Spying the eighth
green of Oakhurst Links, a golfer prepares to hit an approach shot when
his concentration is interrupted.
Sheep. Dozens of
them meandering across a fairway in search of food, mowing the grass the
way it was done here a century ago.
Like the replica
hickory clubs, sand-and-water tee boxes and balls made from tree sap, the
sheep are part of the attraction at the birthplace of American golf.
"Anybody who wants
to know about the history of the game, it's a treasure," said Jay Harris,
a High Point, N.C., dentist who won a two-day national tournament at Oakhurst
in July.
Those hoping to fine-tune
their swing or soak in golf's modern comforts will have to go six miles
to the west to the posh Greenbrier resort and its three championship courses.
At Oakhurst, the
enjoyment comes from discovering firsthand how the game was played before
steel, graphite and titanium.
It is shuffling from
wall to wall and room to room of the museum during a personal narrated
tour. Or talking over coffee or lemonade in the clubhouse with owner Lewis
Keller, who volunteers a story upon the summons of a visitor to any hanging
photo.
It is holding a replica
19th century driver, with a suede grip, ram's horn protecting the curved
wooden face, and the hickory shaft bowing ever slightly from the force
of a swing. Or learning how gutta-percha balls are made in molds from the
sap of the sapodilla tree.
And it is stepping
up to a tee box and, in the 1880s tradition, mixing sand and water from
separate buckets to form a tiny mound on which to place the ball.
Education wasn't
on his agenda when Jason Lampe arrived recently with his mom and brother.
Grip-and-rip was.
The Pittsburgh natives
were on a five-day golf trip through West Virginia. Their original destination,
The Greenbrier, was booked and they found the short, nine-hole Oakhurst
course by accident.
Or was it destiny?
"There really are
no accidents," said Lampe, 25. "It was fun. It was well worth the trip.
It gives you an idea of how golf evolved."
Oakhurst was first
owned by Russell Montague, who became addicted to golf while studying in
Great Britain.
In 1878, his doctor
advised him to move from Boston to a healthier climate. Montague chose
White Sulphur Springs, in part upon hearing stories of its so-called healing
waters.
Montague and a small
group of colleagues built the course and held the first golf competition
around 1884 in the Scottish match play tradition, predating by a few years
the St. Andrews Golf Club of Yonkers, N.Y.
But Montague and
most of the original members eventually moved away. Play on the course
stopped after 1910. Montague's son, Cary, would return to the estate to
live. But the course faded.
In the early 1950s,
golf pro Sam Snead, who lived just across the Virginia border, became friends
with Keller and told him about Oakhurst. A New York native, Keller bought
the property from Cary Montague in 1959 to use as a summer retreat and
raise horses.
An avid golfer, Keller
would knock a golf ball around the pastures with his sons and occasionally
find reminders of yesteryear: A gutta-percha ball, and a cup still imbedded
in what was once the No. 8 green.
Keller had a vision
about restoring the course, but it wasn't until some coaxing from golf
writer Dick Taylor that he got the nerve to act. Golf designer Bob Cupp
heard about the course and stepped forward to volunteer with the restoration.
Using newspaper and
magazine clippings and course photos as guides, work started in 1991. It
was done by hand.
"We never altered
this terrain since the day I bought it and the day Mr. Montague played
golf here," Keller said. "It's the same golf course they played in 1884."
The 2,235-yard course
reopened in October 1994. The longest hole is 356 yards and the shortest
is 106. Keller's best round is a 37, the course record.
The bulk of play
at Oakhurst is in the form of tournaments. It is common to see groups of
golfers in the 1880s style of dress. Women wear ankle-length dresses and
men sport long pants, suspenders, a tie, white shirt, ascot and hat.
Snead comes for an
occasional visit, as will a tour pro such as Tom Watson and Lee Trevino.
"When they come,
most of the time they're much like Sam, on a schedule," Keller said. "They
play about six holes and head back to the Greenbrier for an afternoon meeting.
They've never had a true nine holes, hole after hole. So they have no score
registered."
Since spiked shoes,
electric carts and golf bags weren't used a century ago, they aren't used
on the course today.
Carts aren't needed
because the course is only 2,235 yards long.
Bags aren't needed
because players use only four replica hickory clubs from the clubhouse
stock: a wooden-faced driver resembling a small hockey stick; two metal
driving and lofted irons; and a wooden putter, a shorter version of the
driver.
The longer clubs
require a smooth, slow tempo. A faster swing with the driver likely causes
a shot to the right. Harris said the clubs take some getting used to.
"The face will lay
back on you if you put the modern slashy swing on it," he said.
Upon paying a $50
greens fee, golfers also are given two replica gutta-percha balls. They
are dimpled and appear the same size, weight and feel of today's balls
but fly about half the distance. Some have been known to disintegrate during
a round.
The first hole leading
from the property's entrance is called the Road Hole, named after the famed
No. 18 at St. Andrews, Scotland. Balls that land on the road must be played
from there.
Like some Scottish
courses, holes six and seven have parallel fairways with no trees separating
them. The second and ninth fairways cross each other, which is unheard
of on modern courses.
As for the 70 sheep,
they leave their pen between the fourth and eighth fairways in the morning
and are returned by late afternoon. They do most of the mowing, although
Keller keeps a mechanical mower handy in case the animals slack off.
This summer, that
hasn't happened. Drought has stunted the course, sending the sheep off
in all directions in search of grass. Along the way, they sometimes get
between golfers and the green, scurry into flower beds and run off into
the woods.
Course employee Gene
Frazier just shakes his head.
"We may have to get
a sheepdog," he said.
The biggest dilemma
for golfers is what to do when a golf ball comes to rest in sheep droppings.
Just like the old
days, they can move the ball free of penalty.
