The second golf course on my rotation at the Mesquite Amateur was Coral Canyon, a course I’d been wanting to play for some time. It’s actually in St. George, UT, about a 45 minute drive from Mesquite. I’d been there before to play Ledges, and I just love the area. I’m a sucker for the red rocks and sand and have long thought Utah to be the prettiest state in the country. Coral Canyon did not let me down.
I got into some trouble on the course and found myself in the desert on more than one occasion. I was concerned about snakes but it was wildlife of another variety that gave me a start. After one errant drive, I located my ball near a short shrub on a hillside but it looked playable. I cautiously entered the area looking around for scary creatures and making some noise to alert anything living of my presence. After deeming it abandoned, I started taking my stance which included stepping on a corner of the aforementioned short shrub. Just as I did that, a quail panicked, screamed and ran out from under the shrub, which naturally caused me to do the same and making my playing partners laugh hysterically. I regrouped and successfully punched the golf ball back out into the fairway. Now I really had a shot and thought I still had a chance to reach the par 5 in 3. As I addressed the ball I thought I saw something crawling between my feet but put it out of my head. As I began my backswing, I realized there actually was some kind of creature there. Surprisingly, I finished my swing without a total disaster. As I was running away after an abbreviated follow through I realized it was only a baby lizard. The lizard was fine but my shot was short. Two harmless critters in as many minutes shook me up a little but we all had a good laugh. I didn’t get up and down for par but managed to save bogey.
Must’ve been a really errant shot!
Early in the round, we noticed something a tad unusual that put such “trouble” into perspective. Here we were on a beautiful day and a beautiful golf course delighting in our efforts to put a little white ball into a hole. Then we saw these guys:
I’m guessing the trouble they found was of a different variety than mine. Think I’ll stick to the kind that only comes with penalty strokes and startling silly birds.
No idea what shenanigans I was up to here but I like the backdrop.
This little guy actually got up into our golf cart and started rummaging for snacks in the cubby holes. Sorry, brave chipmunk. No treats for you in there.
Rush, rush, RELAX
If you’re planning on going to the Mesquite Am next year (and I highly recommend it if you hadn’t noticed), check your course rotation before making your spa appointments. Just a word to the wise. When we played in Mesquite, the golf courses were mere minutes from the hotel and we were generally back from the day’s play around 1:00 PM, give or take. I figured even with the 45 minute drive from St. George, I’d still have plenty of time to make a 4:00 spa reservation. HOWEVER… after a particularly long round and a quick stop at the feed store to pick up some hay and horse medicine for my new friend Dee’s babies, we didn’t get back to the Casablanca until 3:30. I ran into the room, plopped down my stuff, paused for a proper boyfriend greeting, scrambled up some clothes and hurried like mad out past the pool and to the spa, still in my golf clothes. Filled out the paperwork, got my locker key, hustled to the shower and got my frenzied self back out to meet my masseur just a couple minutes late. His name was Mike and he had magic hands. He found spots I didn’t even know were sore and I luxuriated in the pampering for an hour. You know how it is – quietly soothing music, subtle aromatherapy, and a confident, professional touch of a Swedish massage that obliterates any leftover stress or aches. The frenzied feeling was gone as I got dressed and headed to the salon where I enjoyed yet another foot massage during my pedicure.
The Pampered Golf chick
I was feeling a bit spoiled since just the night before I had another hour-long Swedish massage that was as good but in a different way. My Swedish boyfriend had just driven out to surprise me and at bedtime, he treated me to a downright nearly professional massage and let me drift off to sleep when it was over. He wanted to demonstrate how he was there for me, not himself. Success. If he keeps that up, maybe he’ll be around next year and he can do both. Shouldn’t be that tough to get him interested in golf, right?
