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Louisville Golf keeps links tradition alive – and with a satisfying thwack.
By Don Weber
Page: 96
From the April 2007 issue #161
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I’ve been a woodworker for more than 40 years and a golfer for the past 14. When I was growing up in Wales, there was a golf links near the Metrapol Hotel, where my grandmother used to work. We lads would dash across the greens to fish in the ponds at the corner of the course. The old duffers would chase us off the field with curses while shaking sticks. I swore at the time I would never be one of those fellows in plus fours, argyle sweaters and tam-o’-shanters.
Little did I know in those days that a golf ball could kill ya. We only wanted to catch a fish or two. But 14 years ago I was reintroduced to the game by a friend who lived by the fifth hole of a lovely golf course in northern California. I’ve been hooked ever since.
From the April 2007 issue #161
Buy this issue now
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