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“What are you gonna do with all those damn pictures?!”
My family booked a weeklong vacation in Banff, Canada for the last week in June. If you’re unfamiliar with Banff, it’s where white people go to take a bunch of “candid” shots for their Instagram. About a month before the trip, I did what any golf addict would do: I Googled “golf courses banff canada.”
There’s a trick to squeezing a round of golf into a non-golf vacation – you have to sell the itinerary maker on it. Now, I’d be doing a disservice if I glazed over the process of how my dad puts together a trip itinerary. When he and my mom travel to a new place, he creates an itinerary that details every waking second of the day. Then he’ll have a graphic designer create a unique logo just for the trip that he uses as a letterhead for each page, and this logo usually ends up on t-shirts to commemorate the trip. Yes, Griswold-esque. Here is the first page of our eight-page Banff itinerary.
Besides award-winning itinerary making, my dad’s greatest interests in life are golf, photography, mountains, and Tennessee Volunteers. To sell him on adding a round of golf to the coveted itinerary, I just needed him to see one photo of Banff Springs Golf Club, as it checked three of the four boxes. The next morning, he forwarded me an email with a subject line, “Thank you for booking a tee time.”
As far as scenery goes, Banff Springs is the most beautiful golf course I have ever played. Labeled as one of the most scenic golf courses in the world, every hole is carved through a forest of Evergreens, surrounded by mountains so close that you feel like you might hit an errant shot off of one. A few holes even run along the gorgeous, crystal-clear Bow River.
After originally opening as a nine-hole course in 1911, and later lengthened to 18 holes in 1924 by Donald Ross, Banff Springs was again renovated and rerouted again in 1928 by Stanley Thompson – Canada’s most successful golf architect – as tourism started to explode in Banff. The course today still plays to Thompson’s 1928 design, with the order of holes shuffled slightly over time. The signature hole is the 192-yard par 3 fourth hole named Devil’s Cauldron (pictured above), featuring a steep drop from tee to green over a glacial lake, right at the foot of Mount Rundle, and named by Golf Magazine as one of the top 18 holes in the world. This was the tee box where our photo taking first got under Herb’s skin, but more on that later. (For the golf nerds, I encourage you to check out this detailed piece by Riley Johns)
The weather during our trip had highs in the mid 60’s and lows in the 50’s, nothing too extreme… except this day. I lived through many hurricanes while growing up in Central Florida, but the wind this morning at the course was by far the strongest I had felt since then. My thin Under Armor pullover was no match for the biting wind that plummeted the temperature into the low 40’s, which was particularly jarring when I had flown in two days prior from 100-degree Nashville.
Since we were only playing one round on this trip, we decided to use rental clubs. The moment I set my bag down at the range, the wind blew it directly over, and as I turned to pick it up, my hat blew off 15 yards into the parking lot. We tried to hit a few warm-up shots, but the range faced directly into the wind, and it was hard to even get a shot airborne. I grabbed an eight iron out of the rental set, and at impact of my first swing the club head flew off into the range. What had we gotten ourselves into?
“Last call for the Wilson twosome. Last call for Wilson.”
So, why were we late? Well, I needed to run to the car to snag an extra fleece my dad brought – thanks, dad – and then I was in the golf shop trying on different beanies and contemplating spending $50 on those goofy, oversized Titleist mittens while the staff swapped out my 8 iron. I scrapped the hat and mittens idea, grabbed the club and fleece, and walked out to the cart expecting to shoot my highest round in a decade.
“I think it’s just us,” my dad said as we drove to the first tee, but soon we noticed another cart near the tee box.
Herb and Jill
A couple in their early 70’s, Herb and Jill, were waiting for us by the first tee. Herb wore a red FootJoy windbreaker, and Jill donned a black, full-length parka with the hood up and draw strings pulled tightly around her face like the kid from A Christmas Story. Her chin and eyebrows never saw the light of day during our 5-hour round. If I bumped into Jill with her hood off in the hotel immediately afterwards I wouldn’t be able to recognize her.
“Took you long enough!” were the words Herb decided to use as his introduction to two total strangers. Herb wasn’t one for subtly or nuance.
With the group in front of us still in the fairway, we had a few minutes to chat before teeing off. This is where I first learned about Herb’s communication style: up close and physical. 80% of Herb’s conversation with you happened a foot inside of your personal space and with a hand or two on your shoulder – kind of uncomfortable for a friend to do, and especially uncomfortable for someone I met 30-seconds ago. I pretended to get something out of my bag by unzipping random pockets just to get a little breathing room. Meanwhile, Jill sat quietly in the cart, arms crossed, hood pulled tight.
When playing with strangers, the first conversation topic usually swirls around assessing everyone’s game to see what we can expect for the next few hours. Herb mentioned that he and Jill were members at a club back home in Denver. He asked about my golf background, and I said that I used to be an assistant at a club in Chicago, and now I just play a fair amount where I live in Nashville. But what Herb heard was this: I am a die-hard Chicago sports fan, so please ask me a lot about Chicago sports.
He asked if I was excited about the Cubs finally winning the World Series, and I said, “Sure – I mean I’m not a Cubs fan, but like anyone, I was glad to see them win.” Then he insulted the Bears a couple of times, and I said, “Oh, I’m not a Bears fan. I only lived in Chicago for like two golf seasons. I’m actually from Florida and have now lived in Tennessee for about 10 years total.” That didn’t matter – he was going to keep making Chicago sports jokes all day.
After opening instructions from the starter, we tee’d up our first tee shots. I hit a 5-wood that I thought was a 3-wood, but with the high altitude and the freezing-cold wind I was too shook by the elements to even notice the misclub until a few holes later. My dad and I recorded each other’s opening tee shots as Herb and Jill waited up by a forward tee. On our way back to the cart, Herb asked why I took a video, and I told him it was just for fun. He seemed perplexed.
You don’t have to be a professional photographer to have the constant urge to get your camera out at this golf course. I like taking pictures, but not compared to my dad. Guess how many photos he took in our week in Banff. If you guessed 1,219 then you would be one thousand photos too low. So on number two, the first of the gorgeous mountain backgrounds – and my current phone background – we took a few photos while teeing off. Again, Herb asked why, and I told him I thought the background was gorgeous. Then ahead on the green, I rolled in a long birdie putt, followed by Herb yelling, “You should’ve gotten a video of that!” I laughed and sarcastically said, “I don’t really like taking videos,” to try and lighten the mood.
We drove up the hill to the signature fourth hole, Devil’s Cauldron, and I was excited to see the view in person from what I had seen countless photos of online. Herb was waiting on the tee for the group in front of us to clear, and as I walked up with my phone out, Herb came over and put his hand on my shoulder saying, “I guess you’re going to want some pictures of this hole too, huh?” I moved over a few feet and told him I’d be happy to send some his way after the round, but he said he’d take some himself if he wants any. We were officially under his skin.
To change the subject, I asked Herb and Jill what their plans were this week in Banff – maybe trips to different lakes, hikes, or drives to any glaciers – and Herb said, “Nah, our only plans are to play here today and Silvertip Golf Course on Thursday. Other than that, no plans really.” A weeklong international vacation with no plans? I thought my dad was going to faint, but that wasn’t in his itinerary.
Storm’s a-Brewin’
The round continued, and our picture taking lessened as the sun disappeared and the sky darkened. Ahead on the ninth fairway, two storms were about to hit us at once.
I hit my drive up the right side of the par five, and Herb hit his over to the left. When we approached my ball, my dad looked to our right and saw that the hole runs along the Bow River, and just beyond the river was another view of a mountain that was disappearing into a fog, or so we thought. As you might guess, he got his camera out and walked to the shoreline while the group ahead was on the green. That’s when, from across the fairway, we heard, “What are you gonna do with all those damn pictures?!” Herb had reached his boiling point.
No sooner than his words were yelled across the fairway, the fog to our right turned out to be a storm cloud, and rain came blowing off of the mountain at 30+mph. When the wind is howling at that rate, even the lightest sprinkle feels like an eye-wall of a hurricane. We all slugged through the ninth, and drove to the clubhouse for warmth, while rain pelted our windshield. I couldn’t help but believe deep down that Herb’s disposition brought the rain.
At the turn, our group had a little pow wow to see if we wanted keep going, which we all voted yes. While I grabbed a coffee and a beanie, hoping to regain feeling in my hands and ears, Jill leaned over to me and said, “Don’t let Herb bother you – I told him he needs to cool it.” Maybe it was her comment, or the frigid wind and rain, but Herb was much more subdued the rest of the day.
We drove over to the 10th hole, where the weather had only worsened. Instead of continuing to describe how insane the wind/rain/temperature combo was, I’ll let this video of my tee shot on the 11th hole serve as an explanation.
By the 11th green, the storm blew away as quickly as it appeared, and on the 12th hole the sun was shining like a mid-summer’s day. The only reminders of the storm were our wet clothes and the tumultuous wind, which intensified as the day carried on.
My favorite part of the property was the 15th tee box, an elevated platform at the foot of the Wes Andersen-looking Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel. I sat on the left side of an empty bench to take in the view, and Herb plopped down right in the middle, violating every socially agreed upon law of bench sitting, and asked me if I made it to many Bulls games. I smiled and said yes, but not in the past five years.
Approaching the 18th green we were sad that the round was over, but happy about getting indoors to heat and a change of clothes. We glanced back towards the tee and saw another stunning mountain view. My dad looked at me and said, “We haven’t had a picture of just the two of us today, so let’s ask them if they’ll take one for us.”
“I’m not about to ask Herb for a picture,” I responded, thinking Herb might bash my phone to pieces with his putter.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” my dad said, showing no fear.
Finals putts were holed, we shook their hands, and as soon as Herb turned his back to walk off the green, my dad discreetly tapped Jill on the shoulder and whispered, “Jill, would you mind taking a picture of us real quick.” He chickened out, and I don’t blame him.
After the Round
Over beers back at the hotel with my mom and sister, we told them about the wild day we had on the golf course with the mountain views, the insane wind and rain that gusted across the course, and then we mentioned a couple things about Herb and Jill, followed by more about the weather. Regardless of what we had to say about the day, they only wanted to hear more about Herb and Jill.
That’s when it hit me. It doesn’t matter how crazy the conditions, how distinctive the course was designed, or what you shot. The most interesting part of each round is the people you play with. Golf attracts people from all walks of life, and along with their clubs they also carry their stories – stories that I have been avoiding by dodging random pairings left and right.
This round in Banff opened my eyes to how much more fun golf is as an act of exploration. What you shoot is the least of your concerns, and instead you are exploring a new city, country, or corner of the world, walking miles through a massive piece of land.
Better yet, when you’re paired up with a stranger, you get to see this exploration through their eyes too, taking a much-needed break from the lens you look through 24/7. Plus, for me, this resulted in playing better golf. When this clicked, even rounds back home at my local muni became infinitely more interesting.
They were no longer the same boring holes I’ve played countless times. Now they were a 90-minute walk with Sam, the eccentric owner of a local pizza shop, or James, a guy working his way up the ladder at Dell – and their stories are fascinating if I just take the time to listen, to understand one simple truth of each conversation: there’s more going on here.
So that’s what I’m setting out to do with Paired Up. Instead of ignoring my fellow golfers, I’m going to seek them out, whether it’s a random pairing or planned, and I’m going to share their fascinating stories – stories that go far beyond any scorecard.
My goal is to show you that the most unique feature of every golf course is the people who inhabit it – even if your picture taking bothers them to their core.
(Here’s a photo gallery of some of my favorite’s from Banff Springs. Click on the photo to scroll through them.)
