Outdoors | Rooftop damage and the unexpected perils of golf course living

Living next to a golf course serves as a constant reminder of the noble sport: drum beat of errant golf balls hitting house roofs, discordant rumble of gas-powered carts, expletives, loud music (not of my choice) from afar.

Play increased exponentially during the pandemic when golfers began to “work at home.”

Not to mention half of the general workforce that enjoys either flex time or 4-day weekends. No day is safe from the distinctive crunch of a high-velocity golf ball striking our rooftop solar panels. Every year I count the number of ball marks, evaluate kilowatts of energy lost, and factor in the cost of replacement. If not for a strategically-placed, 80-foot-tall spreading locust tree, damage would be worse.

I have a pretty good idea of a poorly struck golf shot ever since Dad placed Mom’s little-used 3-iron in my hand at age 10. I sensed there was a risk when we purchased a home overlooking the Horn Rapids Golf course, but the fairway dog-legs the opposite direction, there’s 50 yards of big sage between us and the cart path, and our house sits 20 feet above the golf course.

Golfer are not legally liable for damage unless they purposely aim at your house. That much they know. Regardless of culpability, guilty parties speed past on the far side of the fairway, crank up a favorite tune, and adjust their baseball hat backwards. Homeowner insurance will cover it, they think. But who do you think gets stuck with the $500 deductible?

Our next-door neighbors don’t play golf. Had no idea the house they purchased was in constant danger. Across the fairway, a 30-foot-tall screen protects homeowners from ill-informed golfers who try to drive over the corner of the dogleg. Perhaps thinking, professional golfers hit 400-yard drives, so why can’t I? Other golfers will do anything to save a stroke. As one homeowner reports after looking out their dining room window, “A golfer was hitting from our lawn, a full 20 yards out-of-bounds!”

I play with a group of laidback golfers who allow a breakfast ball or “mulligan” on the first tee. Hit your first drive in the water, out of bounds or dribble it in a bush, you can choose a “do over.” When someone hits a god-awful clunker, you might hear them remark, “Where did that come from?” Unfortunately, the result comes with old age and diminished hand-eye coordination.

All golfers live in the past and I am no exception. It’s been said that only God and Jack Nicklaus could hit a 1-iron, but I also could. That is, until I no longer could. Nowadays, I hope enough good shots outweigh the bad that I don’t stay awake at night replaying mistakes in my head.

After taking the winter off from golf to fish for steelhead and walleye, it takes me a month or so to regain my swing and when I do, my ball doesn’t fly as far nor as straight as I imagine it should. Then just when I get a feel for the game again, I take a month-log break to fish for sockeye and trout. It goes without saying that playing both sides against the middle rarely gets you what you want.

If the golf course is my foe, the river is my friend. Fishing restores my soul no matter how rum dumb my mind or how creaky my bones. Trying to play respectable golf in a similar compromised condition, leads me to wishing I had stayed in bed.

James Barret Reston wrote about golf as “a plague invented by the Calvinistic Scots as a punishment for man’s sins.” Whereas, fishing is often described as “the worst day of fishing is better than the best day at work.” Which reminds me of the time a group of every-day golfers asked me, “Why don’t you golf more often?”

“I’m retired,” I told them. “Showing up at the golf course every day at the same time to mingle with the same group of people is too much like going to work.”

Some golfers show their allegiance by flying the American flag or a favorite sports team from the roof of their golf cart. My golf cart flag says, “Should have gone fishing.”

When the round is over, the mid-morning group meets on the 19th hole to brag, complain, and share a favorite libation. Fishing only creeps into conversation when someone expounds on a food truck where you can get the best tasting fish and chips.

Dennis Dauble is a local author of six books about fish, fishing, and human nature. His website is DennisDaubleBooks.com.