Women’s Golf Blog: Where the Crawdads Sing

Prior to leaving for a tournament, we review with our team the details of our travel and what they may expect upon arrival. I told them, we are going to Yeamans Hall, where we stay on site with all the teams for the entire four days. Just like the song Hotel California, “you can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave.” A place back in time, where cell phones are not allowed on property, jeans are forbidden and proper respect for the hallowed ground is expected. The Cougar Classic is hosted by the College of Charleston and always boasts a field more common to an NCAA Regional Championship.

The tournament is held at one of the premier golf courses in the country, Yeamans Hall Club, a classic design by the famous golf course architect, Seth Raynor in 1929. To understand what our experience was like imagine the basketball team hosting a tournament in our infamous Rec Hall, as it was “back in the day”. All the teams stay in West Halls or even Rec Hall itself. The teams gather to eat under a tent erected next to the Nittany Lion Inn, for all their meals. The first game starts at 8:00 a.m. and play is continuous through the last game at 7:00 p.m. That is not just one day of activity but times that by three. Not that anyone complains, we are all doing what we love! Yes, even love can sometimes wear you down.

The coaches live over the clubhouse and on the golf course, steps away from the driving range and first tee box. The team stayed in an iconic white cabin built in the 1920’s equipped with a screen door that still slams shut. Thankfully they did have air conditioning, which I am sure was not something that was part of the original build. The character of these white wooden cabins still shined through with each room adorned with a fireplace and small porch, which speaks to the old southern charm one may expect when visiting Charleston, South Carolina. Floors creaked and the beds were built at a time when people must have been a lot smaller. The players would stroll twenty-five yards to the range from their cabin, affectionately named “The Magnolia Cottage”. The grounds themselves are eerily dark at night and the Spanish moss hangs from the southern oak trees like a scene from a Hitchcock thriller. The quiet is deafening as there is no city traffic or lights, no television background noise, only the crawdads singing…