Sam "the birdman" Dalhed solves the mystery!

Glenn,
I think that the bird we saw is the black-crowned night heron.  I have 
attached a picture of the adult, and the other one with brownish color 
is identified as a juvenile.  The description of the characteristics in 
Peterson Field Guide to Birds seems to match the behavior we saw.  The 

guide describes siting the bird as uncommon!

 
                                                No turtlenecks for this guy!

Lyle, Raggio, Joe and Coach ...and a mystery bird type?

We just couldn't figure what kind of fowl it was- never seen one before ...Closer to a gull, we think, but not a gull- an elk perhaps?

                                                                              Company near the 6th tee.

To golf or not to golf

What so silent creeps with evil intent, without a whisper of its coming?
Tickles the throat and allows not the clearing a normal disturbance makes;
Cast not the eye on this villain, and perhaps destination will choose another (The Hat, maybe);
A skirmish in the sinus, the sleeping familiar warning of Nyquil nights to come.

Morning’s arrival has company: a Kleenex, a Kleenex, my dignity for a Kleenex!

What cold deed now seeks revenge on my throat and avoids all abating?

A hot ember residing with comfort sits, as if a servant
To inspect roughly anything that might attempt to pass.
A symphony in the making; coughing with notes of varying sounds from basso to falsetto,
Followed by a gentle wheeze that rests with insistent pride on every breath.

Like a one-hit oldie, there is no expectation of arrival,
You know the notes, the melody, and the harmony—and there it is:
A cold, your cold.

One would think that given the many rehearsals,
You could play through the misadventures:
Be d’Artagnan and duel all symptoms to rest.
Not.

I am six when I’m sick:
Ginger ale, Vaporub, and Campbell’s chicken soup (the musketeers)
Must follow until that morning when the corner arrives,
When my voice no longer sounds like it’s exiting through one nostril,
When blowing my nose doesn’t feel like it might blow an eye into my soup.

I used to read the thermometer without glasses;
A non sequitur, yes, but I have allowance.
I am seriously feeling sorry for my three-days-ago self.

Okay, so it wasn’t Iwo Jima, but it was a form of hand-to-hand combat with myself;
Fight, but do not slay; you might need those lungs later …

Ok, so it wasn't an elk

I’m sure it was an elk, though Lyle has doubts,
Says elk don’t live here, they travel different routes.

Sure looked like an elk, but I needed a witness.
Marvin, I know what you mean—they’re questioning my fitness!

So I looked up elk, compared the picture—Lyle was right,
I blame it on the brief encounter in the failing light.

If see it again I’ll rush to get close,
Take pictures or video—it wasn’t a ghost! 

The gal in full circle

“Usta” Golf

There was a time when there were no elements, save snow or storm, that could deflect or affect “the game.” Raingear, waterproof shoes, weather gloves or sweat-sapping shirt—and the bag was carried, not pulled, and rarely rode on the back of a cart!

The poker/golf group recently agreed, over a dealt hand of draw poker, that those days have passed. Rain, temperature, dampness, wind, or even threatening clouds (though we all agreed there must be four or more to complete the threat) have become permanent deterrents. Macho golf has gone the way of the princess phone, Bosco, chariots and Cronkite. Yep, we all agreed there must be reasonable decisions in our “advanced” years; bluffing, raising, calling, and threatening behind five cards is much more civilized than yelling “fore” through freezing hands, having our shoes muddied with fat shots, losing valuable tees, and polluting the game with excuses.

I call.

The gal and her pup

                 

No one was really sure how the argument started; however, it was clear how it ended ...

Fred/Ed/Raggio

UNDER FIRE

Needed:

Four immediate-response fire airports (fireports) constructed at strategic points from north to south in California, each equipped with three or four retardant-bomber 727s awaiting deployment, as well as a fleet of helicopters and transport for emergency personnel to the affected area.

These fireports will also require establishment of a new state agency that will deal only with wildfire response; special taxes will fund and maintain resources for what is certainly inevitable.

How many more lives will we lose? How many billions have we already spent and will we spend again? There is enough ash. Climate change is at all our feet. 

What to do when the play is very very very slow ...

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssslllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww play.

So we took a picture!

The Sandy Scramble!

                                          Seen crossing the cart path on the way to hole 11

                                                  The miracle back nine!!



                                 The sandy scramble

Setting:  Red tees. Scramble format. Threesomes.

Team 1: Wade, Coach and Raggio

Team 2: Dalhed, Lyle and Riva

Conditions: Sanded greens, temperature in the low 70s, and almost no one on the course!

Team 2 (over beer) explained that their putters simply would not cooperate. Time and again they shaved the hole, but nothing wanted to drop. They reported only one birdie on the front 9.

Team 1 also had only one birdie on the front side, and that was on the first hole. “Let’s just birdie the whole back 9,” Raggio proposed. The chuckles were dismissive, but chuckles nonetheless.

What happened in the next hour and twenty minutes will go down in Wade Group history: a threesome proceeded to shoot 29 on the back nine, birdie-ing 7 of 9 holes. All three players contributed equally and made putts from different counties!

The game was fun for all! The record for a White-Tee Scramble is 6. Now we have a Red-Tee record: 8.

More Scrambles, please!

Team 1 pics:

Miscellaneous

Coyote caddy in black and white

My Doctor said ...

Went to bed like Jello

Went to bed like Jello, slept quite well. Woke like a piece of balsa wood; snap, crackled, and popped down the hallway; made my way to the kitchen like the Tin Man. Just now thawing out some—takes a bit longer every morning. I’m told I need to stretch. Clearly whoever recommends this approach has no concept of an old rubber band and what happens when you stretch it!

My coffee understands.

the Gal

Monday after the round ...

The Gal and other stuff ...

                Pomegranate tree growing out the rock formation on 12

Groovin' at the Grove- Sloppy at Poppy!

We kept repeating ourselves: “Do you believe this weather—warm, with no wind?” Just one of those rare, rare days on the coast. Of course, without the wind there was no excuse; none of us could or would brag about the round, yet we did have a good time. 

Tomorrow is Poppy Hills!

Pacific Grove pics

                                                       Poppy Hills pics

This was an extraordinary golf gig ... !