5.30 a.m.

THE sea's spray lingers in the air as Dan Blake enters the green corrugated machinery sheds, camouflaged amidst the dunes at the town end of the Old Course. Even at this ungodly hour, there is no silent solitude. An army, guardians of the links, await, as they do seven days a week, ready to crawl over the course in their motorised vehicles.

Dan, a six handicapper, is a more than useful golfer. A couple of weeks ago he won the Ballybunion Junior Scratch Cup by seven shots on the sort of day when even ducks sought out shelter. Dan started out as a groundsman.

Some say he knows every blade of grass here, every borrow and slope. Now, he's head greenkeeper the Course Superintendent to be exact, but he modestly shrugs at such a title. All the same, it's a position he has held proudly, for over 11 years.

The links are a testimony to his devotion. "The course is better now than it has been at any time in the past 15 years," he says. The greens resemble the finest Persian carpet, benefiting from a recently installed Rainbird irrigation system. Three days a week they're cut by hand, the other four days by ride ons with blades of 3/16th of an inch. "We go as low as we can," he confesses.

It has all changed since the days when John Griffin - who retires in a few months after 40 years service - started to tend the course; a time when there were no engines, and greenstaff built up shoulder muscles to rival Charles Atlas by pushing mowers around the links and greens and tee boxes.

Shortly before six o'clock every morning, Dan and his 13 workers start to tend the first greens, on the Old and Cash en courses, getting a head start on the golfers who descend on the links from all corners of the globe. Last year, 28,000 visitors savoured the magic of the old course. "The traffic is heavy, but we've managed to keep the greens in fantastic condition," insists Dan. They have an hour or so to start work before the first players are allowed out, still a race against time every morning to keep ahead of the chasing posse. But a race invariably won by the greenstaff.

8.15 a.m.

PATSY WALSH has stood by the first tee box for over a decade and watched every swing that was ever invented and listened to every crazy excuse imaginable.

He was there when Jack Nicklaus put his very first shot in Ballybunion into the burial ground that brushes against the first fairway. "I remember Jack blamed the jetlag, that day," recalls Walsh, the official starter.

But, then, he has heard all the excuses down the years as that graveyard with its greystoned Celtic crosses acted like a magnet to balls of every persuasion, two piece and balata, yellow and white. "They'll turn around and tell you about this pain or that, or how many pints they had the previous night," says Patsy. "It brings to mind what the late Harry Bradshaw used to say: `Always have an excuse ready on the first tee, but get to the 18th green without using it'."

The rain sweeps in from the Atlantic and we huddle beside a stone wall that is too small to offer worthwhile protection. He has been promised a proper shelter, a starter's hut, but it hasn't materialised yet. He looks up to see an American with his Call away wood and layers of wetgear fail to reach the women's tee. "Take a Mulligan, he suggests. The golfer searches his partners' eyes before delving into his bag for a new ball and, this time, driving over the mounds and up the fairway.

"Some of them are shaking inside their shoes when they stand on that first tee," he states, nodding. "I'd often tell a poor guy who knocks it down to go again, but you'd be amazed the number of times his playing partners won't let him. I like to put them at ease. You'd maybe have their friends blackguarding them and telling them to watch the graveyard, or maybe its just the number of people standing around watching that gets to them."

He continues, a born talker. "The first hote rattles them more than any other. They're dying to get out, no matter what the weather. This is the mecca of golf in Ireland to most American golfers. I've seen men here that had just one arm, another who was blind. One day a guy came up here with one leg and a crutch. He steadied himself, threw the crutch on the ground and hit the ball as sweet as you like. You get all sorts.

Patsy's job is to keep them flowing out as smoothly as the tide on the Nuns beach. Up to last year, the time span between each match was ten minutes. Now, it has been increased to 14. Much better. Yet, the rangers are still out on the course to ensure "operation freeflow" is just that, and all are equipped with radios. It is 1997 after all.

An American with all the latest gear comes up to Patsy. "Would you have a pencil?" The Kerryman puts weathered fingers into his top pocket. "I've everything but money," he responds, handing out the instrument. He turns. They love the oneliners, you know.

10.55 a.m.

HUNTINGTON Golf Club, New York, will play host to the US Open in 2002. A gentleman from that august place sits in the spikebar of Ballybunion's luxurious clubhouse and sips a pint of "Black n Tan," a concoction of Guinness and Harp.

He is joined on highstools by three more Long Islanders who have also just completed nine holes on the Cashen course and are preparing themselves for another trek over the Old Course.

One day, around ten years ago, Joseph Gundermann visited Ballybunion and was inveigled into taking out overseas membership. Joe is one of 560 such overseas life members and, on average, he returns to the Kingdom every other year.

This occasion is a little special, though. With him on their first visit are his three sons - Tom, Peter and Bradley. By coincidence, the quartet are all ten handicappers and, apart from Ballybunion, they have also savoured the delights of Tralee, Dooks and Waterville, playing 36 holes a day; and marvelled at the quality of bed and breakfast accommodation en mate.

It has been an experience. Tom undoes one layer of clothing after another, protection against the rain and hale and occasional sunshine which has greeted them. "We're learning to play the wind - its not that we don't have wind in the States, just that we wouldn't go out in it," he says. "These are certainly the toughest and coldest conditions we've played in and we've become experts at finding the leeward side and protecting ourselves with umbrellas."

And, yet, they're loving it all.

Every moment of it, and return trips, they promise, will be pencilled into diaries. Sooner rather than later.

12.40 p.m.

AN HOUR spent on the bank at the back of the 15th hole, a par three of 207 yards into the teeth of a monstrous wind, and nobody has managed to reach the two tier green. No one.

And nobody has even managed to salvage par. Nobody capable of producing a Ballesteros like recovery.

In fact, they're lucky to keep tears out of their eyes as the wind howls into their faces when merely surveying the target in the distance.

Are they mad?

2.05 p.m.

"SURE the lads just get enough pocket money. Robert Beasley, the Caddie Master, is peering out of the window frame at golfers readying themselves for an assault on the Old course, some of them acquiring the services of the available caddies.

Like many other kids from the seaside town, he caddied as a youngster before hitting the emigration trail to America. He caddied when he came back too, until he got the call to become Caddie Master some seven years ago.

Ballybunion is a place of considerable tradition, and the Caddie Master is an important part of that tradition. There are no electric buggies allowed on the links. You either pull a trolley; carry your bag, or hire a caddie.

In the height of summer, there can be anything up to a hundred cad dies. Different categories. Seniors, guys with six or seven years experience, juniors and bagpullers," the tag given to schoolkids. The Americans are the best customers, appreciating the personal attention which the caddies offer; they're appreciative too of the tradition involved in cad dying the famous links.

"We wouldn't get too many Europeans taking a caddie, mainly Americans and a few English. The feedback is 99.9 per cent positive, we have a really good bunch of lads," says Beasley.

5.20 p.m.

WHEN Gary

Homann played the Old course some four or five years ago, he lost his way somewhere in the dwindling light and only played 16 holes.

Four and a half hours after setting out on his return visit, Gary, and three friends - Thomas Schmidt, Peter Bengsch and Jurgen Meyer from Golf Club Peine Edemissen near Hanover in Germany, are traipsing up the 8th fairway. This time, he has managed to conquer the Irish weather and survive the entire round.

"What wonderful, wonderful scenery," exclaims Jurgen, who admits to taking six putts on the 17th green. And another two from just off the surface. The scenery and the sheer joy of playing the old links is enough to make actual scores irrelevant.

Homann is a regular visitor to this part of Ireland, electing to play different courses each time. "We love this Irish weather, that's what we want to experience; we don't want a little amount of wind. It is a real challenge this way. A real challenge.

9.0 p.m.

LAST orders are being taken in the dining room upstairs, although Tony Moore in the bar - known to let rip with a song or two on occasions, but who had tears in his eyes when a Japanese golfer insisted on repeatedly singing the only two lines of Danny Boy he knew will be pulling pints for some time yet.

Downstairs, head professional Brian O'Callaghan is locking the doors to a shop which opened its doors to customers some 12 hours previously. O'Callaghan, a native of Dundalk, learnt his trade in Warrenpoint and tended to a certain Ronan Rafferty's clubs. He still carries out repairs and, like any other club pro, gives lessons. But Ballybunion is different from many other places and much of his time is spent in the shop.

"We sell a lot of towels, balls, baseball caps, shirts - anything which has the Ballybunion crest on it. The Americans tend to come prepared, which explains why we don't sell as much rain gear or sweaters as you might imagine. They'd even come with two gloves, left and right, in anticipation of had weather," he says.

Such preparation, however, is not just a copyright of the Americans; everyone associated with Ballybunion Golf Club would earn a degree in perfection.