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!
