The Great Lighthouse Disaster (A Father's Day Tale)

Let me tell you about one of the most beautifully disastrous rounds of golf I've ever witnessed. This particular adventure unfolded on Father's Day at Lighthouse Country Club in Kingsland, where the course decided to teach us all a lesson about humility, patience, and the fine art of losing golf balls in the most spectacular ways possible.

Now, Lighthouse Country Club, formerly known as Packsaddle Country Club, sits right there on the shores of Lake LBJ, and let me tell you, this course doesn't mess around when it comes to testing your character. With granite rock outcroppings scattered throughout the layout like ancient obstacles and enough water hazards to make even seasoned golfers nervous, it's the kind of place that'll humble you faster than you can say "fore!"

The day started innocently enough. Father's Day morning, perfect Texas weather, and the kind of optimism that only comes from standing on the first tee with a brand new dozen balls and unlimited hope. What followed was a comedy of errors that would make even the professionals at the PGA Tour shake their heads in sympathy.

The Granite Graveyard

The trouble began early. Lighthouse's signature feature, those beautiful granite rock outcroppings that give the course its character, quickly became our nemesis. The third hole, a seemingly innocent 293-yard par-4, offers golfers a tempting choice: try to drive the green or play it safe. Well, safe wasn't in the vocabulary that day. Instead of finding the green, balls started disappearing into the granite formations like they were being swallowed by some ancient Hill Country monster.

"There goes ball number three," came the rueful announcement from the tee box, followed by the distinctive sound of a Pro V1 ricocheting off limestone and disappearing into a crevice that seemed to lead straight to the center of the earth. The granite outcroppings at Lighthouse don't just punish poor shots—they collect them like a geological lost-and-found that never gives anything back.

The Water Works

But the real adventure began when we encountered Lighthouse's water hazards. This course features water on nine of its eighteen holes, and on Father's Day, those hazards seemed to have developed a magnetic attraction to golf balls. The par-5 sixth hole, with its fairway split by granite and water hazards strategically placed to test every aspect of your game, became a graveyard for good intentions and expensive golf balls.

"That's number seven," came the increasingly dejected count as another ball found its way into the drink. The water hazards at Lighthouse aren't just obstacles, they're black holes that seem to bend the laws of physics to capture wayward shots. By the time we reached the turn, the original dozen balls had dwindled to a precious few, and we were already dipping into the emergency reserves.

The Grass Goblin

The Hill Country rough at Lighthouse is another story entirely. This isn't your typical suburban grass, this is Texas rough, thick and unforgiving, the kind that can swallow a golf ball so completely that you'd swear it never existed. The course's renovation in 2006 included new bunkers and natural areas that create what golf course architects politely call "strategic challenges" and what the rest of us call "golf ball black holes."

"I swear I saw it land right here," became the refrain of the day as we trudged through the rough, searching for balls that had seemingly vanished into the Texas earth. The native grasses and natural areas that make Lighthouse so beautiful also make it incredibly effective at hiding golf balls. We spent more time bent over, searching through the rough, than we did actually playing golf.

The Wildlife Gallery

But here's where the story takes a delightful turn. Just when the golf ball carnage was reaching epic proportions, we encountered Lighthouse's most entertaining residents: the black squirrels. These aren't your typical gray squirrels, these are the Hill Country's famous black rock squirrels, and they seemed to find our golf ball hunt absolutely hilarious.

Rock squirrels are native to Texas and are commonly seen in the Hill Country, especially around golf courses. These curious creatures, nearly the size of housecats, were everywhere at Lighthouse, watching our mishaps with what I swear was amusement. Every time we lost another ball, a black squirrel would appear, perched on a granite outcropping or sitting in a tree, as if they were keeping score of our disasters.

"Look at that one," came the observation as a particularly bold squirrel sat on a rock formation, seemingly judging our golf swings. These weren't ordinary squirrels, they were the Hill Country's version of gallery marshals, complete with what appeared to be running commentary on our performance.

The Twelve-Ball Massacre

By the time we reached the back nine, we were down to our last few balls from the original dozen. The 546-yard par-5 tenth hole, with its strategic challenges and natural hazards, claimed two more victims. The short par-3 twelfth, at only 128 yards, should have been a breather. Instead, it became another graveyard for good intentions and expensive golf equipment.

"That's the dozen," came the announcement after a particularly adventurous shot found its way into the granite formations surrounding the green. But this is where Father's Day golf becomes an adventure rather than a tragedy. Out came the emergency reserves, the range balls, the scuffed balls, the balls that had survived previous disasters at other courses.

The Lighthouse Lesson

Here's the thing about Lighthouse Country Club, it's not just challenging, it's character-building. This course, with its elevation changes, granite outcroppings, water hazards, and thick rough, doesn't just test your golf game, it tests your patience, your sense of humor, and your ability to find joy in the midst of disaster.

The black squirrels seemed to understand this better than we did. As we struggled through our round, losing balls to every hazard the course could offer, these furry observers reminded us that golf is supposed to be fun. Every time we got frustrated, there would be a squirrel sitting nearby, tail twitching with what looked suspiciously like laughter.

The Grand Finale

By the eighteenth hole, a 172-yard par-3 that serves as Lighthouse's final examination, we were playing with a mixed collection of balls that had survived various disasters. The hole features everything that makes Lighthouse challenging elevation changes, strategic hazards, and the kind of green that demands precision.

Amazingly, this is where the magic happened. Maybe it was the lower expectations, maybe it was the fact that we'd finally relaxed and started enjoying the adventure, or maybe the black squirrels had finally put in a good word for us with the golf gods. Whatever the reason, we finally started finding the fairways instead of the hazards.

The Real Victory

As we walked off the eighteenth green, having survived one of the most eventful rounds in recent memory, the real victory wasn't in the score. It was in the stories we'd collected along the way. The black squirrels had provided entertainment, the granite formations had taught us humility, and the water hazards had reminded us that golf is a game of constant learning.

Father's Day at Lighthouse Country Club turned out to be exactly what it should have been: a day of adventure, laughter, and memories that would last far longer than any scorecard. Sure, we'd lost an entire dozen balls (and then some), but we'd gained something more valuable, a perfect example of why we love this maddening, beautiful game.

The black squirrels, perched on their granite pedestals, seemed to approve as we headed to the clubhouse for a well-deserved beverage and a chance to retell the day's disasters. After all, in the Hill Country, every round is an adventure, and every disaster is just another story waiting to be told.

Sometimes the best Father's Day gifts aren't the ones that come wrapped in pretty paper—they're the ones that come wrapped in laughter, shared misery, and the kind of memories that get better with every telling. And at Lighthouse Country Club, with its granite obstacles, water hazards, and gallery of amused black squirrels, we got exactly that kind of gift.