The Club

Chapter 3 - The Apprentice

Sunday was a Canberra winter’s day – damn cold but with an unblemished blue sky. The sky in Canberra is like nowhere I have ever seen. It looks big and blue. As your gaze hits the skyline you see the hills surrounding the city against the backdrop of deep blue and it is spiritual in its effect. In Queensland life is determined by the ocean; its rhythm blows you away and makes the time disappear. The sky is the effect in Canberra. The fog of the very early morning yields and the sky comes into view and you just know it’s up for the day. Sunscreen where art thou.

The cutest thing about Canberra is the gumtrees on the tops of the distant hills. In other parts of the world where hills meet the sky it leaves a sharp, clear edge. In Canberra the hills are furry, as the sporadic gums reach out with their scraggly leaves in search of a raindrop. Australia is defined by a search for water and shade.

The Club was approximately a 20-minute walk from my house. Positioned in a bowl on one Canberra’s many hills, it was nearby but inaccessible. The 20-minute walk turns out to be a 20-minute car ride around the hills until an entrance can be found. In a weird twist of fate it is also a 20-minute bike ride. It’s as if one has entered a strange nexus where distance has no relation to time. The course opens at 7 a.m. on weekends and I arrived at 6:45. There was one other vehicle in the car park, a tiny little Holden that looked like 8 of its 9 lives had expired; it obviously did not belong to a member. As I approached the Pro Shop I saw Jason, the young man I had met in my first meeting at the course. I expected rampant disorganization but I was wrong. Jason stood about 6 feet 4 inches tall. Well dressed, athletic and tanned, he personified organization. Jason was an apprentice, on the same journey as I was on a few years before. I was glad to see him as I knew nothing about the course procedures, seeing as how my induction process consisted of chugging a beer while hoping not to be thrown from a golf cart hurdling down fairways at breakneck speeds.

I thought I had better establish my name from the beginning so I extended my hand and re-introduced myself as Edward Harding.

“Been expecting you, Teddy,” Jason replied. “Made up a little announcement for you for the members” he said, as his eyes moved toward a fairly professional-looking sign on the front counter which read: “The Club at Canberra would like to welcome our new Assistant Professional, Teddy Harding. Teddy comes to us from Coolum where he has been working as an apprentice for the past 4 years. Please join the Club in wishing Teddy a pleasant stay in Canberra.”

Before I could ask for an edit, Jason chimed in that he had updated the Facebook page with the same message this morning. I said thank you, though I didn’t mean it. God I hope my mother doesn’t see it, I thought.

There were a few other things that I noticed. The golf carts were organised washed and had scorecards and pencils ready for play. Tee sheets for the morning competition were printed off, handwritten notes were made on the pages denoting accommodations for members, and Jason had scratched out the names of those players that had sent their apologies.  The weather forecast for the afternoon was printed off and the computer was set to the Weather Channel where we could detect any potential storms brewing in the afternoon. The pull carts were outside in a line, and sand buckets were organized in a neat pile. Scorecards had been printed off with the names and handicaps of all competitors. Nearest-to-the-pin placeholders were ready to be taken out to the par threes.  This guy was good.

“How early did you arrive?” I asked.

“Four,” said Jason. “I practiced for an hour before I began my shift.”

“It’s dark at 4,” I pondered.

“I like practicing in the dark,” said Jason. “When I hit ‘em good I know where they are going.”

Jason handed me an information package which contained opening procedures, closing procedures and just about everything else I would need to know to be able to run every procedure at the club. I was duly impressed; I asked if James had complied this for me.

“James?” questioned Jason.

“McLeod,” I stated.

“Cloudy?” said Jason. “No. I put this together over the past couple of weeks.” Jason went on, “I thought it might help you out. No, paperwork isn’t Cloudy’s thing,” he said in an informative tone.

“Well, it’s excellent, Jason. Thank you,” I replied. “By the way, what is Cloudy’s thing?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Jason said with a smile as he headed off to get the range ready for the day.

The members began to arrive around 7:15 a.m., with the first group of the competition set to head off at 7:40. The people at the Club were very friendly. They exhibited the Australian laid-back, conservative nature. I checked in the players as they came in, introduced myself, and made a little small talk. At most courses, and the Club was no exception, the players that play first thing in the morning are old and lousy. They are generally the seniors that play off 30 handicaps and punctuate their rounds with more hits than the Beatles. But they know what they are and they get on with it and don’t waste a lot of time. Mid-morning some of the lower handicap markers arrive; generally men who have done enough house work in the morning to be given leave for a game around 9:30 a.m. There was no great preponderance of low handicap markers at the club. Four was about the lowest handicap I saw all day amongst the men.  Between 10:30 and noon the couples arrive. They are mid-twenties, gen-Y partners looking for something to do together or 50-something empty nesters with time on their hands and enough money to buy all the gear.

The last group to get out of bed and head to the course are the juniors. There were about 4 boys with single-digit handicaps that constituted the best chance for the first decent Pennant team the Club might have in a long time. By about 1 p.m. all the groups were well and truly off, and with the help of Jason’s notes I had settled into a rhythm which was all too familiar.

Around 3 p.m. I noticed young Lorna whom I had met on my first day at the Club. She was practicing on the putting green after having hit balls for an hour on the range. I was watching from the pro shop window and asked Jason if he knew anything about the girl on the putting green.  

“There’s a girl on the putting green?” Jason exclaimed, as he jumped across a 4-foot-high stand of Titleists, toppling over two golf bags full of wedges, in a mad dash to get to the window. Young men are the same the world over; golfers are only slightly worse than the average.

“Where?” he yelped. He looked at the putting green like he was inspecting the space shuttle, looking hard at the area for any evidence of anyone with two X chromosomes. His radar was off by a ways. “Where?” he said again.

This was quite incredible. I was looking at Lorna who was not only the only young woman on the putting green but  she was wearing a purple golf shirt, short white shorts, and had long flowing blonde hair. I would not have thought she would have been difficult to spot.

Finally Jason clued, “Yeah, I think I’ve seen her here before, not for a while though,” he answered tentatively.

“Her name is Lorna. She’s a member and she comes here every day,” I reported.

“Well, if you knew, why did you ask?” Jason said with a puzzled look.

“I’m not sure” I said.