Photography By Steve Buchanan
“Tell me about your game,” asks Joe Wallman, the Hyatt Regency Chesapeake’s PGA pro and director of golf, as we embark on my first golf lesson.
Beyond decades of Putt-Putt, I explain that my golf “game” consists of whiffing the ball at the driving range of Virginia’s Homestead Resort and a quick, rather embarrassing solo round at The Tides Inn’s nine-hole, par-three course.
“Perfect. No bad habits to undo,” he quips as we climb into the golf cart and zip over to the practice course for my hour-long instruction. It’s a spot marked by many of the same lovely features as the rest of the course: ponds and mature trees, marshlands, carefully manicured greens, flapping flags to shoot for.
After years of resisting my husband’s exhortations to learn this silly ritual of hitting balls into the woods and cursing the day, I’ve decided to flirt with this obsession of millions. Maybe we can play together in our dotage.
And the grounds are part of what sold me on heading here for my initiation into the brotherhood—not to mention that it’s a long-desired getaway from deadlines and driving kids around. This four-diamond, four-star oasis has taken the luxury getaway quotient up a huge notch in our region, offering high-end amenities and service to match. The golf course is one of the big draws; the Hyatt ranked thirty-first in Conde Nast Traveler’s 2006 Golf Poll.
I’m more than ready to hit those links.
My lesson commences with Joe’s basic belief that “we must crawl before we run.” We review the differences between the clubs: irons vs. woods, how the longer clubs give distance, how the adjustments on the “tilt” of the face determine loft, and so on. He patiently talks me through the grip, stressing that the hands always face each other, with all ten fingers on the club. “All the better to drive it with,” he notes.
But I am far from driving. My “crawling” consists of mastering the shorter “impact swing,” starting out with just a two-foot back motion. It’s amazing how just the right tap on the ball (aim for the tee, not the ball, I try to remember) sends it flying just right.
You quickly understand how frustration becomes so engrained in this hobby, as one fabulous hit is followed by a series of embarrassing dribbles across the grass. As Phyllis Diller said: “The reason the pro tells you to keep your head down is so you can’t see him laughing.”
He’s actually very complimentary, as we move from the short swing into a lesson in the “toe up to toe up” motion, a half-swing that takes my ball a bit further down the fairway. It’s a help that my teacher is ambidextrous, so he’s able to show me the error of my ways by mirroring my actions. Finally, I get to whale away. I keep my body in this totally unnatural alignment—and look straight at where the ball is going “in a single fluid motion.” And Eureka! I actually send that little yellow satellite a good forty to fifty yards into the distance. Joe says I’m a natural (yeah, he says that to all the writers), but I’m just glad not to have totally embarrassed myself.
So I take Wordsworth’s words to heart and spend a good part of my day in a “round of strenuous idleness.” I’m clearly not ready to tackle the totality of this fine British-style course, designed by Keith Foster and marked by water holes and deep bunkers. But I can take some practice hits as I stroll this beautiful setting, especially the challenging seventeenth hole, where the tough guys get to tee off across Shoal Creek.
I feel practically Tiger-Wood-sy (or should I say Michele-Wie-sy) as I drive the striking eighteenth fairway running along the Choptank, reminiscent of Pebble Beach’s famous oceanside setting. Despite my beginner’s mistakes, the “good walk spoiled” mantra just doesn’t fly with me.
But my outdoor adventure isn’t done yet.
Now that my “taxing” golf lesson is over, I had planned to head to the resort’s Blue Heron Rookery. The Cambridge Hyatt, funded by the Maryland Council of Economic Development in 2003 to inject a much-needed boost into Dorchester County’s coffers, takes full advantage of its Chesapeake heritage, the cultural, and especially the natural. Unlucky for me (but good for the marsh), two baby eagles had just been hatched, so the area was closed. I’d have to settle for exploring along the extensive shelled jogging trail that winds through the property.
I’m anxious, however, to take advantage of the resort’s own aerie. I never thought I’d invoke the real estate mantra “location, location, location” when describing a massage. But the special Raven’s View—which unfolds in a small outdoor “room” seven stories up, with a single massage table surrounded by half walls—literally takes the experience to new heights.
It’s the piece de resistance of the Hyatt’s Stillwater Spa, which has quickly taken its place as one of the region’s best. The hotel’s natural décor of stone and wood and earth/sea tones is continued in this interconnecting maze of pampering spaces on the third floor. My decompression into calm begins here, in one of the two relaxation rooms, with welcoming cushioned wicker chaise lounges. I pass up the sauna and steam room and full-service salon for hair and nails—this time.
As I enter a two-story cupola from the elevator lobby, a large hawk soars past, as if on cue. The open, circular space is airy in all senses of the word, painted bright white and buffeted by the softest of breezes. It’s just the masseuse and I—and the birds—as she begins the ninety minutes of hand-tooled bliss. Though the heat at ground level is stifling, here it’s pretty much perfect. And the breezes keep the bugs away! Good thing, since my “Women’s Harmony” aromatherapy oil would surely have attracted them, with its hints of geranium, grapefruit, orange, and the relaxing scent of lavender.
“It’s even better when it rains,” notes spa director Patti Dail. “The soft pounding of the raindrops on the roof is such a soothing background.”
As the afternoon wanes, the stress concentrated in my shoulder, and the small aches from those newly tested back muscles (golf does twist our bodies in unique and uncomfortable ways), just melt away. I take my time enjoying the view before I’m forced to head back down to earth.
I hate pulling myself away from a resort that can meet my every need, but life calls. There’s just so much more to do here: four restaurants, four pools (including an infinity pool overlooking the river), kayaks and sailboats, tennis and volleyball. The river beach has nets to keep the jellyfish at bay and chaise lounges and hammocks to loll in.
But all that will have to wait until I drag my other half back here, so we can play that infectious game—together.
