When the North & South Amateur begins, it does so with a still tranquility

Women’s Scores

Men’s Scores

By Alex Podlogar

Photos by Matt Gibson

With morning and afternoon waves of players and starts on the front and back nines, it does not take long for the 18^th hole of Pinehurst No. 2 to be in play – and stay in play – for the first round of the North & South Amateur.

On Tuesday, it was the start of the 124^th Women’s North & South, the longest consecutively running women’s amateur championship in America. A championship that began in 1903 and has been contested every year since.

The only amateur tournament to outlast it is the one that opened on Pinehurst No. 4 this very same day – the 126^th (consecutive) playing of the Men’s North & South Amateur.

But as 116 of the best women’s amateur players in the world begin their cycle over No. 2 and through 18 and around this venerable championship test, and as 120 more men’s players take their turn on No. 4 – a course that often parallels and intersects with No. 2, so close that players sometimes wave from one course’s fairway to an acquaintance on another course’s sandscape – what’s perhaps most, well, you could even say jarring about the start to these events is the utter tranquility of it all.

Spend time this morning on the clubhouse’s east veranda and what stands out as tournament play advances through is the soft stillness, as if the mysticism of the nearby Payne Stewart statue has frozen the 18th for all time.

There is little sound. But be still long enough, and the small and tidy collection and repetition of tiny moments there soon become apparent. And they reveal everything. What you are seeing, what you are hearing, what you are feeling – is all right there.

This is the meticulous grind of the playing of the North & South Amateur.

And it never truly stops.

In the morning, before the typical afternoon sizzle, the breeze is enough to be felt, 6 mph out of the northeast, and on Tuesday it carries with it at least some relief. The real heat and humidity will arrive by Wednesday and only amplify day by day through the rest of the championship. There will be difficult walks to come. Just imagine how difficult they will be later in the week when 4-down with five to play.

But Tuesday morning has a hint of crispness to it, and in the shade the breeze offers a fleeting memory of one of those Spring-into-Summer days. Three people shuffle about, the soles of their sneakers skidding on the invisible sand – you can’t see the grains windswept from the cartpath, but you can hear them – lying on the brick pathway behind 18. A volunteer marches from the practice range and up the ramp, whatever task ahead silently locked into his mind as he stares and strides with purpose straight ahead.

The pin flag waves just enough to buckle, a ripple smooth and gentle.

Players in the fairway have shorter irons in hand for their approach shots. The club clips the ball, marked with a perfectly compressed click. Seconds later, the ball lightly thuds onto the putting surface. A few minutes pass as all of the players look toward the green, size up their shots, and the sequence repeats. One ball rolls off the back left edge of the green. No one is there to groan.

The players and caddies walk up to the green. Some trudge rather than stroll, their footsteps already heavy and burdened. The caddies drop the bags on the edge of the fringe, and immediately it’s clear this will be the loudest and most abrasive sound heard in the next few minutes – unless someone curses. (No one does.) Players mark their balls, toss them to their caddies, and gently tap the greens with putters to repair the slightest of imperfections. There is muted conversation about what lies ahead. Lips move. Hands motion toward slopes. The chirping birds provide the soundtrack.

Everything is very serious.

Sara Adams has about 25 feet right of the pin for birdie. She addresses the ball, tapping her feet as she comes set. Her mother has her hand to her mouth in a nervous pose, rocking gently back and forth. She’s come up to the veranda to find temporary shade. “C’mon, Sara. Make it,” she whispers to no one in particular.

Adams’ putter taps the ball, which appears as though it will wind up 6 feet short of the cup. Instead it keeps rolling, and Adams’ mother stops breathing. It’s on line. The speed is just about perfect.

Just about.

Mom sighs.

The ball stops a few inches short of the hole, so close that when Adams taps in for par, the ball lightly and soundlessly drops into the cup. Adams picks it out, hands her putter to her caddie, and walks to the first tee to continue her round.

The next group can be seen in the distance walking off the 17^th green and to the 18^th tee. They cannot be heard. For the moment, it feels as though nothing is happening on the 18^th hole during the first round of the 124^th Women’s North & South Amateur Championship.

But after three hard-earned pars, we know that is simply not true.

A fox squirrel streaks across the fairway in front of the green, runs behind the bunker Bryson made famous and into the pinestraw right of the green, seemingly oblivious to all that is happening around it.

But it stops and sits up on its haunches and twitchily looks around before continuing its journey into the pines.

It knows.

The grind has begun. And there is more to come, including – eventually – triumph.