Golf travel is an ideal way to see the world and explore new cultures. Competing in a pro-am golf event abroad comes with a host of added benefits. While it’s true golf is usually an individual sport, there is something extraordinary about playing as part of a team.
Nothing compares to the joyful bond between teammates while taking part in friendly competitions. At Carr Golf’s World Links Invitational Pro-Am, each team consists of one PGA professional and seven amateurs. The best four of the eight scores per hole make up the team score, so there’s no added pressure to perform on every hole. While individual golfers might be disappointed with a quad, it’s comforting to know your teammates have your back and the high number likely won’t appear on the official team scorecard.
Whether your team consists of best friends or just an eclectic group wanting to experience the exceptional golf in Ireland, you will undoubtedly make memories lasting a lifetime. The team format allows you to compete with your companions instead of against them as perhaps you do at your home club.
By competing in a multi-round tournament, you give yourself the best chance to shine. Our World Links Invitational is a week-long event played on several of the best links courses in the world: Waterville, Dooks, Tralee, Doonbeg and Lahinch. Even having a good round (or just good shots!) on just one of these iconic layouts will provide you with stories to tell for years to come.
The competition may be fierce, but there is plenty of time to socialize away from the course. Full daily breakfasts and lunches are included in the fall tournament, making meal times an ideal time to network with your friendly competitors. Plus, everything from accommodations to golf to transportation is taken care of, so you can spend more time mingling and simply savoring the experience.
Late last year I was invited by a good friend to join a group fly-fishing trip to Argentina. The suggested mid-January date conflicted with the annual PGA Golf Show, which I have attended for the past 20 years, but after much careful contemplation, I decided the opportunity was too good to pass up. Life is short after all – a reality that hit home with the recent passing of my brother Gerry. I had no idea what to expect, but with great pals and a robust itinerary, we prepped for a new adventure.
This would be my first visit to South America. I had come close, visiting Mexico a few times while studying in the United States, but had never ventured further south. Then there was the matter of the actual fishing. As a kid, I have fond memories of fishing on the River Shannon. But that was usually from a boat or pier. More recently, the itch to try proper fishing again was strong enough that my family generously gifted me a fishing rod for my birthday. I still had no idea what I was really doing, and sporadic fishing trips in between golf rounds usually resulted in empty returns.
Like any good golf trip, we began by gearing up with the necessary equipment. During the trek across the world, I took a pit stop in New York City to rendezvous with friends and collect the right fishing attire; shirts, trousers, fingerless gloves, bandana, Polaroid sunglasses, etc. These purchases were the suggestions of my friends, who may have wanted to properly outfit me, or perhaps were just afraid of what I’d show up wearing!
A few day later, I flew from New York to Buenos Aires (a beautiful city with European influences) and from there to Esquel, Argentina.
On arrival in Esquel, we were greeted by our hosts from PRG Lodge at Treveiln and made our way to our home away from home. The sprawling compound is comprised of a 12-bedroom lodge, two great bars, and a wraparound deck with views in all directions. Straight away we got the impression that many of our six nights would be spent in these comfortable quarters telling stories and cracking jokes. Sound like a golf trip?
The dining room was the centrepiece of the lodge, where we gathered each day for breakfast and dinner. Feast after feast of Argentinian beef was cooked in an open fire pit within the dining room and all meals were introduced by the chef and complimented with local delicacies such as Asado, Chimichurri and Empanadas. The entire experience was professional, welcoming and an understated five-star experience.
It was during that first night while prepping for our first tee time….er, allotted fishing time… that it occurred to me that there was no difference, so far, than if we were a bunch of golfers.
The next day we sprung to life with adrenaline pumping and anticipation building. One friend, a veteran fisherman, didn’t sleep a wink due to the excitement. Out front of our lodging, six Jeeps with a driver and a guide sat ready to transport us in pairs. We had our foursomes! The Jeeps carry the essentials – an inflatable boat, all the fishing gear (rods, reels, lines, nets) the all-important lunch and more. Our guides would essentially be acting like caddies – furthering the parallels between golfing and fishing.
Our destination was without a doubt the remotest place I have ever been. My U.S. traveling companions tell me the closest comparison is the state of Montana. We are at the foot of the Andes, not far from the southernmost city in the world. Literally the end of the Earth.The beauty of the surroundings is unbelievable – rugged, remote, comfortable and breathtakingly clean – as we unpack for our first cast. A “strike” in fishing is a lot like a strike in golf. The idea of the fishing swing is a short quick take back, pause at the top, quick follow through, but stopping halfway. The right swing resulting in the fly going exactly where you aim. I would soon learn that this was important as we were hunting fish and the ability to put the fly in the right spot was essential to catching the fish, kind of like putting the ball in the center of the fairway will increase your chances of a good score. An incorrectly executed strike results in a very frustrating experience. Sound familiar??
Time on the river, this one seemingly meandering forever, goes fast. I caught about 8 fish on the morning run, but only two of these were mentionable in size 15′ and 18′. Just like putts, they tend to get longer as you tell the story of your round. After a quick picnic lunch, it’s back for the afternoon round. This time I nab 10 fish, but they are of the small, “beginner” variety. The day is anything but lethargic, as my fishing partner and I traverse unconquered terrain with each jaunt to a new locale. Even a walk back to the Jeep is more of a hike.
But we’re having a marvelous time. As the sun goes down we head back to the lodge for dinner and one (or two) nightcaps on the deck.
The next few days blissfully run together but are highlighted by individual bursts of memorable ventures. There was the Day 2 trek, where we tumbled down the raging Rio Grande during a howling afternoon gale. We mercifully made it to our spot and virtually kissed the ground on arrival.
The next day, we travelled to the spectacular Los Alerces National Park. We spent the day in the boats on the lake and moved down river as the day went on. There, the water is so clear that you can see the fish taunting you from the bottom. A frustrating day, but one we’ll always remember for the stunning setting.
Each day of this trip is different (something we strive for at Carr Golf Travel), and that is a testament to our fantastic guides and staff. These guys are good, and like a world-class caddie who knows every blade of grass on a course, they know all the locations to help you succeed.
On Day 4, I was paired with my good friend and host of the trip, Tommy. We headed off to a private ranch, complete with real cowboys on horseback herding cattle, and cast our lines into a small marshy river running through the property. Here our guides really became invaluable. With their keen advice, Tommy had maybe the biggest haul of the entire trip.
I finally cashed in on the final day. Finally, my skills had been fine-tuned, and a fertile lake presented the opportunity to capitalize. It was like having your best round of golf on the sixth course of a six-day trip. It was difficult to master and I would say I managed to play off high teens by the end of the week.
As with golf trips, the essential ingredients are the same. The group you are travelling with is key. The accommodations, the food, the logistics and most certainly the courses that you are playing all factor into the experience. All in all, it’s a very similar journey.
I have been lucky enough to attend the Masters and play Augusta on a dozen or more occasions over the last 40 odd years since I first attended with my father in 1969. I was mostly there when working for IMG managing players or on commentating duty for RTE with my great friend Tim O’Connor. The latter was my favourite as you got to watch this incredible event from the moment the bell rang to the inevitable and now famous back nine on Sunday when the real climax unfolds and you find out who has the ‘cojones’ to win (as they say in Spain).
Later when managing Seve I gained an insight of the event through his lens. He always stayed in the same Days Inn motel room that he stayed in from his first Masters appearance. He was comfortable there, incognito as was possible for him as ‘Seve’. He would have breakfast in the communal breakfast room with the normal run of the mill fans that couldn’t believe that Seve was among them. I remember him telling me that week that when he came to his first Masters in 1980 at 23, there were 84 players in the field. For the matador Seve his mission was clear for the week, win or die, like the matador against the bull. His job was to put 83 players to the sword, mostly Americans which always focused his attention more. A birdie would slay 10 or so and an eagle maybe twenty. That’s how he saw it in his mind. By the time he reached the back nine on Sunday, he had a ten shot lead. They were all dead, laid waste on the greens behind him in a sea of blood. Now that was a problem. Nobody else to kill!! He dropped a couple of shots around Amen Corner and opened the door to the field. But then he had some adversaries to kill again and proceeded to finish the job in style. Who else in golf ever approached a Major in that way??
I have probably played and attended over 1,000 golf tournaments in my life in addition to many other world class events. Nothing has ever come close to the sheer perfection of the way the Masters is run. You cannot find a cigarette butt, a piece of litter or a weed anywhere on the property. Nobody runs; they walk (you are not allowed run). Even the dreaded ‘get in the hole’ shouters are frowned at and removed from the course quietly by the ever-present Pinkerton men. There are no second chances at Augusta. You break the rules and you are out – for good. I am convinced you could leave your Rolex watch on your green Augusta picnic seat, where you and your friends and family have camped every year for decades and it would not be touched. The hallowed ground ‘under the tree’ beside the front lawn of the clubhouse is protected by a simple white rope separating the Members, in their coveted green jackets, and clubhouse patrons from the season ticket holder patrons. Nobody ever touches that rope let alone crosses it. Everybody attending the Masters is a Patron. Every player is an Invitee. They are invited to play, and can therefore be uninvited, as Bobby Jones wanted it to be.
In 1962, my father was first touched by Bobby Jones when he received the Bobby Jones award for promoting goodwill, sportsmanship and international fellowship through golf. He was so proud of that award.
The most treasured letter my father ever received was a personal letter from Bobby Jones in response to his accepting an invitation to play in his first Masters in 1967. He played again in 1968 and 1969.
It began:
“Dear Joe – To my great delight I have just found on my desk your letter to Cliff Roberts saying that you will play in the Masters this year. Please be assured that it will give us all, especially me, much pleasure to welcome you. I hope you will have your game in the best possible condition and that we may be able to cause you to have a good time. With best regards …” signed with fountain pen by hand:
Bobby Jones
There is warmth and respect in this letter from one Amateur to another just in the way it was written. To this day the Masters holds that tradition true to its Founder by recognising and inviting the Amateur Champions from around the worked in honour of the greatest Amateur player that ever lived.
I was at the Masters two years ago and finally treated myself to a day of allowing myself to indulge in a little nostalgia. I walked the course & grounds, visiting the famous ‘crows nest’, a simple dormitory style room over the pro shop that has always hosted Amateur champions over the years including my father. He was Augusta’s the first ever-Irish Member.
I imagined my father 50 years ago, running his business all day, while rearing six children with my devoted mother Dor. He would have spent the long cold wet winter in Dublin getting up in the morning at 7 am in his tracksuit to hit 200 balls outside the house behind the second green in Sutton. He would then go for his run and head to work. He would come home at 6, have tea with us and then head out under the floodlights that had been erected on the second green and practice until 10 pm. He did this every morning & night from October through March, rain, hail or snow and then spent 8 hours practicing on both weekend days on the Portmarnock practice ground on the right of the entrance road to the Clubhouse.
He would have taken the long 24 hour journey across the Atlantic to New York and then down to Augusta to join the best players in the world on a golf course that had greens like the snooker table we had in ours house at home. To put it in perspective, the tees at Augusta would have been faster than most of the greens in Ireland at that time.
By this time at 45 years of age my father had won 41championships, & led both the Open Championship & the Dunlop Masters against the top pros. He had befriended all the great players including Jack Nicklaus whom he had met playing in the Walker Cup and US Amateur years earlier. He played all his practice rounds with great players – because they liked him. He was fun and they took his money on the course. (he later taught them all how to play poker and got it back). He was fearless and played golf with a powerful Amateur abandon that they admired.
Nicklaus and JB
In that first appearance in 1967 he was given the great honor of being paired with defending champion Jack Nicklaus. Pop (as we called him) shot 150 and qualified, Jack shot 151 and missed the cut. He was invited back in 1968, and was again honored by being paired with former Champion, the late Arnold Palmer. He recounted that “Arnie’s Army” was prevalent at that time and they would shout ” Go Arnie, Go Arnie and you too Irish” Again Pop shot 148 which made the cut and Arnie missed it. At the Champions Dinner that year Augusta Chairman Clifford Roberts stood up and said “We want to invite Carr back again next year but we can’t find anyone to play with him”. He played again in 1969 Sam Snead and neither of them qualified.
Marty, Arnie and Roddy
He was extremely popular with the crowd as the first Irishman to play the Masters. He always wore his white cap with his traditional green tassel on top that my mother has knitted over the winter.
I was nineteen that year and I was taken to Augusta with my father. I will never forget it. On that second day behind the 18th green, Bobby Jones was in his wheelchair with his loving wife Mary as always by his side. (It was just like I remember him at the end scene in that great movie on the life of Bobby Jones –‘Stroke of Genius’. After his final round ever at Augusta, my father went straight over to him after signing his card to be greeted with a smile and they had a chat. Again, the warmth between them was apparent. It is still a truly memorable vision for me. My father & mother went to the Butler Cabin every day that week to have tea with Bobby and Mary.
Bobby Jones was born on St Patrick’s day in 1902 and died in 1971 two years after I met him. This St. Patrick’s Day would have been his 115th birthday.
I played the course on the Monday following that Masters with the press for the first time and as a good plus one handicap player at the time I shot ninety! It was far beyond my capabilities.
On reflection on that nostalgic day I treated myself to, it finally dawned on me what a truly great player and character my father was. He was able to compete as a part-time Amateur player, raising six kids, working nine to five, and coming from the depths of the Irish winter to play on this pristine immaculately manicured golf course on the other side of the Atlantic against the best players in the world.
He loved every minute of it – he loved competing as he loved life and he loved Augusta.
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