October 7, 2006

Page Turners for Golf Geeks

Yardage books, which detail every course, are cult items for some

By Jeff Silverman

Wherever we golfers wander to test our games, we tend to return with more than we left with. Beyond new memories of triumph and despair, we bring back shirts, hats, scorecards, towels, pencils, divot tools, ball markers, logo balls and whatever else isn't required to structurally reinfore the pro shop.

Me? I'm a yardage-book guy.

Like any good souvenirs, they remind me of where I've been. But these pocket-sized atlases, which chart each hole from tee to green, do more than that. Like a golfing MapQuest, yardage books help me plan my route. They identify salient features I might not otherwise see, like what's behind the hill on the right. (A Styx-like creek? Oh, no.) They report a host of meaningful distances: like how far from the tee box to bang into the huge oak on the left side of the fairway (something I don't want to do), or how far carry that angst-inducting fairway bunker (something I do). On par fives, they suggest safe and sensible lay-ups. And on every hole, the provide a detailed schematic of the green's contours and its immediate surroundings.

Today, golfers can readily navigate themselves around the course with hand-held laser range-finders and cartmounted full-color GPS interactive computer systems, which even let you order a hot dog at the turn.

But yardage books have personality, and every one is different. While they're all designed to fit in a back pocket, some open like novels, while others flip like a steno pad. Some have fancy covers with alluring photos and computer-enhanced 3-D depictions of each hole; others employ line drawings that are a short step up from finger paints.

As much as any game I know, golf is one of measurement. Of course, no one relies on precise and accurately measured distances more than the pros do, and it was out of their hands that the yardage book was born. Jack Nicklaus began pacing off yardages and taking notes in 1962, his first year on tour. "I might have been the only one doing that," he recalls in an interview, and, at first, others snickered at the obsessiveness. "But after they saw I enjoyed some success, I think they understood the value of what I was doing."

A decade later, George Lucas, a former caddie for Arnold Palmer, began measuring tour courses with string. He's since moved on to a laser system for pinpoint precision, and his hand-drawn creations, wrapped in Day-Glo covers, are referred to almost reverently in professional circles as "The Book."

Some people would argue that cluttering your head with 60 permutations of where every object on the course is relative to every other would interfere with the golfer's primary task of just hitting the ball straight. But Mr. Lucas believes otherwise. "When your whole mind and psyche is focused on thinking about how far, there's no room left for focusing on trouble," he says. Still, some prefer to listen to folk wisdom of caddies, or settle for educated approximations from on-course markers like the 150-yard stake or the nearest numbered sprinkler head. I'm sticking to my yardage book. "First you use them, the they become souvenirs to show your friends where you hit three in the water."

And unlike the other golf detritus I come home with, yardage books have an afterlife. On winter evenings, when my home course is under snow, I can skip to any page, close my eyes, and dream.

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