Saturday we both had to deal with big heads and downtrodden hearts. This was our last golfing day in Scotland. A morning flight on Sunday left us with just this last day to finish off another of our dream holidays.
I pulled a fast one on George and had pushed out our afternoon start time a few hours giving us a full day to explore, sight see and nurse our hangovers.
George was very agreeable (that’s a surprise) to my schedule and we both decided to get in some Scottish history before our last links escapade.
The historic Rosslyn Chapel wasn’t far from us so we headed out, coffee and tea in hand.
I, like plenty of tourists would never have had the chance to learn about Rosslyn except for Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code” and Tom Hanks running around trying to prove that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had hooked up and had a child.
Of course my brother, whose thoughts on religion have changed recently, knew so much about the chapel and it’s history. He’s my own personal tour guide.
Rosslyn was wonderful and the workmanship put forth on this rather small structure is exquisite. Apologies to our sister for visiting it without her.
We still had plenty of time and I suggested we hit Melrose Abbey which is also in this area, George was all for it. As long as he drove. He had tired of my speed limit driving days ago and gone all alpha male on me grabbing the keys whenever we were going out. 
Now, the old ruins of stone structures may not turn on many visitors but it gets me and big bro juiced up. These damn stones were originally laid in 1136 and this place had been the scene of battles and sieges with the English for centuries.
The architecture was impressive and the stone carvings surprising as there is a carving of a bagpipe playing pig. Love the Scots.
But what really intrigued us is the fact that the heart of Robert the Bruce was buried here and there is a stone plaque to honor him.
Our final round of the trip was at Dunbar Golf Club that sits on a tiny spit of land south of the firth and faces the North Sea. We love this setting and were jazzed to be the last players out on the course.
It gave us time to enjoy the setting, the links, the golf and each other.
Golf in this area dates back 400 years and Dunbar Golf Club originated in 1856. Old Tom Morris, Ben Sayers and James Braid all had their time building and re-designing these links and they were a joy.
The first few holes are jammed in an area near the clubhouse and at the third you head straight out to the sea. And from there it is a tour of the Scottish seaside with the holes heading out and back.
Bordered by the rocky coast to the east and nature preserve to the west the course gave us a feeling of total isolation as we walked these links. On the fourth hole you’re seaside and that’s where George drew first blood with a solid tee ball, a pured approach and two putts to my double bogey.
The entire rest of the course is next to the shore and the vistas go on for miles.
It’s easy to get distracted by the scenery for me anyway as this is what we come here for. Pure seaside links golf and Dunbar offers just that.
George must have been a bit less distracted than me as he got me three down after nine. No problem I thought. I got him right where I want him.
On the tenth tee which marks the final out hole we sat on the tee for a wee nip from our flasks. If I was going down I was going down happy. That water of life gave me a new one and I striped my hybrid straight at the par 3 green 200 yards away. A fortuitous roll had me in makeable birdie range.
George found the back of the fringe as he mis-clubbed himself. He putted up to less than ten feet and was thinking he may have a push here but the water of life stayed with me and I drained the birdie. Two down.
The eleventh hole turns back the way we came and got us closer to the sea. The wind now at our face gave us a new challenge.
On the twelfth tee we looked at one damn intimidating hole. A long 450 yard par four, with bunkers down the fairway, the ever encroaching coastline that narrows the fairway with a blind tee shot that has you aiming at a marker post. Oh, and the wind was blowing George’s hair (what’s left of it) into his trademark ‘wings’.
We both found the fairway, I pulled my three wood and hit it as good as I ever had. Still 45 yards short. George was able to get it within 30 yards of the green.
“Par 4 my ass,” he groaned. My trusty wedge shot got me close but George was closer. And here is where the tide turned.
My putt horseshoed the cup and just fell in for a shocking par. George ‘s ball did the same horseshoe but sat on the lip for bogey. One down.
Thirteen turns back with the wind and two good drives followed by two exquisite irons had us both in gimme range. No need for a putter, write it down: two birdies.
Again we paused for another hit from our flasks and to soak in the picturesque setting we were playing in. The gloaming was upon us. The golden light of the setting sun was laying long shadows across the links.
For us it doesn’t gets better than this. And this is why I pushed our tee time out. I wanted George to experience this. I wanted to experience it with him. This is why we come here for moments just like this.
We get to the par 3 sixteenth with George still one up and what awaits us but my links golf nemesis:the stone wall. Those damn walls.
This wall bordered the left side of the green, my new miss has been left all season, and it left me a bit intimidated. I opted for one less club to play short and let it bounce on the green hopefully. Hey, that’s what the pro’s tip in the course guide suggested so I tried it.
My ball rolled just short of the green and at least I was safe from the wall!
Big Bro has no fear…of walls or wind or sand or sea. I have seen him play some of his best shots from some of the most dastardly places. His impressive iron shot had a beautiful drawing ball flight heading towards the green but the wind looked to have a hold of it.
Left, left, left it sailed until it met a disastrous finish as it bounded off that wall. We looked upward as it continued it wayward trip over the wall and out of bounds. George had finally felt the pain of those walls which I have felt so many times. My par got me to all square with three to play.
Seventeen is a par four with not one but two of those pesky burns to cross which we both did for our ho-hum pars. We both had it going now.
As is our custom during the last round of our trips we stop on the eighteenth tee for our last nip and celebrate our time here. It is a bit of a bittersweet ceremony for both of us. With our aging bodies and sometimes unpredictable changes in our lives we never really know if we can get back here. We always revel in our past adventures of the trip and our appreciation for each other. On this trip I tell George that there is no way we are not coming back here next year. I don’t care if I have to carry his ass on my back. These links have not seen the last of us. He agrees but says he’ll opt for a buggy if that’s the case.
The eighteenth turns inland and heads straight back to the clubhouse. The entire right side is bordered by another stone wall with out of bounds beside it. We both avoided trouble and hit two cracking good drives. I played first and hoped my low, running burner of a three wood would find safety at the green. It rolled to the fringe, short and right of the green.
George lofted his hybrid and looked to have nutted it. But maybe a bit too good as it hit the green dead center but couldn’t hold and rolled far off the back.
He had a difficult lie but he executed a wonderful shot that trickled down just left of the cup and settled inches from the hole. A great shot for an unlikely par, advantage George.
My only chance for the win was a chip in and back in the day that was my game. But I hadn’t had one all trip… all season for that matter. Now was the time.
I left my new Vokey wedge in the bag and opted for my old, trusty pitching wedge that has given me a fair amount of chip ins.
With George standing greenside and a few onlookers from the clubhouse I dropped the club on the back of the ball and executed a perfect shot. I hit my landing spot and it rolled along my chosen line with the pin dead center in its cross-hairs. It rolled, I started my walk as it was destined to drop and then it clanged off the pin, hopped in the air and sat on the lip. Arrrgh!
A push on the last left us all square but it was a great match in a lovely setting, it was everything we came for.
I thought my last shot was going in to give me a final win over Big Bro but it was not to be. That’s OK.
Such is golf, such is life. Unpredictable as hell.
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