“I Came. I Golfed. I Conquered.”

What happens when a 12-handicapper tackles Pebble Beach?

Meeting News
By Phil H. Shook

Standing with my playing partners at the Pebble Beach Golf Links' 373-yard, par-4 first hole, I searched for one of those positive thoughts that might help me make a graceful shot off the tee. A few weeks earlier, after lining up a visit to this storied course on the Monterey Peninsula, I tried to stay calm and do what any weekend golfer would do under the circumstances: I revamped my swing, hit a hundred baskets of balls, and read Ben Hogan's "The Modern Fundamentals of Golf" four times.

Preparing for that first round of golf at Pebble Beach is exciting but emotionally taxing. The course guides sold in the pro shop are full of disturbing language. Reading about "oceanic chasms," "jagged rocks" and "menacing traps" doesn't give the first-time visitor a lot of confidence.Before my round, I sheepishly asked directions to the 18th green and stood with the other tourists silently, almost reverently, staring out at the rugged shoreline that vounds the sweeping fairway of Peeble's final hole, the sound of pounding surf and screeching gulls in the background.

I stroked a few putts on the small practice green (they do break toward the ocean) and strolled thugh The Lodge at Pebble Beach looking at photos of the pros and celebritities who have gathered here annually since the days of the old Big Crosby Clambake.

In spite of all this inspiration, the spell of Pebble Beach could not overcome the flaws in my swing: I barely caught a piece of my ball on the first tee. Embarrassed, I resisted the urge to hit a second ball. I already had insulted the spirit of this course, I reasoned. Why compound it by violating the rules of the United States Golf Association.

The rest of my foursome had better luck off the first tee. Mike, a developer from Laguna Niguel, Calif. Went right. Cary, a Dallas oilman, went left. George, a Dallas portfolio manager, hit one down the middle, a 3-wood to the center of the fairway in good position for a second shot to the green. George, who owns a second home nestled behind the 11th hole, graciously served as our guide on this odyssey along the ocean.

Bordered by pines and cypresses, the beautifully groomed but rather unpretentious opening hole gives little hint of the grandeur to come. Walking down the fairway, though, I couldn't help but think of Pebble Beach's celebrated past. In 1982, during what is now considered one of the most exciting final rounds in U.S. Open Championship history, Jack Niclaus, trailing Tom Watson by three shots, hit an iron off the first tee in good position, but missed the green with his second shot and had to settle for a bogey.

After a bout with a sand trap on the first hole and another poor tee shot off the 502-yard, par-5 second hole, I was beginning to wonder if I should have spent the morning visiting the sea otters at the Monterey Aquarium. My recovery shots were finding ravines and I was pushing my approaches into traps almost as steep as Peeble's green fee ($150 if you are staying in one of the on-site lodges).

I was puzzled because the previous afternoon, I started out par-bogey-par at the nearby Links at Spanish Bay, hitting some solid shots into stiff ocean winds and onto narrow fairways bordered by sand dunes and scraggly knee-high rough. It was one of the scariest, most beautiful links courses I have ever played, and I managed a respectable 47 in a nine-hole tune-up.

By the time I got to the tee at Pebble's No. 4, I stopped worrying about my score and began enjoying the scenery. This is where the course heads back to the beach:Before us was a panorama of sprawling hillside homes, rocky cliff faces, slow-rolling, almost hypnotic bay swells and the finely crafted lines of sailboats anchored on the bay.

My swing began to show signs of life, but I still did no better than a bogey on the fourth hole, a 327-yard par-4, whose tiny green is guarded by a sandy archipelago, and the fifth hole, an uphill par-3 fronted by another brutal trap.
The par-5, 516-yard sixth hole begins a five-hole swing along the cliff tops. The tee shot tempts the big hitters with a long, broad fairway bordered by traps on the left and rocky shoreline on the right. The second shot is blind, up the face of a formidable hill. "Hit all you have on the first shot and then drive it up that hill," George advise us.

Mike and I hit respectable drives and successfully guided second shots up the left side of the hill. George and Cary pushed

My third shot, about 180 yards into the wind to a narrow, heavily bunkered green on a point over the ocean, was one of the highlights of my day. I hit it solidly and watched it sail over the bunkers and settle pin-high in the right fringe just off the green. I chipped it close and tapped in for a par. I owned the course.

While the sixth hole tests power and accuracy, the 103-yard No. 7 calls for restraint. There are many snares and delusions on this deceptive little par-3. depending on the wind, a 9-iron may be too much or a 6-iron too little to reach a kidney-shaped undulating green that appears to lie almost at your feet. Mike, the lefty from Laguna Niguel, was the only one of the foursome to hit the green in regulation.

At No. 8, we began the trek through Abalone Corner, three long, par-4 holes that can wreck your scorecard while charming you with their their rugged seascape. Golf Digest calls them the best three holes in golf that aren't in Augusta, Ga. (site of the Masters Tournament). The hill above the tee box disguises one of the most menacing approach shots in golf. The shot to a small green, often with a long iron, requires laser-like accuracy across a chasm filled with boulders and booming surf. It calls for a well-placed drive off the tee to avoid a second-shot layup to the edge of the ravine. The Firestone family graciously built a chimney on top of their mansion, which dominates a hill overlooking the hole, allowing golfers the proper aiming point off the tee.

My tee shot was short, and my second shot went into the ocean after I misjudged the distance to the edge of the ravine. That left me at the ravine's edge hitting my fourth shot. Shaken, but intrigued by the challenge of the next shot, I knocked a 40iron over rocks, ocean and a half-dozen bunkers to the green. Two putts later I was in the hole, averting total scorecard shock.

On the par-4 ninth hole, a 240-yard drive down the left side still leaves and approach shot of 185 yards or more. Continuing to live life on the edge, I caught one of the bunkers with my second shot, blasted out to the fringe and sank a 30-foot putt for bogey. It was on the cliff tops that Mike lost his hotdog-bought only moments earlier at a kiosk on the course-to a team of thieving sea gulls. As he walked over to play his second shot, the birds swooped down on the golf cart. Pebble Beach regulars told us it could have been worse.: The gulls have been known to pluck a Rolex out of a cart, fly off and drop it in the ocean.

On the par-4 11th hole, you leave the ocean temporarily and turn back toward the forest. For the blind tee shot on the 384-yard hole, George suggested we aim for the left side of his nearby home, a brick-and-red-tile structure where he and a few of his closest friends will gather next year to watch the U.S. Open, which will be played at Pebble Beach.

The biggest test on the par-4 13th hole for the high-handicapper and pro alike may come on the green. One glance at the slope of the bent-grass green and you get the picture. "Nine out of 10 pros will miss that putt," George said, as the eight-footer that I barely nudged slid past the hole. The 565-yard, par 5 14th is the longest hole on the course and is rated the toughest, although it seemed less intimidating than many of the par-4 holes. On the 397-yard, par-4 15th, two cyclists stopped to watch us tee off. I promptly pushed my tee shot in the directin of the 17-Mile

On the 402-yard 16th, strollers appeared and we bagan to feel the pressure building for the rough finishing holes. My 4-iron second shot kicked out of a grove of cypress on the left into the deep, sandy creek that meanders in front of the green. Hung out on a rocky point on the ocean, Pebble's 209-yard, par-3 penultimate hole plays long into the wind to a small, heavily trapped green. This is where good rounds come apart, even before the endurance test begins on No. 18. I hit a 3-iron dead on-line to the green. I carried the traps but ended up a little short of the green in the high fringe.: A chip and two putts gave me a four.

I thought about the 1982 Open, when Watson ent into a victory dance on this hole after playing one of the most talked-about shots in tournament history. After hitting a 3-iron to the rough on the edge of the green, he made a seemingly impossible shot into the hole.

At Pebble's much-celebrated 548-yard, par-5 finishing hole, weekend strollers and seaside homeowners watched our shots with the same kind of curiosity that draws people to train wrecks.

George advised us that the pros aim at the big tree in the right-center of the fairway and draw the ball back to the right-good advice for anyone who can hit a ball 250 yards or more off the tee. Spooked, perhaps by the boulders and breaking surf on the left side, my ball took off well-right, landing about 215 yards out in a fairway bunker. A 5-iron hit far out of the bunker left me safely in the fairway, but a good 250 yards from the green. A fairway-wood and an iron to the back of the green put me in shape to scramble for bogey.

My scorecard, totaling 97, was no cause for a victory dance. But that evening at dinner in Pebble's pub-like Tap Room, beneath a color photo sequence of Watson's famous chip shot, I had my own memories of spectacular holes, beautiful-and a few good shots.

1991