British Open Postcard: Pre-Open R&R in Wales

OGMORE BY THE SEA, Wales - So, how do you feel about sheep dung?

Because that's basically the dilemma I had to deal with, on my way to St. Andrews, Scotland, for the 139th Open Championship. Actually, though, it wasn't really a problem. I was on the third leg of a four-stop golfing expedition through Wales. Hey, it can't be all work. The good folks from Wales convinced me that their country was worth the effort, especially for those who only associated it with Tom Jones and Ian Woosnam (I realize there's somebody else I'm forgetting). I know lots of folks who have been to Scotland, or Ireland, to try their hand at links golf. But rarely, if ever, had I heard Wales pop into that conversation.

So I'm at Southerndown Golf Club, in the southeastern part of Wales, not too far from the English border. And the first hole, of course, is straight uphill, measuring about 425 yards. And I do mean straight uphill. Did I mention that over here, you walk, in my case pulling a trolley, as opposed to riding around in the comfort of what they refer to as a buggy? But other than the obvious opening impression, the next thing you notice is that there are sheep all over the place. Big ones, little ones, all different-colored ones. Just roaming around. Because they were here first. And it's indeed their right, by some kind of law or deed or whatever. Seriously, I can't make that up. So there they are, pretty much minding their own business while you try to go about yours.

The problem is, well, they tend to leave their droppings anywhere and everywhere. Other than eat grass, it's kind of what they do best. Which can make just about every human step an adventure. It is what it is. Soon, though, you get used to it. They don't bother you, you try not to disturb them. But on about the fifth hole, after I hit it into what seemed like my fifth pot bunker near a green, I found that my ball had come to rest about 5 feet from two soon-to-be wool sweaters (which is better, I'm sure, than being a soon-to-be dinner), who happened to be resting comfortably, snuggling even, in the sand. I asked my host/guide if I should just let them be, and take a drop. He insisted I just do my thing. So I did, and the sheep quickly up and left. I felt bad. But I suppose they could find another spot to hang out. The really good news was, I got out of the bunker and rolled to within gimme range for a better-than-decent par save. No harm, no foul.

When you're finished play, there's an air hose hanging next to the rather modest clubhouse that you can use (more to the point, you're encouraged) to - you guessed it - extricate the excess whatever from your shoes. I don't know about you, but it was a first for me. Trust me, you get over it.

And that wasn't even the highlight of my excursion. The first day, I went to Royal Porthcawl, which is one of two courses in Wales to earn that naming distinction. It's probably the most renowned venue in Wales, and the one where Tiger Woods got his first taste of this links stuff back in 1995 during the Walker Cup matches. The word is the wind was howling, and he didn't exactly fall in love with it. Come to think of it, Tiger hasn't fared all that well in British Opens where the wind was a big-time factor. With the forecast this week at St. Andrews calling for less-than-mint conditions at least in the early rounds, it could be interesting. Right now he's 11-2 in the legal bookmaking shop, having gone up from 7-2 in about a day or so. Yet nobody else is lower than 16-1 at the moment, either. Feel free to draw your own conclusions. And remember, it's not for amusement purposes only.

But back to Porthcawl. It can be brutish. There's a bunch of rough, so bring extra balls. I was hitting it fairly well, considering that I hadn't slept in over a day, and still misplaced about a half-dozen. After awhile, you get tired of looking. That's what mulligans are for. The holes along the water are spectacular, as are many where you can only see the wet stuff in the distance, or maybe even hear it over the dunes. Cool. And different than anything we're used to in the colonies.

Finally, I ended up at Celtic Manor. Pronounced Kel-tic, instead of like the basketball team. Situated at a posh resort, it's supposedly the first course that was built specifically to host a Ryder Cup, which it will do the first weekend of October. In reality, it's two courses. The first was built in 1999, by Robert Trent Jones Jr. Then, 3 years ago, they unveiled nine new and improved holes, right in the middle of the layout, that were done by a bloke who does a lot of work in Europe. You can't really tell which ones were created by whom, since they blend in virtually seamlessly. The only trouble is, it's much more of an American track. There's sand traps guarding just about each side of every fairway. You can't run the ball onto the green like you can at a Southerndown or Porthcawl. Or most any one of the close to 200 courses in the country, which isn't too shabby for something that's roughly as large as Massachusetts. It's a lot more of the target golf that the rest of the world, particularly on our side of the Atlantic, has popularized. But it's still real good, or the Ryder Cup probably wouldn't be going there. Well, that's not entirely true, because it went to the Belfry for years, and that wasn't exactly Augusta National. But somebody will make a ton of money off it. And since it's carved in a valley, the views of the surrounding hillside and beyond are spectacular. Gee, sounds like an episode of "Seinfeld."

So there you have it. A brief snippet of life on the links in Wales.

I'm off to St. Andrews, where they also have some pretty fair golf. And not just at the Old Course. Be checking back tomorrow. But first, I have to make sure my soft spikes are clean. If you're not careful, some things can tend to linger. And that's never good for anyone. Baaaahhhhhh.