By Richard A. Baril
Anfi Tauro Golf Course is located in the Gran Canary islands. It took more than 10 years to design and build the golf course which means, among other things, it generated many stories.
Land is expensive in Europe and particularly in the islands. In the early days of the project, most of our discussions involved struggles over development land or golf land. My recollection is we fought over each square meter. Hole #1 was no exception, as it occupied prized land near the center of the project. It also had a barranco running through it which continued to provoke debate about whether it should be a par 4 or a par 5.
The client demanded that each house within the project should have a view of the ocean. This meant mass grading the entire site. The houses on the right side of hole 1 would need to be raised 6 meter (approx. 20 feet). Again, as space was at a premium, a wall was required to make the change in elevation between the golf and the housing, without consuming too much ground.
Hole 1 was one of the first holes finished. The project advanced sporadically in the early years and sometimes visits would be months apart. I remember arriving one day for a site review and getting my first look at the wall to the right of hole 1. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It encroached too far into the golf hole. After two days of study, discussion, debate and argument; we found the wall had been built 6 meters (approx. 20 feet) into the golf course. We convinced the client this would create an untenable situation for the golf course and the houses, which now loomed over the right side of the opening hole. The wall was eventually moved and all was well, until several years later when our client’s new partner took over management of the project.
On the way to the golf course, the construction superintendent (this was now the 4th construction superintendent that had been involved in the project) told me there had been a change to the wall on hole 1 and he wasn’t sure but he thought it might be okay. To my horror, the wall had been moved back into the golf course and construction materials had been staged to begin building houses. Now, I had to convince a new partner that knew nothing about golf and spoke little or no English, how important it was to move the wall back to the original location and, in the process, eliminate two houses. It seemed no amount of drawing, discussion or counsel would convince him. He wanted to see the problem on-site and needed “proof” of the risk.
The construction superintendent and I cooked up a game plan to make a case for the wall to be moved back. The Superintendent seemed to properly talk a good golf game and appeared capable of wielding a driver with suitable talent. So, it was my job to describe risk to the houses on the slice side of the hole and, on cue, the Superintendent was to handily carve a nice banana into the development parcel 180 yards down range.
We all convened on the first tee. There were at least 8 people, some with a horse in this race others curious about the spectacle and still others oblivious to the gravity of the circumstances. I delivered a full account of the past problem and why this “moving wall” needed to find its way back to its rightful home. I drew the group in and gave a worthy introduction to Jim; whose job it was to drive the point home – so to speak.
Jim nodded to the interested and disinterested onlookers and gave me a confident and conspiratorial wink. He teed his ball, gave the weapon a practiced waggle, drew back, lurched and unleashed a wholly unholy smothered and angry looking screaming duck hook that rattled through two ocean view bungalows (on the wrong side of the hole) before disappearing like a scared rat into the bushes. The audience was in a silent state of confusion. I quickly encouraged Jim to have another go at it. He looked shaken but I judged him meekly capable of delivering a suitable slice. His second and third drives left the launch pad nicely with an unpredictable outcome until they started banking left - two of the prettiest draws you could hope for; problem was, we weren’t hoping for them. By this time, the spectators were looking restless and appeared to be drawing their own conclusions about the wall, liability issues and our traveling circus. It appeared to me they were making lunch plans and we were about to lose this argument.
Jim gave me a vacant and defeated look. In a fit of desperation, I grabbed for the driver and scrambled to get a ball on the tee. My hand was shaking, probably a nervous reaction because I now had to hit a slice on demand. Or, it could have been irritation I felt for a man, incapable of hitting the easiest shot in golf. I remember wondering, while feeling the weight of the driver in my hand, if Spanish authorities could be convinced that a golfer, incapable of willingly slicing a ball, would be well served to be justifiably bludgeoned with his own driving club.
My mind was multi-tasking; part of my focus was dedicated to the pre-swing routine for a big loopin’ golden arch slice. My remaining neurons were attempting to gauge the direction and distance Jim had most assuredly skulked off. As I stood over the ball, I still remember being focused on two things; 1) ‘what idiot can’t hit a slice’ and, 2) I could probably bonk him 5 or 6 times before these non-golfers would recognize Jim’s unfortunate flogging wasn’t really part of the planned entertainment.
I’m sure if you read all available golf instruction books, surely only a few would advocate pre-meditated assault as a useful ingredient in the pre-swing routine. But, the concept had taken root in my brain and the physical manifestation, when I finally was able to swing the club, was an awkward hacking, brutish slash which feebly lobbed the ball down-range. The ball ascended like a wounded bird slowly turning starboard, taking a bead on the frontage lots and the infamous wall. As uninspiring as the thing was, it still didn’t reach the housing lots. The next shots urged on by growing rage, banked hard right like fighter pilots, upon leaving the launch pad, and found their target with a satisfying ping, ting, dong, clack. After a few more ricocheting power fades found there target in right field, the spectators began to fidget and murmur and form an informal huddle. Several minutes later, the spur-of-the-moment meeting seemed to adjourn. There was a round-robin hand shaking ceremony and everyone seemed to drift en-masse toward the waiting cars which were undoubtedly pointed straight toward the paella. I searched for meaning in the receding cluster.
Finally, the newly appointed project manager turned my direction and, if memory serves me correctly, he snickered. Yes, I’m sure it was a snicker. A Spanish snicker. With hollow appreciation, he congratulated us for the demonstration. He said the new partner wasn’t happy but conceded our point and understood the danger. He was told to inform us this change, replacing the wall to its original location and eliminating two lots, would cost the company approximately two million euros or two million dollars at that time. I am sure it was the most valuable golf shot I will ever have occasion to hit and I am proud to say I was equal to the task, having reluctantly perfecting a slice over many golfing years.
Anfi Tauro Golf Course is located in the Gran Canary islands. It took more than 10 years to design and build the golf course which means, among other things, it generated many stories.
Land is expensive in Europe and particularly in the islands. In the early days of the project, most of our discussions involved struggles over development land or golf land. My recollection is we fought over each square meter. Hole #1 was no exception, as it occupied prized land near the center of the project. It also had a barranco running through it which continued to provoke debate about whether it should be a par 4 or a par 5.
The client demanded that each house within the project should have a view of the ocean. This meant mass grading the entire site. The houses on the right side of hole 1 would need to be raised 6 meter (approx. 20 feet). Again, as space was at a premium, a wall was required to make the change in elevation between the golf and the housing, without consuming too much ground.
Hole 1 was one of the first holes finished. The project advanced sporadically in the early years and sometimes visits would be months apart. I remember arriving one day for a site review and getting my first look at the wall to the right of hole 1. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It encroached too far into the golf hole. After two days of study, discussion, debate and argument; we found the wall had been built 6 meters (approx. 20 feet) into the golf course. We convinced the client this would create an untenable situation for the golf course and the houses, which now loomed over the right side of the opening hole. The wall was eventually moved and all was well, until several years later when our client’s new partner took over management of the project.
On the way to the golf course, the construction superintendent (this was now the 4th construction superintendent that had been involved in the project) told me there had been a change to the wall on hole 1 and he wasn’t sure but he thought it might be okay. To my horror, the wall had been moved back into the golf course and construction materials had been staged to begin building houses. Now, I had to convince a new partner that knew nothing about golf and spoke little or no English, how important it was to move the wall back to the original location and, in the process, eliminate two houses. It seemed no amount of drawing, discussion or counsel would convince him. He wanted to see the problem on-site and needed “proof” of the risk.
The construction superintendent and I cooked up a game plan to make a case for the wall to be moved back. The Superintendent seemed to properly talk a good golf game and appeared capable of wielding a driver with suitable talent. So, it was my job to describe risk to the houses on the slice side of the hole and, on cue, the Superintendent was to handily carve a nice banana into the development parcel 180 yards down range.
We all convened on the first tee. There were at least 8 people, some with a horse in this race others curious about the spectacle and still others oblivious to the gravity of the circumstances. I delivered a full account of the past problem and why this “moving wall” needed to find its way back to its rightful home. I drew the group in and gave a worthy introduction to Jim; whose job it was to drive the point home – so to speak.
Jim nodded to the interested and disinterested onlookers and gave me a confident and conspiratorial wink. He teed his ball, gave the weapon a practiced waggle, drew back, lurched and unleashed a wholly unholy smothered and angry looking screaming duck hook that rattled through two ocean view bungalows (on the wrong side of the hole) before disappearing like a scared rat into the bushes. The audience was in a silent state of confusion. I quickly encouraged Jim to have another go at it. He looked shaken but I judged him meekly capable of delivering a suitable slice. His second and third drives left the launch pad nicely with an unpredictable outcome until they started banking left - two of the prettiest draws you could hope for; problem was, we weren’t hoping for them. By this time, the spectators were looking restless and appeared to be drawing their own conclusions about the wall, liability issues and our traveling circus. It appeared to me they were making lunch plans and we were about to lose this argument.
Jim gave me a vacant and defeated look. In a fit of desperation, I grabbed for the driver and scrambled to get a ball on the tee. My hand was shaking, probably a nervous reaction because I now had to hit a slice on demand. Or, it could have been irritation I felt for a man, incapable of hitting the easiest shot in golf. I remember wondering, while feeling the weight of the driver in my hand, if Spanish authorities could be convinced that a golfer, incapable of willingly slicing a ball, would be well served to be justifiably bludgeoned with his own driving club.
My mind was multi-tasking; part of my focus was dedicated to the pre-swing routine for a big loopin’ golden arch slice. My remaining neurons were attempting to gauge the direction and distance Jim had most assuredly skulked off. As I stood over the ball, I still remember being focused on two things; 1) ‘what idiot can’t hit a slice’ and, 2) I could probably bonk him 5 or 6 times before these non-golfers would recognize Jim’s unfortunate flogging wasn’t really part of the planned entertainment.
I’m sure if you read all available golf instruction books, surely only a few would advocate pre-meditated assault as a useful ingredient in the pre-swing routine. But, the concept had taken root in my brain and the physical manifestation, when I finally was able to swing the club, was an awkward hacking, brutish slash which feebly lobbed the ball down-range. The ball ascended like a wounded bird slowly turning starboard, taking a bead on the frontage lots and the infamous wall. As uninspiring as the thing was, it still didn’t reach the housing lots. The next shots urged on by growing rage, banked hard right like fighter pilots, upon leaving the launch pad, and found their target with a satisfying ping, ting, dong, clack. After a few more ricocheting power fades found there target in right field, the spectators began to fidget and murmur and form an informal huddle. Several minutes later, the spur-of-the-moment meeting seemed to adjourn. There was a round-robin hand shaking ceremony and everyone seemed to drift en-masse toward the waiting cars which were undoubtedly pointed straight toward the paella. I searched for meaning in the receding cluster.
Finally, the newly appointed project manager turned my direction and, if memory serves me correctly, he snickered. Yes, I’m sure it was a snicker. A Spanish snicker. With hollow appreciation, he congratulated us for the demonstration. He said the new partner wasn’t happy but conceded our point and understood the danger. He was told to inform us this change, replacing the wall to its original location and eliminating two lots, would cost the company approximately two million euros or two million dollars at that time. I am sure it was the most valuable golf shot I will ever have occasion to hit and I am proud to say I was equal to the task, having reluctantly perfecting a slice over many golfing years.
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