Marquette Golf Club

Mar 13th, 2010

Played on a cool rainy day, as I reached the course’s starting point, the rain had stopped entirely, although a stiff breeze kept me from getting too comfortable. The first tee sits on an impressive height of land and normally provides views of Lake Superior in the distance, though not on this afternoon.The first hole was an impressive opener, strategically and aesthetically. At 579 yards, the par-5 stretched from the top of the course down onto a broad landing area. Nearer the green, though, the fairway narrowed, requiring good position for an approach onto the tricky putting surface, which sloped off on both sides. My wedge in from the right rough landed just a few feet right of the pin but trickled all the way off into the fringe.I began to feel the impossibility of the conditions from the second tee, where I was hitting directly into a 20 mph wind. The 425 yard hole had turned into one much longer, and the wind hoisted my drive high into the air before depositing it in the thick rough on the right, disappointingly short. A four-iron punch up the fairway, though, ricocheted off a rock in the center and forward fifty yards to land, improbably, on the left side of the green. Mother Nature was toying with me. Even when it began to rain again, on the 3rd green, I was so caught up in the dramatic layout that I did not mind at all. If anyone else was out there at this point, I did not see him, and played on in a strange solitude. Whatever the feeling was, I enjoyed it. This was golf at its most basic: Me against the course, against the elements, with no other people around to mess it up. The scenery surrounding me seemed something out of Middle-Earth, or at least seaside Scotland. Holes were set up with a deliberate emphasis on keeping this authentic feel, and as a result many of the rocks and trees that had been there before any development remained as a part of the golf course. Architect Mike DeVries used these natural features to add subtle difficulty to each hole. Even the straightest par-4’s had sizeable undulations and collection areas in the fairways that called for every shot to be hit with specific intent. Rock formations lay in the fairways and along the rough, dictating tee shots and bordering holes with the striking “grey walls” that gave the course its name. A prominent example of these formations lay in the par-3 6th hole. The tee box and green sat on opposite sides of a valley, the green slightly above the tee. It required an uphill carry of about 190 yards to a green that looked even more distant because of its surrounding cliffs. Any shot that didn’t make the green would roll down to a collection area, in the fairway but several stories below the putting surface. Through the front nine, I was thoroughly enjoying the round and the atmosphere created by the dramatic layout and adverse conditions. Making some pars helped, too, as I scraped together a 1-over 36 on the front. The fear that I might lose the grip of my club on any given shot seemed to have actually helped my swing, and numbness had simplified my game. Protection from trees and cliffs even sheltered me from the wind on a few holes, and I happily continued. Around the eleventh tee, I began to lose this appreciation for the elements. Slippery clubs and increasing winds played a part, as well as the fact that, after absorbing an hour of sideways drizzle, I was soaked through. Determined to play the entire course, I pressed on, though my pace of play quickened and practice swings disappeared altogether. It took me 6 shots to get through the par-4 14th, and 6 more on the par-4 16th. When I made a 30-footer on the saturated 18th green, it was with relief rather than excitement that I ran off the green and hopped into the cart for the ride back to the clubhouse. Dripping wet, I ventured back into the pro shop to return my cart key. I expected the man behind the counter to express surprise that I had still been outdoors or shock in my appearance. Instead, he merely glanced up from his book, nonplussed. “Like the course?” he asked, matter-of-factly, implying that the wind and rain were a part of its very design. “Yeah,” I told him, “but I’m not sure it liked me back.”