By Jamie E. Arjona
(Copyright 1997)

Quite a few years ago, in fact, more than thirty, I participated in an annual fun golf tournament sponsored by the Reno Advertising Club. I was then a member of that quasi austere, and often bizarre organization, which would sponsor golf tournaments on a most irregular basis, or whenever the club president felt the group needed one. (He was a very avid golfer).

There is only a limited time during the year when one can play golf in Reno, as the city resides at the eastern base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, whose tallest peaks are snow capped year round. (Yes, some of that snow filters down into Washoe Valley, where Reno is located). As such, it was often very difficult to schedule golf tournaments on any of the then (three), available Reno courses, especially on short notice. With that reality in mind, our club pres. decided to schedule our golfing event on a brand new course, just opened in the then highly touted "golfing mecca" near Grass Valley, CA...about 100 miles, over the Sierras, west of Reno.

Grass Valley is located about 45 miles northeast of Sacramento, in the rolling Sierra Nevada foothills. It is truly a pretty, picturesque area, heavily wooded, with many small lakes and streams nearby. The city of Grass Valley played a key role in the "gold rush" days of California in the mid 1800's. And now again it was playing another key role in the state's economy, as well heeled developers tried to lure buyers into the area by building golf courses there, and touting it as the new "Palm Springs" of California. Smelling an advertising promo, our club president took advantage of the situation, as any money grubbing ad man would, and got our ad club a "deal" for a golf tournament on short notice. Ours would be the first group of players to tee off (on a shotgun start), on the first Saturday of May this year, on one of the newest, and finest of all the new courses in that area. There was one catch however. We had to guarantee the course at least 40 players, and tee time for the start was 6:45 in the AM !

In true flamboyant style, as any professional ad man would have done, our club pres. said : "No problema...we've got forty players...we all shall be ready to go at 6:45!" He then started calling everyone in the club to confirm their commitment to the event. It was a tough effort, for the club had only 35 members! But finally, after agreeing to accept in three new club members whose credentials were iffy at best, allowing the wives of several club members to also play, and paying off the bar tab of one club member so he could sober up for a round of golf, he finally found his forty players. Now, getting everyone up, awake, and on the road for a 100 mile trek to a golf course in California for a 6:45 tee time was another challenge entirely. But, somehow he did it, and we, many of us bleary eyed, assembled in the parking lot by the clubhouse at this new course in Grass Valley, CA, a little after 6:00 in the AM, listening to the club pro assign us our carts and tee placements. Fortunately the crew in the kitchen had made plenty of coffee, so we all made it through the perfunctory introduction. In fact, if I recall correctly, I think I had a huge hangover that morning. The coffee truly helped. Well, I was player number 38 in our group of 40. Our shotgun tee assignment was hole #10. So, off I went with my foursome to face the day. Oh boy!

The number ten hole at this new course was spectacular in its layout and beauty. It played about 410 yds. It was a severe dog leg to the right around a large lake, whose banks were surrounded by several, majestic California oak trees. As our foursome arrived at the tee I quietly marveled at how successfully the course designer had used all of nature's elements to sculpt what I considered to be real beauty. It was truly a pristine scene, and I let my thoughts wander for a moment as I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the early morning beauty.

Suddenly, in a gulp, I came awake and jumped bolt upright as I stared down the fairway ahead of me. There, by the first California oak tree adjacent to the lake, about 185 yds. from the tee, and not 10 feet from the shore, appeared to be a young couple. They were prone upon the fairway grass, somewhat undressed, and appeared to be doing what most young male-female couples have been known to do ever since Adam and Eve first did it in the Garden of Eden! In fact, they were going at it with a considerable degree of gusto. I was truly stunned. No, no, I'm not a prude. I mean, I've also done what they were doing. I was stunned that the golf pro had not notified the manager of some nearby apartments that there would be an early tee time on the course this AM, so that these kids, who were apparently local apartment denizens, would not be "exposed", if you would.

All of my golfing foursome pals around me were busy finding golf balls and tees, selecting clubs, and doing whatever else it would take to hit an acceptable opening tee shot on this first tournament hole, when I exploded with a huge: "Shhhh-ssh!" Everyone looked at me, and I hushed them all again with: "Be quiet." Everyone stopped moving. "Now," I said, "look down the fairway." To a person they did just that, and their collective oooh's and aaah's were quite audible. I hushed them one more time, and we all sort of gathered in a group at the tee, many giggling, and one guy trying to get another peek.

"What should we do?" someone asked.

There was a lengthy silence. Finally, I said, "Let's give them a wake-up call."

"What do you mean?" someone else asked.

"I too paused for a moment. "Well, why not one of us hit a shot toward them...you know, nearby...and then everybody else yell FORE?"

"Great Idea," someone whispered as I felt a ball pressed into my hand. "Here...you hit the shot!"

"Yeah...yeah...Yeah," came many whispered cheers. "Give it to em!"

Oh boy, me and my big mouth! Okay...why not I thought. I walked to the back of my cart, grabbed a five iron, carefully placed the ball on a tee, took my stance, waggled a bit as I always did before hitting a critical shot, and swung away.

"FORE...FORE...FORE...fore", came the shouts as my ball, launched on a perfect trajectory, took off and flew straight and true. It hit the fairway about 15 yds. short of where the couple was "coupling," bounced twice, and came to a stop not three feet from where they laid. It was truly a thing of beauty, as many of my old ad club friends often remind me today, but I am still not sure if they were really talking about my shot. However, the perception of that moment in time was apparently quite different by the players on the fairway near the oak tree.

Apparently, the lovers were probably not golfers, and were quite unaware that anyone would be on the #10 tee, preparing to tee off this early in the morning. Also, because of the intensity of their activities, it took them just a bit longer than usual to respond to external sounds, such as: "FORE, FORE, FORE and fore!" And too, there was a lot to be said for languishing in the beauty the moment, the area, and indeed to a well hit 5-iron. So their response was a bit ill timed. But, when it happened, it too was a "thing of beauty!"

Soon after the sounds of "FORE, FORE, FORE and fore!" registered in the mind of the young man, who by the way was on top, he quickly pushed himself up by his forearms and stared at the incoming shot. Almost as quickly, possibly realizing he might be in harm's way, he pushed himself away from the young lady and tried to stand up. His pants however, which were tangled about his feet, prevented him from any sort of upright balance at all, and like a drunken sailor (or golfer), he stumbled and staggered about in an embarrassing state of undress and indeed emotional exhibition, until one of his feet found the bank of the lake and into the water he fell!

The young lady on the other hand, unable to retain the presence of her mate, quickly grabbed what appeared to be some sort of under garment, jumped up, and ran toward the apartments. She was wearing a dress of some sort, so her feet were not encumbered as she fled. She promptly disappeared into apartment unit 2-B!

The scene at the edge of the lake however was something else entirely, as the young man continued to thrash about in the water causing quite a stir. Suddenly, the thrashing ceased, and all at the water's edge appeared to be calm." Is he drowning?" one in our group asked.

"I don't know, I shouted...let's find out!" I quickly jumped into a golf cart, put the pedal to the metal, and headed toward the lake. However, I had not gone far when I saw the young man reappear from the water, and stand up. I later realized that he had to dip underwater so he could pull his pants back up, buckle his belt, and then leave. I stopped the cart and watched him quickly follow his mate to apartment unit 2-B.

Upon my return to the tee I was greeted with cheers and applause from my playing partners. Word of events on #10 that morning spread rapidly, and I was sort of a quasi hero among my peers. Most of the wives however had other opinions! But the following month, at the club dinner, I was given a special award for my efforts early that morning in Grass Valley. It was nothing ostentatious. Just a plaque with a copper plate, upon which were inscribed the simple words: NOT 2-B !!!

Author of the above story is Jamie E. Arjona of Everett, WA, who admits to participating in several other zany Reno Ad Club projects such as: "Sheepdip" and "Trips To Nowhere"! Jamie says he no longer golfs in Grass Valley, CA as the 800 mile commute from Olympia is a bit too difficult to make on short notice. Contact Jamie at justus97@gte.net.