From the fairways of Whomping the Golf Ball, another adventure:

The Coon Whisperer 

Whomping along the Grand Strand seems I encounter more wild life than what I am accustomed to in the Upstate of South Carolina. These encounters happen much more frequent and can vary from comical, to annoying, to potentially deadly. There are some wondrous creatures along these marshes and waterways for sure.

            On the Upstate courses it’s not unusual to see turkey strutting their stuff, the occasional wandering deer and squirrels squiring either and there. Squirrels along the coast can never be trusted as they will forge from your cart ever opportune moment.         Spring does enhance your chances on snake encounters as they’re out doing the dirty in the peak of mating season. Typically these encounters catch both you and the snake by surprise sending each in opposite directions.

            Crows and the hunting birds of prey are mainstays along the upstate courses. The marsh lands have their egrets, cranes and heron. Canadian Geese and their droppings are prevalent every where.

            Fire ants are probably the fiercest foes we have to worry with in the upstate and they lurk on the beach links too. These little buggers will attack in masses when their mounds are disturbed and will cause you to peel out of your golf apparel and dance like you’re trying to bring on a rain storm.  Mosquitoes can swarm in great numbers along the wetlands and will send you in to that Macarena dance, slapping and covering ever inch of the exposed body.

            Did I mention alligators? Too many courses have gators on the Strand, especially inland. Heck, all we had to worry about in the upstate was a frantic chameleon falling into your draft beer.

            OK, I think you have the picture now. Playing with three of my whomping buddies at the Wild Wing course, beach breezes blowing and humidity melting us like the witch in Oz, we plundered along making the best of another wonderful after work experience. Only a few holes into the round, something was up. Have you ever had that strange feeling that you’re either being watched or worse, followed? We did.

            Soon we spotted a masked bandit flanking our every move from the rough along the fairway. Fortunately for me, I made this observation from the fairway instead of from the rough where I am accustomed to playing. We maintained a watchful eye on our adversary, knowing how sneaky those little fox squirrels could be, we could only imagine the havoc this larger version could wreck.

            Becoming bolder, the coon skin cap wantabe left the cover of the brush and shadows advancing closer to our carts. Being the animal lover than I am, I tossed it a handful of pistachios and its boney little hands methodically made easy work of the shelled goodies, partaking of the bounty.   

            Leaving him in our wake, we completed the hole and advanced to the next tee box. Our little friend had now tasted the rewards of good fortune, knowing a short cut through the woods separating the fairways, lurked a couple of hundred yards out waiting for our tee shot. He didn’t know who he was messing with; I can’t hit it 200 yards. The game, however, was on with the masked ranger!

            As we approached our fairway shot, he advanced to check the cart’s menu. I tossed him more pistachios to keep him busy while the four of his advance our shots. Making quick work, he again continued his hot pursuit. Short cuts, he obviously knew them all.

            This time he waited patiently as we arrived at the tee box, a 170 yard par 3 across the water hazard. Gerald, tiring of this little meddler, decided to send him packing.  Frantically waving his nine iron, yelling obscenities, he charged the bandit and confused by the hospitality gone bad, it scurried into the under brush.

            Gerald, strutted proudly back toward the tee, mission accomplished. He had conquered the wild beast showing the loathly raccoon that man still ruled. Gerald with his back now to the forest, a bit of spontaneity kicked in and I figured this would be a great time for me to point behind him and yell “COON!” This brainstorm far exceeded my wildest expectations.

            Gerald, certain that the quarry has returned with vengeance, never glancing over his shoulder, tucked ass and began high stepping it toward the tee box. His arms were now flailing in some sort of defensive manner, club no longer the weapon it had once been. The remainder of our foursome joined in and pointed, confirming Gerald’s belief that the coon now chomped at his heals. Made you feel like screaming, “Run, Forest, Run!” Alas, we were all belly aching with laughter, all except Gerald who had yet to turn and see how close the critter might be.

            Finally, he mustered the courage to locate the predator and of course, no creature was stirring, not even a mouse. He had been had!  Being true whompers, re relived the moment for the remainder of the round, busting a gut along the way.

            E-mails erupted the nest work day as the Coon Whisper chapter had been added to Whomper history. Gerald, now the new found leader of the coon clan, drew notoriety where he would have least expected it. For many rounds thereafter, one of us would break in to the coon dance, bringing the house down. The Whisperer would never be forgotten, even though we never saw our little masked buddy on the course again; too embarrassed I suppose to be caught dead on the same fairway with Gerald. Whompers rule!