fairway without a playing companion in sight, that’s my happy place.
Not that I’m opposed to joining regular playing partners or adding strangers to a round. I play plenty of two to foursomes, often with familiar faces. I consider one regular playmate my discount card, as rare is the day I don’t take at least two-thirds of a five-dollar Nassau. Another frequent partner is a wee chatty, an opportunity to hone my focusing skills. Still another favors music on the course though he keeps the volume low in deference to those of us (okay, me) who loathe sonic accompaniment.
Though I detest tunes on the turf (cue the hypocrisy), when I’m on my own, I invariably tune in to “Smartless,” “Spittin’ Chicklets,” or another inane podcast. Recently, I spent 18 holes listening to Dame Judy Dench’s memoir, “Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent,” in which she recounts many her roles in various Shakespeare plays. Turns out, my self-loathing commentary wrought from chipping a 68-yarder into the water on the 16th hole at Jackson Park when I was flirting with breaking 80 is nothing compared with Ophelia losing her mind due to Hamlet’s self-destructive behavior.
Playing golf alone reveals another paradox regarding a pet peeve that howls louder than on-course concerts: slow play. When I’m playing with others, I can’t stand standing around as groups stack upon each other like horseshoe crabs. When solo, I have all the time in the world, tucking out of sight from the sluggish group ahead and avoiding eye contact with the group behind lest either assemblage invite me to join up.
Playing alone also corresponds well with a desire to play very early or as late as possible. For years, I traveled every summer with my family to Bath, Maine. Most mornings, I would depart in the dark, drive 20 minutes, and walk on to Bath Country Club before the clubhouse opened. I’d freeze irrigation sprays with my 4-iron, pay when I was done, and return to my in-laws’ compound before any of my relatives were awake.
Of course, being “from away” allowed me to disappear should I join a group of Mainers. I recall on more than one occasion walking down the fairway directly between two chums, who casually spoke right through me without ever altering their angle to make eye contact – 18 holes without a word of conversation beyond the first tee greeting.
Labeling only Mainers as inhospitable toward an appendage to their cherished grouping is not entirely fair. My favorite tale of the “you are in, but not part of, our group” vibe occurred at Bandon Dunes, where exploring a course as a single is rarer than a Macallan 30-Year Double Cask Scotch.
I was placed within a group of seven gentlemen from Chicago, spread over two groups. When I asked if I could join in any games, I was bluntly told, “Sorry, we have our own thing going.” I was persona non grata from the first tee on, my trio so disdainful of my presence they often exited the tee box before I, constantly hitting fourth, drove my ball. Familiar with the silent treatment from my many Maine treks, I went merrily along.
But then, facing a stout easterly wind, I struck my 5-iron on the 156-yard par-3 17th that somehow settled on the green and rolled 15 feet into the hole. My reluctant playing mates, who were already en route to the green, whooped it up in celebration of my ace. High fives were exchanged.
Bolstered by good fortune, ready to reveal my name for the first time and revel into the clubhouse, I extracted my ball from the hole and walked toward the 18th tee, where I found the sounds of silence had returned. Hello, darkness, my old friend, I thought, content to have saved money on a round of drinks.
Golf writers know all about playing golf alone. We routinely knock out four courses in a couple of days, dashing out before the first tee time and then wedging into an early afternoon slot often conjured up between a pair of foursomes. Notes are secured, images captured, and it’s on to play again until nightfall draws the curtain shut on a long day at the links.
Summer play in the Pacific Northwest can extend until close to 10:00pm, making it possible to jump on around 7:00pm to nail down your round. Unfortunately, the rise in golf’s popularity during the pandemic now stymies most attempts at isolated evening sojourns.
However, the same latitude that promises late summer nights provides a nasty deterrent over the winter months. Cold temps and persistent drizzle perfectly squelch all but the hardcore golfer’s desire to play. When I hear “It’s wide open” during a pro shop query, it’s grab my toque and go time, isolation guaranteed.
A “dew-sweeper” program also promises solo slots. A typical special offers the back nine holes within the first hour of sunrise. And rare is the adjacent dew-sweeping bloke interested in joining up with a playing partner. For the introvert, these morning jaunts are as much about mental therapy as they are a chance to drop an extra ball and practice greenside chipping.
I was sad to learn Jackson Park recently canned its dew-sweeper sessions. But no worries, there are still plenty of opportunities to play alone, if you know where to look and when to hide.
Crai S. Bower writes scores of adventure travel articles a year for over 25 publications, including golf stories for American Way, Hearst Media and Journeymagazine, among others. He appears regularly on the American Forces Network as a travel commentator. Visit his site at FlowingStreamMedia.net.
