In an article somewhere, somewhen, Harry Vardon, during the transition from gutta balls to rubber cores, lamented the changing sound of the game. He had become accustomed to the gutty’s distinctive “click” off the club face. Long trained to the capabilities of the gutta ball, he was now learning the game from the perspective a new ball and its behaviors. This correspondent has come to gutta from a devolution, possibly construed, of golf ball technology. I began with modern balls and have just examined gutta percha play. Here is yet another level of golf’s mysteries. A few passing thoughts…
A friend of extraordinary patience outfitted me with pre-1900 clubs, their smooth faces and hardy hosels presaging an uncompromising exploration of early golf. No pollyannas, these ancient veterans, no titanium composites with cavity backs that do everything but hit the ball for you; no, these clubs spoke of a straightforward golf wherein metal and gutta would challenge a player to his core. Balls did not sizzle off the club face to land 300 yards away. They clicked away, brutally honest in their assessment of the creator’s stroke, flying far and sure, sometimes, or more likely sliding left or right to fall quickly in a rigid rejection of an inadequate application of club face to ball. A 40-yard shot with a lofter that landed in front of the green would bounce and run… and run! I did not foresee that. I thought the gutty would stop quickly. Perhaps it was the green itself, but the gutty played about the green like a headstrong child testing boundaries.
All I knew regarding the golf stroke, and it is not much, was for naught in this game. New methods were summoned. The swing flattened, the stroke abbreviated, expectations altered… and perforce a game began to emerge, rudimentary in its inchoate, faltering first steps. The driving iron was a pleasant surprise. A wooden play club having proved insufficient to place a ball near a fairway, the driving iron stepped in with a solution. A steady hand, and slow sure swing were the gutty’s keys. Mid-irons and lofters asserted themselves, revealing nuances of play unheralded by their otherwise blue-collar appearance. Quick rises and falls. Confidence in each stroke absolutely necessary, each club resonating an unforgiving nature that recalled the early Calvinist roots of the game.
If you’re going to play this game, here are the tools, here is the ball and there is the goal. You put the ball in play and you do not touch it until you pluck it from the hole. Good luck to ye, ye bastard, and ye’ll be wantin’ a wee drink at the turn, fer sure.
Those modern hickory players who espouse gutta golf have embraced a long-abandoned standard of play, a standard long buried by an irresistible avalanche of technology. Their contention is not with distance, alluring distance, but with the subtleties of grace, the contours of a fair way, and the final salvation of a holed putt. Gutta golf is approached with eyes open, with a brave heart and a steady nerve. It is not a game for thoroughbreds, but for the draft horse; a strong and relentless pursuit of perfection measured by sure advancement and a sense of the inexorability of the game’s end, no matter the course, no matter the trials or glories along the way.
There is no small return, here, for the modern hickory golfer, who would explore some of the mysteries of golf. In gutta golf there is all one could desire in one of the most ancient games in the world. Unless, of course, there comes a rise in feathery tournaments. Surely, these would prove an exclusive pastime, now as it was then. For now, hats off to the gutty proponents and their games. Tis a hard thing to master, but one rich with reward for those of capable mind.
Hackory Golfer