‘All-Saints’ Open at Sugar Mountain Nov. 1

By Tom McAuliffe

It was almost 30 years ago.

November 1, 1978 remains for me a ‘Kodak’ moment – a spectacular Indian Summer day in the mountains – and one I’ve attempted to recapture with the waning of every subsequent fall. I’ll never buy into the theory that you can’t go back, but I’ve learned how rare is the late autumnal day when the sun’s warmth holds the northern winds at bay for the final perfect day before winter.

Back then, my mandate from the publisher of the fledgling weekly known as the Sundown Times (now The Mountain Times) was for copy – articles, recipes, local color, whatever – words to fill the pages where one day advertising might appear. Being a golfer in a region heralded for its fine courses, none of which I could afford to play, I thought I might parlay this journalism thing into some free rounds on the promise of a little ink for the host facility. But when I tagged along for a round at the venerable Hound Ears Club with a golf pro from Greensboro, I feared my role with the weekly in its first trimester of existence didn’t carry enough water. So, I impersonated as his caddie master and was graciously waved on to the first tee. I say graciously because the guys at the counter knew full well that I was counterfeit and a sneak.

Over the years, I’ve discovered that Nov. 1 can be an unlikely time for golf in the High Country, but on this day in 1978, along the banks of the Watauga, the weather was sublime. I don’t recall what I shot that day, but that snapshot of perfection – of gold, green and blue – was seared onto my soul forever.

For me, All-Saints Day, as the day after Halloween is known on the ecclesiastical calendar – a kind of celebration day for any saint overlooked between St. Patrick’s and St. Valentine’s – is a day of communion with a Higher Power and the golf course. And for several years following my Hound Ears nirvana, I purposely ventured onto the mountain each Nov. 1, a sole linkster in search of his soul as winds railed, rains fell and sometimes the snow flew. Rarely did the sun shine.

I had sympathizers. Bob Kent, former owner of the Hanging Rock Golf Club in Seven Devils would leave a cart out of the barn for my All-Saints passage even though his course was closed for the season. Pub associates listened attentively out of politeness to my fairly queer recollections of supernatural phenomenon, such as winds doubling over flagsticks making it difficult to tell which end of the stick actually resided in the cup; of hail storms and double rainbows that landed on the tops of my shoes for the shine of a lifetime. It was a trip from tall to small and back again, marching through nature’s window, club and ball in hand.

By the early ’80s, the ritual proved too compelling to keep to myself. Mountain golfers began to gather at the assigned place to send off the season in style. Eric Larsen of Murphy’s in Boone arrived with the Clydesdales. High Country stalwarts Ed Poe and Rob Robbins showed up. Foscoe’s Ronnie Shook was low amateur and Wesley Crum brought the peanuts.

This year’s rendition of the All-Saints Open is scheduled for the Sugar Mountain Golf Club Saturday, Nov. 1. And unlike year’s past, we’re playing for something bigger than our own egos, hard as that is to imagine. Proceeds from this year’s All-Saints go to the High Country United Way and the dozens of local service agencies it supports, from the Hunger and Health Coalition to the local Red Cross.

Entry fee is $50 and you can sign up the day of the event. Format is individual stroke play. The grill heats up at 11 a.m. and play begins at noon. There will be a few trinkets for low net, but the All-Saints trophy for low gross is always the main event. Past champions include Larsen, Lee Sayre of Mountaineer Golf Center, and Gene Lookabill, a former Carolinas Four-Ball Champion.

Boone’s Tommy Miller is the defending champion.

As for my record in the All-Saints Open, well, I used to win ‘em all before all the other golfers started showing up. Maybe this is my year. Maybe its’ yours. Or maybe everybody wins again.

See you on the tee.