Here in the northeast, we have mud season, a season aptly described by its name. I mean what is a shoulder season anyway? Mud season leaves no room for misunderstanding. It comes in April and May (hopefully not June). It comes after all the winter exercises, the countless Padraig Harrington YouTube videos, after the snow has left and you can see the grass. It comes when you are bursting with joy, like a spring peeper. Then the reality of it all sets in. The course finally opens, and it rains every day or at least every other day. On the days when you can play, when it’s not raining or too cold, you find that the course has become a monster determined to ruin a winters worth of dreams. 

 The emerald green fairway stretching in front of you now has a water hazard down the right side decorated by a family of mallards. If you are lucky enough to avoid the hazard and find the fairway you can only hope that the impact crater is shallow enough that you can find your ball. And so, it begins a battle with the elements that the elements will win. You are simply over matched. You haven’t swung a club in five months.

 Maybe some tips are in order? Wear boots you cannot avoid the puddles. Shorts are a good choice if it is warm enough. If you must wear long pants roll the cuffs up a good six inches ala Jethro Bodine. The mud from our course is nearly impossible to get out. Have plenty of Oxi-Clean for the pretreat, but even that is not one hundred percent successful. For this reason, I have dedicated mud season pants where last year’s stains are still visible.  

 Playing. Use a yellow ball. This gives you a fighting chance on the plugged lies. Take an extra club and choke down. This will help you pick the ball off the turf and counter the fact that you sank into the turf a full inch while addressing the ball. This also helps to eliminate the fourteen-inch divot when you hit a smidge behind the ball. Aim at the flag, the greens are soft. It is the only time of year you can do this. 

 Exhausted, you stagger home. The struggle of pushing the hand cart through the mud, the circuitous route to avoid the puddles and the lack of conditioning have all combined to wear you out. Showered and warm (finally) you settle into a much-needed afternoon nap. You close your eyes and dream. The sun is shining on your face, the course is playing fast and hard, and your swing is perfect, and Padraig is there, and he is saying “Great swing”. You’ve passed the test. You survived mud season.