Playing with a bit of History

The author and Groundhog Hickory Golf founder, Adam Gresek, at Swilcan Bridge, St. Andrews Old Course.

Golf in my youth

The first time I remember playing golf I was probably 8 or 9 and it was at Dubsdread Golf Course in Orlando, Florida. I write and throw left handed, so my father bought the one left handed club he could find at Sports Unlimited. I’m pretty sure it was a MacGregor 9 iron, and I couldn’t hit for s*** with it. With time, I switched to right handed clubs, went to golf summer camp, and played all sorts of courses around Central Florida. Winter Park Pines, Casselberry, Sweetwater just to name a few.

My biggest achievement golfing in my youth was the “Most Improved” award at the aforementioned Winter Park Pines golf camp at age 11. Still not quite sure how I won it. I was a pretty terrible golfer. Most of my memories of that camp was the other bottom of the leaderboard kid’s dad constantly yelling at me mid-swing to “JUST HIT IT DON’T TRY TO CRUSH IT” or some other obnoxious unsolicited advice during the Friday tournaments. Still hate that guy to this day.

Despite that trauma, I kept playing. During high school and my twenties I didn’t play frequently, but I played. My scores stayed high. Breaking 100 for the first time was a small victory, but I wasn’t out on the course nearly enough to drastically improve. Some other distractions took up my time: lacrosse, college, girls, joining the Air Force, and eventually the odd hobby of reenacting. Dressing up from a bygone era was fun. Whether it was swing dancing, shooting a cannon or cosplaying a soldier, I enjoyed “living in the past” and grew to appreciate objects from the past. Golf however, didn’t seem to fit any of that.

The Rise and Fall

In 2008 I started my career in Washington DC, and with my new settled life and a non-typical weekend, golf came roaring back. Tee times were easy to get on a Thursday, and solo time on the course was therapeutic. It kept me sane in my new career and my game kept getting better and better. Eventually I got my first birdie on a real course, I broke 90 (once), and I had a walking bag full of top end Taylor Mades. I was tearing up East Potomac and courses all over the DMV every week. Snow? I played. 100 degree temps, tee it up! Trip to Hawaii? Better get a round in over there! Golf was becoming my identity. One bag of clubs grew to two, and my wardrobe was dominated with golf casual.

The glory days…

Then I hit a wall. My game started getting worse. Cards gradually filled with 100’s again, then 120’s. Everything about the game started stressing me out. Whenever I was on a course, all I could focus on were things that irritated me. Riding in a cart looking for a sliced drive, a**holes in my foursome, people behind me, digging a club, losing a ball. I started storming off courses, stopped keeping score, and then……………………………………….nothing.

My last round with modern clubs was on March 29, 2016 at Twin Rivers Golf Course in Oviedo Florida.

I know that day precisely because of the datestamp of the above picture. I was so over golf I was only taking pictures of the wildlife. A few years later, I donated both my bags of clubs to a DC high school. I hope they brought joy to some kid from NE that wanted to play golf but couldn’t afford it.

Golf had left my life. Not like I needed it. International travel became my new hobby. I had a wonderful new career path, and I didn’t need to escape to a golf course. A life changing injury also made a lot of athletic pursuits much more difficult.

Redemption

Then in 2024, the family went to Scotland. It was my second trip. My only golf experience on my first trip was a looking at a wind swept course in Orkney that I though only existed for whatever handful of masochists wanted to hit a tiny ball in a force 7 gale. The family trip was for dad’s 70th birthday and he wanted a golf component. So we booked a hotel overlooking the 18th green of the Old Course at St. Andrews. Our evening entertainment was watching all the dudes (and it was all dudes) finishing their “once in a lifetime” rounds.

I remember one guy who was duffing his way toward the green, and every time he stopped to hit, he would blow off his caddy’s club recommendation, and pulled out his laser rangefinder target designator……thing. He’d peer through it like a SEAL marking an enemy position for an airstrike and promptly proceeded to miss every shot. As I watched him from my balcony, I couldn’t help but think how here’s this guy on the world’s oldest course, and instead of living in the moment and enjoying it, he was just being some tryhard trapped in a self built cage of titanium club heads, alignment sticks, and Pro V 1 balls. I don’t know if all that stuff made him a better golfer. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t helping him have fun and I’m sure his caddy thought he was an a**hole.

The next day we went to go play some golf ourselves. We toodled out to a little historic site called Hill of Tarvit, which was the home of Kingarrock Hickory Golf. After getting a brief tour, the guides there handed Mom, Dad, Janice and I some beat up bags each containing a few slightly rusty hickory clubs. My dad was thrilled. My partner and mother were cautiously happy. I was worried. Would all my negative thoughts about golf come rushing back? Will I get pissed that my game had declined even further? Why did I sign up for this?

Then I teed up a replica Haskell ball, took a nice easy swing (like the guide told me to), and with a pleasant “click” the ball sailed about 80 yards into the fairway. Our guide’s Scottish accent rang out “aye, ye actually listened tae me, great shot”.

My score was not impressive that day, but it was golf without all the bull****. For starters, it was a lovely time outdoors with people I care about. The antique feel of the old clubs was better than I had from any synthetic hollow back monstrosity in a modern bag. My past hobbies of golfing and reenacting suddenly swirled together in a rush of happiness and nostalgia. It was the most fun I had on a golf course in over a decade.

Mom, Dad, and Janice getting familiar with Scottish fescue rough at Kingarrock.

Returning to St Andrews, I immediately bought a hickory and persimmon putter with a bison horn face. When I got back to the states I dove head first into hickories. I tracked down a few at some antique stores and played a couple rounds. Soon, I had a big enough pile of hickory shafts to build a log cabin. A workshop started to spring up in my spare room. YouTube became my tutor on repairing and restoring these little pieces of history. (Shout out to Christian with Hickory Hacker) Soon I was creating clubs for me to play with and a few gifts for friends.

Groundhog Hickory Golf

What a difference a year makes. I ended up back at Kingarrock recently. I showed in some knickers and a tie, with a canvas bag filled with seven clubs made before my family came to the United States. All of them restored and refinished by me. I played a better round this time, ten strokes better than my first visit. The score wasn’t the point though. I had a lovely afternoon in the Fife countryside admiring the view, and enjoying a game. The old gear takes away all the pressure. The bad shots no longer feel bad, and good shots feel amazing. It’s just a more natural way to play golf.

So I’m sharing this story at the launch of Groundhog Hickory Golf so that others can find a new connection to golf as well. Stop worrying about your scores. Feel the course with your feet. Enjoy the time with friends and perhaps even with strangers. Hopefully this will inspire you to buy some beautiful restored clubs from me. At the very least, I hope I’ve convinced you to put down the rangefinder and just have some fun hitting the ball.

My second round at Kingarrock. 31 July 2025