The All-Ireland Golf Challenge:Richard Gillis on the marathon trek to play four top courses in the four corners of Ireland
3am ROYAL PORTRUSH
The alarm on my mobile phone has got one of those annoying, tinny ring tones, which I can't seem to change. At 3 o'clock in the morning these things seem to matter. I look across the room. A hired set of Titleists sit staring back at me from the corner.
Today is the longest day of the year, and I'll mostly be playing golf. When I'm not hitting a golf ball I'll be on a helicopter going between four of the best courses in the four corners of Ireland.
The cause is a good one. The All-Ireland "World Record" Golf Challenge aims to raise around 300,000 for elderly Irish people who emigrated to Britain in decades past and need help now.
In just over 40 minutes I'm standing on the first tee at Royal Portrush with my three playing partners. Dan Goodrich is a club pro at the Hanbury Manor course north of London; Michael Roach is a Limerickman who has lived in London for 20 or more years and is one of the organisers of the event; Ronan O'Connor is a scratch player from Malahide, back for the summer from his university golf scholarship in South Carolina.
Before we get going there's a bit of business with the photographer, who's in a creative mood. He collects ladders and other props from around the back of the clubhouse and we do our best to pose for him.
We decide on a format for the day. Dan suggests Scotch foursomes, where each of us plays off the tee and then it's alternate shots after we've picked the better ball. Everyone must contribute at least four tee shots in the round.
"Twenty quid a round, and 20 for the overall," says Michael.
Bloody hell! I hope he gives receipts.
At 4.15am we hit the first of many, many shots, out in to the morning gloom. I connect with what feels like a good one, holding the follow-through for the camera. We get in the buggy and I drive smugly to the centre of the fairway about 200 hundred yards down. It's nowhere to be seen. Lost ball.
'What's your bad shot?' asks Ronan, who has drawn the short straw of being partnered with me for the day. 'Which side do you think it went to?'
This strikes me as a very peculiar question. As if I've only got one type of bad shot. This, my friend, is going to be a very, very long day if you carry on with that sort of attitude. You are entering my world now and, as Bobby Jones once said of Jack Nicklaus, I play a game with which you're not familiar.
After a few minutes of searching in the tall grass that lines the first fairway we decide to "take Ronan's". This is the start of a trend. His ball is on the left side of the fairway about 280 yards down.
The hole passes without further incident. I hit an okay five-iron to the light rough off the green. Ronan chips it to a foot. Par.
After a few holes, we turn to play out toward the sea. A deep red sun starts to appear above the horizon out over the North Sea and for the first time we can gauge the true beauty of the course, the way it rises naturally out of the coastline. Stunning.
After the first nine holes it's nip and tuck. Dan and Mike are playing well, but putts are not dropping. The greens are slowed by the dew. I look at my watch - 6.15am.
As we head up the 17th fairway the sound of the helicopter is just about audible. Then suddenly, it appears out of the fog, banking above us, the noise deafening. It lands to the right of the 18th fairway.
As we go up 18, we are dormie one. The 18th is a lovely, long par four back toward the clubhouse. The relief of not losing 20 quid before 8am is palpable. We scramble a par, thanks mainly to my partner's enormous two-iron stinger off the tee.
We run in to the clubhouse for a quick bit of toast and coffee.
As we sit with Chris, the pilot, in the clubhouse, the realisation hits for the first time - I'm going to have to get in a helicopter.
He does his best to reassure me: "It's better we go over sea, there's no hills in the sea."
This doesn't help much. We lift off, the car park still empty, the pro shop still closed.
9am BALTRAY
The flight down the north east coast takes 50 minutes, much of it above a blanket of rain cloud.
The clouds break as we fly over Dundalk and go low along the brown mudbanks that line the coast. We circle the Baltray course looking for somewhere to put down, before deciding on the practice range to the left of the first tee.
There's a reception party to greet us, and the course is dressed as if for a pro tournament. A buggy is positioned next to the tee with my next set of hire clubs. My depleted stocks of balls are replenished as we are each given a box of a dozen and encouraged to take as many tees as we can fit in our bags.
"On the first tee, Richard Gillis," says a man with a microphone behind me. Then a round of polite applause from the 30 or so people now surrounding the tee.
I suddenly become very nervous for the first time today and it shows in my swing, which is quick and short, like I've had 50 volts from a cattle prod.
Dan hits a screamer down the right side of the fairway and acknowledges the oohs of approval by touching the peak of his cap.
Ahead of us there are spotters on each fairway and I put them through their paces for the first few holes.
Then, I get a team talk from Ronan: "Enjoy the moment, swing it like you did this morning. And smile."
Grinning like a born-again Christian, I start to play much better and for a run of holes we make some putts and take a decent lead.
The greens are perfect: fast and true but with enough give to hold on to well-struck approach shots. After firing a few way past the pin we get the pace of them and as a result start to threaten the hole more regularly.
We win the second round 6 and 5, mainly thanks to Ronan's power and accuracy off the tee. It's also noticeable how different the game is when you play with really good players. The whole nature of the course changes: the way it sets different challenges on every shot, how the sand traps come much more into play off the tee, and the fairways narrow in the hitting area.
As we walk off the 18th, we're greeted by Leinster and Ireland prop Reggie Corrigan and the footballer Stephen Hunt, who are just about to tee off in the charity event. They're playing just 18 holes, the wusses. I decide not to tell Reggie this.
More photos as we head back on the chopper; a young man is holding on to the sponsor's canopy as the wind from the blades threatens to blow it away.
As we rise above the course, everyone is waving and smiling, shouting encouragement as we head west.
The journey takes us over the Midlands, passing acres of dark-brown bog fields cut up in long strips. We sit back on the pale-tan leather seats behind the cockpit and try to get some sleep, the early start and the nervous excitement catching up with us.
2.15pm BALLYBUNION
I wake up with my face squashed against the window. Outside the grey murk has been replaced by bright sunshine and deep-blue sky over the Kerry coastline.
The helicopter banks steeply to give us a view of the courses below and the huge modern clubhouse standing on the cliffs. The green of the grass looks like it's been airbrushed.
We're met off the helicopter by Rory, who is organising the Ballybunion leg of the charity day. He has hot sausage rolls waiting and a set of new Callaways for me.
After playing well at Baltray I feel confident and my expectations for a good round are high. This makes it doubly disappointing when I play terribly, showing off my full repertoire of duffs, squirts, smothers, slices, snap hooks, vicious, knee-high thins and the odd, ball-splitting dream topper.
My uselessness is compounded by the brilliance of Dan's play, who has gone up a gear and is splitting the narrow fairways of the demanding Cashen Course.
Michael catches his partner's good vibe and they dovetail to take hole after hole. We get slaughtered, our seven-hole lead evaporating in as many holes.
The course runs along the clifftop, the back nine making the most of the environment, raised tees giving stunning views of the bay, with golden sand stretching all the way along the shoreline.
It's hard to feel bad about your golf when this sort of beauty is there in front of you.
A nice middle-aged American couple let us play through on the ninth tee. The wife looks like Angie Dickinson and is keen to know all about our day, asking me lots of questions and flattering me by giggling at my replies.
Still talking, I walk backward onto the tee and fall off the other side into some gorse.
I get up and hit a hateful, thinned four-iron that never reaches head height and buries itself into a sandbank 30 yards from the tee.
Angie Dickinson avoids my eye as I return to my bag. I sit slumped in the passenger seat of the buggy as I'm driven away, like a convict being taken back to the slammer.
The 16th is a beautiful, tough par three, hitting out towards the sea, with only part of the green visible from the tee, the rest masked by the dune banks.
On a day like this, with the sun shining and only a breath of wind, there cannot be many better places to be.
Rory hits a high nine-iron to the left of the pin, leaving me with a 10-footer for a much needed birdie. I leave it halfway.
'Does your husband play?' asks Rory from his buggy.
We shake hands on the 18th, the game back on and fatigue beginning to play a part.
Fifty-four holes by 5.30pm and my hamstrings have tightened to the size of betting-shop pencils.
Soon we are back in the helicopter, pulling away for a glorious ride up the coast toward Co Mayo.
As we take off, a single sailing dinghy skims across the surf in the Shannon estuary and the coastline gives way to the sparsely populated coastal towns running up to Inis Glóire and Inis Gléidhe.
6.45pm CARNE/BELMULLET
The extent of All-Ireland Golf Day's success can be gauged by the packed car-park as we land next to the clubhouse.
A stream of people come out to welcome us, pushing drinks, balls and sandwiches into our hands. A young man called John introduces himself to me.
'I'm to be your caddy for the round,' he says.
We make our way to the first tee through lines of well-wishers, clapping and patting us on the back. Michael gets a deserved hero's welcome; he has worked tirelessly to help organise today.
The light is still good as the sun begins to set against the hills across Blacksod Bay. I stand on the first tee and talk to Enda Kenny, who has just walked off the 18th. He is genuinely interested in how the day's gone, the team scores and what we all play off.
We hit off to cheers from the packed clubhouse balcony overlooking the tee. We set off in our buggy with John hanging on the back shouting directions.
The golf is a bit scratchy but nobody cares much; it's just good to be part of it all. The course, which was designed by Eddie Hackett, is a beauty, rugged and challenging with excellent, true greens.
As we head down the straight, well-wishers come out to cheer us on. A photographer appears and directs us in to some cheesy poses. The 18th is a long par five called Log a' Fola, or the Bloody Hollow, and has an ancient burial ground to the right of the tee.
We have a longish putt for birdie, which just ducks away over the final few inches. The climax of our 72nd hole of the day is met with loud cheers and champagne, shaken up and sprayed over the green.
We are taken to the front of the clubhouse, where a white stretch limo is waiting to take us to the hotel in Westport, an hour away from Carne. We jump in the back like excited little kids, putting the champagne in the ice bucket and laughing at the absurdity of travelling in a mobile disco with its flashing lights and euro pop.
Incredibly, everyone has waited for us to arrive before they start their dinner. Bearing in mind it is now pushing 11.30pm this is beyond the call of duty. We are announced over the PA system and led in to a large room and invited to sit at the top table.
I think back to my alarm going off at three this morning back in Portrush, almost 24 hours ago. The heavy rain that has dogged the rest of the country today begins outside. In the bar, TV reports show Dublin flooded out and we shake our heads in wonder that not one drop has fallen on us.
Speeches are made and the organisers toasted. Tom Beesley, a Mayoman who has lived most of his life in London, is introduced as the "catalyst" for the event. In a sentence or two he says a great deal, extolling the virtue of community, which is, after all, what the event has been all about. It's a fitting end to a great day.
According to the Safe Start Foundation, at the date of the last census in 2001, there were a quarter of a million Irish-born people over 65 living in Britain, some 161,000 of them living alone. It is believed this number has grown as the age profile continues to rise.
The work done by the Foundation includes offering assistance for people who wish to be repatriated and practical support in applications for social welfare and health entitlements, transport and in areas such as property maintenance.
Also, there are outreach programmes to help those who may be housebound and a formula exists to extend facilities such as these throughout the country, but this needs support and a raising of awareness on both sides of the Irish Sea.
Richard Gillis took part in the All-Ireland Golf Challenge. To find more about the event and the Safe Start charity, go to www.allirelandgolf.org
To make a donation to the Safe Start Foundation, visit www.justgiving.com:80/safestart/donate
