Some duffers don’t need to bluff

“Two clubs! You guys must be really good,” the course monitor said as he wheeled up behind us on his golf cart.  

“We’re beginners,” I said. “Can you tell?” 

My teenage son gamely got out of our cart to take a swing as the visitor sped away. 

We were a few holes into what would be one of the highlights of our summer: A grand tour of prime Flathead Valley terrain during the golden hours of a summer evening.

Some of my fave friends and relatives are golfers, so in no way was our outing meant to poke fun at the activity. It’s just that – we're not good.  

We don’t want to be. 

We mainly just wanted to drive the cart around. 

It looks so fun: a miniature open-air vehicle that travels the dips and curves of ground that’s as groomed and verdant as in a video game. Why add in something that looks as hard as actual golf if you don’t have to? 

I booked the last tee time of the night. The guy who answered the phone seemed encouraging enough about my 18-hole plan. “You gotta be back by 9:15,” he said. 

Earlier on the appointed day, I picked out a couple of clubs from the selection at Flathead Industries: a big one and a little one. At first I thought titanium was a bit much, but then realized it was half-off day at the thrift store so, “Why not?”  

We picked up another key piece of equipment, a battered tee, off the ground in the parking lot when we got to the course. There were many scattered about; what about flat tires? 

At the pro shop where we went to pay, the fellow looked us over and processed my credit card. Handing me the receipt, he said, “We ask that you come back at 9:15.” 

It was expensive but I’d recently priced the rides at the fair and one was $7 for less than five minutes. Given we would get a good two-plus hours of fun out of this evening we stood to receive more bang for the buck. Plus, my teenager can’t stomach carnival rides. 

He jumped into the driver’s seat, though, and the cart jockey waved us off with another reminder about 9:15. We must look like scoundrels. 

I’ve heard enough about etiquette on the golf course to know the importance of keeping our distance, maintaining the pace of play and generally behaving ourselves. I’m confident no one realized how much fun we had that night.  

My son’s face glowed as he navigated the loopy paths. We found charm for miles. We watched the mountain majesties turn purple and the deer tiptoe out of the trees.  

I called our friend who lives on the course, and she walked out to meet us and enjoy the cool breeze. We took her home, and my son cleaned out her snack stores. We had a long ride back, after all. 

We did play some golf, but mostly “golf.” Our balls went everywhere but the hole. Many we skipped entirely and especially the last few because, you know, it was almost 9:15. 

Margaret E. Davis, executive director of the Northwest Montana History Museum, can be reached at mdavis@dailyinterlake.com.