Passing through Augusta

I was in Augusta, Georgia in February of 2024 for work. It wasn’t Masters week. Not even close. But if you find yourself in Augusta with a free day on your hands, it feels like something you shouldn’t waste, especially if golf has any hold on you.

Augusta when it’s not Masters week is very normal. Almost suspiciously normal for a town that hosts the most famous golf tournament on earth once a year. No grandstands. No crowds. No patrons. Just a regular Southern city fully aware that everyone only talks about it one week a year.

Naturally, the first thing I did was drive by Augusta National.  Driving around the place is a strange experience. You know exactly where you are, and you also know you’re absolutely not welcome. Tall fences. Tall trees. An overwhelming sense that someone is watching you drive 12 miles per hour past the entrance. I slowed down near Magnolia Lane and did my best casual glance, like I wasn’t trying too hard to see something I very much wasn’t allowed to see.  It’s just a road. But it’s also that road.

Since I was already in the area, I stopped by Trends & Traditions Antiques Mall, which is essentially a mini Masters museum within an antique store. Flags, pins, old programs, and memorabilia from tournaments I was either too young to remember or not alive for at all. I spent a good amount of time looking at items from Masters I never attended, which turns out to be a very popular activity in Augusta.  Golf nostalgia is a powerful thing.

After that, I briefly considered stopping at the famous Augusta Hooters. It feels like one of those things you’re supposed to do while you’re in town, like it’s written somewhere in the unofficial Masters rulebook. But then I remembered that if you’ve been to one Hooters, you’ve pretty much been to them all, and I decided my trip didn’t need that detour.

From there, I headed to Bonaventure Discount Golf, which is where my self-control officially gave up for the day. I went in “just to look,” when about fifteen minutes later, I had purchased a set of Titleist T100 irons which they gladly shipped back home for me.  Buying clubs in Augusta felt right. Responsible? No. But right.

The best part of the trip came on the way out.  As our flight took off, the plane banked just enough to give a clear view of Augusta National. Perfectly green. Perfectly manicured. Instantly recognizable.  From above, it felt less mysterious and less guarded. Just a golf course again. A ridiculously famous one, but still just grass, trees, and bunkers.

Golf has a funny way of making places feel important even when you’re just passing through. Sometimes you don’t need access. Sometimes proximity does the trick. And sometimes you leave town with a new set of irons and few good memories.