Remembering the Valley

Like most golfers, I'll be watching The Master's tournament in Augusta this weekend. Watching the professionals pass by Amen Corner, avoid the rolling azaleas and slip on the green jacket is a rite of passage from winter to spring. It is time to clean the clubs and start chipping balls in the backyard to prepare for the summer season.

I decided to get a head start on the competition last weekend with a trip to East Brainerd to the Hickory Valley Golf Club. The Valley, as we lovingly call it, is a 9-hole course that is flat enough to walk, empty enough to slip on at a moment's notice and challenging enough to justify the $11 fee.

It is also gone.

With visions of Titelists and Big Berthas dancing in my head, I put on my blinker to veer left into the Valley parking lot only to see high grass on the greens and a padlock on the entrance gate. For years I'd heard rumors that the Valley was on its last legs, but figured it would eventually find a new owner to keep it alive. I kept driving along Hickory Valley Road before doubling back with sadness for a last look at the corpse of a course I played at least 50 times in my life.

Most Chattanooga golfers won't feel the same sense of loss as me. After all, the Valley was no one's favorite golf course. It was only 9 holes, so it could quickly turn into a slow round of golf when over-crowded. It was never in great shape. The greens were sometimes less-than-true and often painfully slow. You never knew what type of golfer was going to be in front or behind you because the Valley attracted a wide variety of players. There was always a collection of hackers slicing and whiffing their way into bitter frustration at the Valley.

One of my final memories of the Valley was being paired up with a couple of Japanese guys who spoke no English and had no idea how to handle the expensive set of clubs upon their pull-cart. After watching my playing partner hit a poor fairway wood on the opening hole, I turned my head to walk toward my ball for my approach shot when I heard the unexpected sound of clubhead meeting ball behind me. My playing partner decided to take a mulligan without alerting me and nearly killed me with a line-drive past my head.

It was another day at the Valley.

The 1st hole of the Valley is...I mean was...a par 5 that required an immediate decision of whether to lay-up in front of the creek that protected the green or to be aggressive and risk a big number on the opening hole of the round. It was a fun quandary because an opening eagle or birdie made for the potential of a memorable round, but finding the water meant leaving a par-5 over par.

The 2nd hole was a straight par 3 over a small pond to a small green. I always played this hole well for some reason. Hole 3, however, always gave me trouble. The par 4 moved left-to-right with the tee shot shooting through a natural tunnel of over-hanging trees. For whatever reason, I had a tendency to launch my approach shot over the green into the clubhouse parking lot. I suppose the lack of background threw off my depth-perception, but it was a common thing for me to find my ball near the mower shed instead of on the putting surface.

One of the great things about the Valley was that Holes 1-3 brought you right back to the clubhouse. My uncle used to play these three holes on his lunch break. If I saw a back-up on the 1st tee, I could usually convince the person in charge to let me start on Hole 4. I loved that part of the Valley's layout.

Speaking of Hole 4, it was another of several "temptation" holes on the course. The 4th was an easy par 4 that required little more than a 3-wood and pitching wedge. The temptation was the size of the fairway that begged an undisciplined golfer (me) to come out of his shoes in the hopes of blasting one. The penalty for doing so was a field on the right that took your slice and hid it in the high grass, turning an easy hole into a scoring disaster.

After the 4th, the intelligent walker pulled out a long iron and left his bag along the cart path to double-back to the 5th tee box. The 5th was a fun hole that called for a tee shot long enough to clear some trees that protect the green, but not so long that it ended up in the farm across the barbed-wire fence (which every Valley golfer encountered at some point in the hopes of retrieving an errant shot).

As a kid, my favorite hole was the 6th. As an adult, it was my least favorite. It required nothing more than a wedge with the only trouble being behind the green. As a kid, it gave me a chance for par. As an adult, it lacked personality and challenge.

Hole 7 was another left-to-right, short par 4. The temptation on 7 was to carry the trees on the right to potentially drive the green. Otherwise, an easy 5-wood led to a wedge approach. Seems like an easy decision, doesn't it? My decision on 7 was usually influenced by my score. If I was scoring well by 7, I would play it safe for a par. If I was struggling, why not go for the glory?

Hole 8 was a long par 3 that offered more depth-perception problems. The green was straight ahead, but a long-iron, if smoked, could end up on the 9 tee box or even worse in the drainage ditch beyond it. As a kid, the decision was whether to play a wood that could end up in the drink or a long-iron that was nearly always short.

The final hole at the Valley was the par 5 9th. The previously-mentioned gutter ran along the right side to swallow up any slice. There was no playing out of this ditch, so it served as a hazard to be avoided. The right side of the fairway was protected by a row of trees, so the key was to be straight. The green was protected by a grass mound that worked as a false-front. I hit many a shot on 9 that I thought would be close, only to learn I was short of the green.

Ah, the Valley. So flat. So cheap. So fun. It is silly to build an emotional attachment to a golf course, especially one as pitiful as Hickory Valley, but it happens nonetheless. I miss it already.

In fact, all Chattanoogans ought to be saddened by the loss of the Valley. We need courses like Hickory Valley where kids can learn to play without holding up the low-ballers. If the hackers aren't getting their kicks at Hickory Valley, where can they go? There are a few low-cost, over-par golf options left in the city (Concord immediately comes to mind), but not as many as when I was learning how to play.

Eastgate is gone.

The Quarry is gone.

Rivermont is gone.

Hickory Valley is gone.

Maybe I'm the only one mourning the loss of lousy golf courses, but I doubt it. Take a trip to Eagle Bluff or Brown Acres or Valleybrook and ask how many golfers there learned the game at one of these courses. I imagined teaching Abby and Caroline how to play golf at the Valley like my dad and granddad did at Eastgate when I was a kid. Where can I take them to play when all the bad courses keep closing down? Where can we go where they can be loud, slow and awful?

Enough with the sadness. Here's to the Valley: a working man's golf course that offered so much to the area's bad golfers while charging so little. You took many a Top Flite from me with your creeks, barbed-wire protected out-of-bounds and ridiculously deep and wide drainage ditch. You offered a fun afternoon of golf that included some of my lowest rounds. When my score ballooned or swing broke down, you even offered a row of condominiums down the leftside of Hole 9 as targets to take out my anger. Though your conditions and amenities were often bogeys, you will also be under par in my heart.

Thanks for the memories.