Learning to Love Winter Golf

I’ve always hated winter golf. Jonny would constantly try to drag me out for a round, and I would shut him down every single time. I had zero interest in slogging through mud just to maybe hit two decent shots.

Winter Golf

I hated the wind, the rain, the numb fingers. I really hated the soft, soaked ground that practically guaranteed I’d chunk every second shot and tear half the rough up with me. I hated not knowing distances, having to add clubs for cold air, no roll, and a swing restricted by five layers of clothing. It always felt like a miserable guessing game with bad outcomes.

But this year… something changed.

I played a quick nine in a scramble in Dún Laoghaire, and then two 13‑hole rounds in Powerscourt. One was with my brother and his mates, and the other with Jonny and a great friend of ours, Dumbo. The weather was surprisingly kind, no rain, barely any wind, but my god, the cold was unreal. I went full winter golf mode - waterproofs, leggings underneath, mittens, snood, beanie. I was wrapped up like a human thermos.

And yet… I really enjoyed myself.

I hit the ball pretty well, but more than that, I loved the feeling that I was sneaking in some bonus practice before the real season starts. It felt like I might actually hit the ground running come Masters time, when golf should be played. My handicap is at an all‑time low of 13.2, and I’m desperate to get it into single figures this year.

I’m not sure if it’s just age and appreciating my free time more, or simply the fact that I wasn’t stuck indoors, but spending time with friends chatting, laughing, not obsessing over every score, it was genuinely lovely. I was actually impressed with my game too; it hadn’t deserted me completely. The whole thing gave me a real hunger for the season again. I found myself celebrating the good shots instead of dwelling on the bad ones.

And hopefully, before long, I’ll be doing it all in shorts again.