A nearly perfect day

An incredible, beautiful day yesterday.  We stayed in bed until 8:30, got up, and I headed to the Westport Golf Club to join up with Padraic, Dave Joyce, and Gerry Hughes for a "fourball."  At home, we'd refer to it as a foursome.  Gerry was a late addition (recruited by Padraic at midnight) and it was a pleasant surprise to have Dave join us.  He heads off to France on Friday for six weeks to stay with his daughter.  And his son and daughter-in-law had just come to Westport from Maryland earlier in the week to visit.  He thought he'd be tied up with them, but they decided to climb the Reek on what was close to the nicest day of our stay.  Blue skies, white puffy clouds, no humidity, a light breeze, and a temperature approaching 70 degrees.  But more about the golf later...

After golf, a quick shower and then into the car for a spin around the area south - Connemara again -  but on a fine clear day.  After stopping for a "99" (a soft-serve ice cream cone advertised for 99 cents, and sold for 2 Euro) at McGreevy's ("Best in Ireland" proclaims McGreevy - truly a funny, shameless - and endearing, self-promoter), we headed toward Leenane and Clifden.  I so often hope for the right light for my pictures and am so often disappointed.  It depends on the time of day, the slant of the light, the amount of haze and glare, etc.  The best pictures are taken during winter, and at sunrise or sunset.  Well, I'm not here during the winter and I'm much too lazy to be in place for the shot at sunrise (5:15 a.m.) or to face the drive home after catching a sunset at 10:30 p.m.  But yesterday, even the afternoon and early evening sun was spectacular.

McGreevy's - note the subtle colors.  Hardly can tell that it's there.

Although we're frequent visitors south, there have been some areas we've ignored for the past few years - the beautiful drive from Recess to Clifden - and the remote village of Cleggan where we stayed in 2009 with Candee's mom, Cathleen, our friends, the Zedeks, and their daughter Stacy.  It was a lovely nostalgic drive and we shared so many memories of Cathleen - charming, idiosyncratic, warm, funny -  a wonderful time of bonding and exploring the land of her parents.  Her first real connection to Ireland.  She had unbounded energy and even at the age of 86 she could keep going all day long.  A very sweet and emotional walk down memory lane.

We stopped for a cappuccino in Clifden, drove through Cleggan to see the old cottage, and then headed into Letterfrack for a fine meal at The Lodge.  A somewhat surprising setting, located in the Connemara National Park Hostel, but a superb meal.  For starters, we had the beautifully presented veg soup and "Scallops 3 Ways" caramelized and served with streaky bacon, white pudding (Irish sausage), and a delicate complementary sauce which melded together these disparate elements.  For mains, Candee got the tagliatelle pasta and I got a fillet of chicken served in a traditional provincial Italian manner.  The tastes were complex and subtle and I would fail in an adequate description of these dishes.  All farm to table - fresh and local, filling and delicious

Killary Harbour, looking toward the west

Killary again, in the distance you see the island of
Inishturk right at the edge of the Atlantic

One of the most popular photospots in this area - Bencorr mountain is in the
background - 2332 feet high - I wish you were there for proper perspective

Some of the "12 Bens of Connemara" - the mountains which define the region

On the ride home, a lake near Kylemore Abbey

I had titled this post, "A nearly perfect day."  And, so far, it seems perfect in every regard, yes?  So, what's amiss?

The golf...

The teams were Padraic and Gerry against me and Dave.  There is a subtlety and complexity of setting up the match and structuring the bet that, so far, has eluded me.  My fault entirely.  I have gone out to have fun, to enjoy the fellowship and the hospitality.  The amusing "giving out."  You know, the gentle and good-natured aggression of friendly males in a competitive activity (not "bullying," by any measure).  The clever and entertaining turns of phrase of a verbally talented and well-educated group of Irishmen, naturally enhanced with a legendary gift of story-telling.  So, analyzing the particular odds on any given hole based upon the handicaps of the four competitors had not occupied my thoughts during these great walks astride Clew Bay with these jolly companions.   But Padraic.  Ahhh, but Padraic.  He had a darker plan...

The match was most likely already lost to us in Padraic's surreptitious late night recruitment of Gerry, and his cunning and crafty pairing of the players.  Gerry's a good player, but his handicap gives him a one-shot advantage on six holes over my very good playing partner, Dave.  Gerry's a 15 handicapper, Dave's a 9.  Padraic and I are fairly evenly matched, and honestly, almost anything can happen when we stand over the ball.  Asking Dave to carry the team is unfair.  And Padraic's single-minded fervor to get the cash and the bragging rights had him playing with an intensity usually reserved for matters of life-and-death.

Now, in fairness, I must say that Padraic played well.  He executed many good shots.  Hit the ball long and straight.  But the defining characteristic of the day was his ability to steal away my best holes.  Holes needed to counterbalance the cleverness of his well-laid plans.  Time and again, when it looked like I had the hole won for our team, he would sink a critical, and improbable putt, taking away the win.  Four or five times this happened.  I found myself musing that his zeal in doing this was eerily reminiscent of Donald Trump's apparent zeal in overturning any and all of Barack Obama's accomplishments.  This was greeted with a low murmur of assent from the remaining members of the group.  Fourteen Euro in losses so far, and counting.  I don't begrudge Padraic his winnings.  But I do regret carrying Dave along to this loss yesterday, and Tom Walsh at a previous occasion, due to my naivety.

Now, obviously I have some feelings in the matter.  You may think that I have unfairly maligned the generally well-regarded Padraic Duffy of Westport town, a former President and Captain of WGC.  I direct you to the exchange below.  Padraic's beloved and respectful younger son Diarmuid has weighed in on the matter.  His comments may help you judge the character of the man.  I would hate to think I had influenced your thoughts in any measure whatsoever concerning this affair...