The Sea Pines Resort Harbour Town Pool is located just steps across Lighthouse Lane (on which our residence at Cutter Court is located) and adjacent the Club House of the golf course where the RBC Heritage Classic PGA tournament is held in early April.
Use of the Harbour Town Pool is complimentary for registered guests of The Sea Pines Resort with the Guest Amenity Card and Sea Pines property owners with a CSA ID card
The RBC Heritage, known for much of its history as the Heritage Classic or simply the Heritage, is a PGA Tour event in South Carolina, first played 53 years ago in 1969. It is currently played in mid-April, the week after The Masters in Augusta, Georgia.
The venue for its entire existence has been the Harbour Town Golf Links at the Sea Pines Resort on Hilton Head Island. The Harbour Town course, which frequently appears on several “Best Courses” lists, was designed by famed golf course architect Pete Dye, with assistance from Jack Nicklaus. In 1972, the first two rounds were played on both the Harbour Town Golf Links and the Ocean course at Sea Pines, with the final two rounds at Harbour Town.
What I didn’t know until now by way of casual coincidence is that a sister property of Sea Pines Resort is The Jefferson Hotel in Richmond, Virginia where we stayed years ago on different occasions. The Jefferson was our initial stop when leaving Canada in the autumn and headed south. I recall an exceptional meal there in the dining room; viz., white linen, silver cutlery, magnificent martinis, superb oysters on the half shell, lobster tail and probably a sweet for dessert. We walked about the neigbourhood of the hotel, rich with history and architecture. We stopped going there because it was faster to stay in places directly on the highway. But otherwise it is worth a visit.
Another sister propety is Kiawah Island Golf Resort in Charleston, SC which we’ve visited as well but only on a day trip from Hilton Head Island. My abiding recollection of Kiawah is tranquillity and remoteness. The day trip was preceded by an aimless amble along the coast, a singularly calm experience quite different from the more populated (but colourful) areas along the A1A of the Florida coast.
But back to the Harbour Town pool. It was a beautiful day here today, clear blue sky and dazzling yellow sunshine although the high temperature was only 71°F. The price we’re paying for this dry, clear air is a cool wind from the west. Naturally we follow the weather forecast closely, often before going to bed. I didn’t hesitate to remove myself promptly from the lair this morning at 7:00 am. After completing my ablutions and putting on my boat shoes I headed directly to the car wash. It opens at eight o’clock. I was there early enough to beat the traffic so to speak. As usual the same attendant was at the entrance to the wash, directing my entry and altering me when to put on the brakes and shift into Neutral. He then proceeds routinely to hose the entire car and brush the back window with soap. I noticed this morning when going through the automatic gate leading to the entrance that the cost of an exterior wash is $16. I have a so-called monthly plan which entitles me to a wash every day for the price of $30/month if one purchases the plan for three months. As you might imagine, I have the 3-month plan (though I was obliged to purchase the same plan for the final month and a half of our stay). The chap who hoses my car everyday is a black man of middle age. He is well turned out with no objectionable features of distinction. He proudly wears a gold chain about his neck, showing on the outside of his shirt. We wave to one another every morning as I pass through the wash. I have frequently wondered about his past, what brought him to this menial job, why he has so reliably attends upon his duties (for at least the four months we’ve been here), whether he resents the subservience or does he willing perform his obligations? Located immediately at the entrance to the wash where the chap commences his duties is a box marked “Tips” on a stand. One must be studious to deliver a tip before being doused with water from the ritual hosing. I have learned to put down the window and extend my left hand with its cargo to signify my contribution. Normally my tips have only been $1 or $5 but today it was $20. This business of a daily car wash is nothing new to me. I do it every day in Canada as well. In Canada the cost is about $295 for 90 days.
After I drove back to Sea Pines and parked the car in Cutter Court, I returned to the apartment and prepared my habitual breakfast which I very satisfactorily consumed. I was feeling buoyant today. Everything was in its apple-pie order. I am absorbed in pleasant thoughts and ambitions.
By 10:30 am I was getting prepared to venture to the pool. I decided that swimming and sunning were a good alternative to cycling on th beach. I had already put on my black Speedo bathing trunks. The blue and white towel with images of starfish and sea horses was at hand. As I left the apartment I took with me my stick. I would walk to the pool. It is certainly close enough for a walk though previously I have ridden my bicycle there and back because my walking is laborious.
When I arrived at the pool and clanged open and closed the gate at the entrance I could see there were few people already there. One family – who, judging by their astonishingly white skin, had just arrived – was located near the entrance. I thought to myself, they will discover what an inappropriate location that is as more people arrive. I headed to the opposite side of the pool, furthest from the entrance, next to a table, umbrella and chair which latter device I would use as a mechanism to assist me getting on and off the chaise longue. Initally when I lay upon the chaise longue I did not remove my Polo shirt. As much as I adore a tan I have conceded the unattractive nature of an old fogey exposing himself unnecessarily. But at this point I have enough colour not to be entirely unwholesome. And the sun was warm.
The time slipped by unnoticeably. More than an hour passed before the crowds of family and children began to arrive. My face tingled from the radiation. As the children struggled to acquaint themselves with the cool freshness of the pool I took the plunge. Soon children were everywhere about the pool, screaming, laughing, sometimes admonishing one another, always noisy, their fine unblemished skin glistening in the water. Likewise there were collections of parents (some with babes in arms) and grandparents. There were sultry teenagers who were far more pusillanimous than their younger siblings about getting into the water. A sole athletic young woman with precise bathing cap and goggles swam with Olympic grace and speed then disappeared as quickly. Meanwhile unattached old fogeys such as myself, harbouring brown identifying skin, basked in the sun like seals seemingly oblivious to it all. The noise became mere background music. The initial directions of parents subsided as they too abandoned control of the children in the pool.
After three hours by the pool, in and out of the water on several occasions, facing up and lying down on the chaise longue, I concluded my venture. I struggled to outfit myself, at first forgetting to put on my woollen socks then readjusting to do so, ensuring my collection of iPhone, lip balm and (now dampened) Kleenex were recovered along with the pool pass which His Lordship had so kindly thought to deliver before he vanished for a short bicycle ride about the yacht basin and neighbourhood. I grasped my stick in my right hand and sat composed in the deck chair, gathering strength, staring into the sun, once again languishing in its warm radiation, evaporating among the air and the noise before departing. My erstwhile chaise longue was again isolated, inanimate, recognition gone.