Well, where should i start....? Every time i set forth to play a round on the Peninsula I become inspired in one way or another. My most recent moving experience happened during a round at Poppy Hills. Set up at the top ridge of the Del Monte Forest lies this splendid course were the front-nine is open to the afternoon sun and the back-nine is set deep in the forest.

My round kicked off in the afternoon with party sunny skies peeking through the low cirrus clouds. As the front nine went along i found myself in a happy space, smooth tempo, content with my surrounding's...but nothing, up to this point, made me feel it was going to be an extraordinary day.

As the sun started working it's way toward the ocean and the temperatures started to fall, i made my way to the back-nine. Stepping up on the 10th tee i noticed the low fog wisping in over the tops of the trees. At this point i did not think much of it, although i did stop to admire the eye candy in the sky a few times while walking down the fairway. As i ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, the meandering fog started filling the fairways analogous to pouring homemade whip cream on a bowl of strawberries. I could not believe this mystical embodiment encompassing me. On the 11th hole, watching the fog pouring in over my head and smothering the 200 yard par 3 in front of me, I let out a tribal call that rang through the top of the pine trees. I have a hard time expressing exactly what came over me, my best explanation is pure JOY! As I progressed through the back-nine, the fog would ease in and out like the Pacific tide had strings attached, manipulating the fog, akin to a puppeteer. During the remainder of the back-nine, a story line reminiscent of a Robert Louis Stevenson novel ebb and flowed in my mind, while walking to each subsequent shot.

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