As the author discovered, the strong bonds formed with guests make caddying at Cabot special.

By. Jason Logan – SCOREGolf

 

 

 

As we walk towards the green of the par-3 12th hole on Cabot Cliffs, its fine fescue firm beneath our feet and the brilliant blue backdrop of the Northumberland Strait matching the hue of the day’s cloudless sky, my caddie Luke Cyr, a stranger not three hours ago, reveals with startling profoundness just how this gig of carrying golf bags around two of Canada’s top courses has kept him alive.

Cyr is a sturdy man of 40 years, tall and ox strong with a cheery disposition that belies what bubbles underneath. In a past life he was a member of the Canadian Armed Forces and completed tours in Kandahar and Kabul in Afghanistan as well as in Bosnia, places most civilians are familiar with only from news reports. Like many of his army brothers, Cyr’s valour came with a cost: he suffers from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, and just under eight months before our paths cross, on October 30th of last year, Luke tried to take his own life.

It wasn’t just the bullets and the bombs, but the horrors of war, that nearly killed him.

Then Sean Sutherland came to his rescue. Sutherland is the other caddie in our two-ball. He is a veteran too, with the chiseled physique of a professional wrestler, the kind of protective pal you’d love to see stroll into the bar at the precise moment you find yourself in a quarrel. Sutherland had learned about a program called Caddie School for Soldiers and enlisted, first training at Whistling Straits in Wisconsin just prior to COVID and later in St Andrews, Scotland. He is now a mentor for the program in Canada and his new mission is to “find the guys who don’t want to be found.” To grant them a new lease on life.

Which Luke Cyr accepted. Although he can no longer play the game due to physical injuries suffered overseas, he is all-in on caddying, looking for loops whenever he can get them and writing poetry when he can’t. The next night in Whit’s Public House, Cabot’s charming bar where we clank our beer bottles in cheers and tap them on the table for those no longer with us, Luke sees there might be a bag at 7:20 the next morning and says he’ll be up and ready to go. That’ll make his day a double, a loop in the morning and one in the afternoon, as he often does. His zeal for the job goes back to what he told me walking up 12.

“Caddying has given us purpose again,” he said, “and once you have purpose, you’re laughing.”

This idea of writing about the caddies of Cabot Cape Breton had percolated for a while. I thought I would come to the tiny town of Inverness, N.S., and hang with them, do a couple loops myself, and learn about the inner workings of the operation. It would be a great reason to return to Cabot, and I figured the assignment would be a blast.

I found more. Over two days in June, my experience was not only fun, but spiritual.

Rain taps on the roof of the tiny Airbnb that my photographer Justin and I are sharing at the top of town, near the Inverness graveyard, well past midnight.

This is worrisome given what I’ve packed — or not packed — for my two days as part of the Cabot caddie yard. Pants and light sweaters yes, a rain suit no. Sunshine and warmth were forecasted for our visit, but the showers never ceased during the drive from Halifax and when we pulled into the resort for salutations with staffers, we saw two caddies coming off the course dripping like dogs after a swim in the ocean.

This makes for a fitful sleep at Emma’s Place, which is not much more than a trailer being warmed by a space heater that Jake Kerr, Cabot’s resourceful caddie master, has loaned us. (Not that Emma’s Place doesn’t have a furnace; I just didn’t check the Airbnb app for the host’s instructions on how to turn it on until later.)

Kerr has also hooked me up with everything I’ll need for my 8 a.m. loop on Cabot Links: stark white coveralls, both long- and short-sleeved versions; a red Cabot hat with the word CADDIE on the back; a yardage book; and a small bottle for sand to fill divots. I have my own towel, rangefinder, divot repair tool and tees for cleaning grooves. I’ll also bring a snack, a bottle of water and a notebook and pencil, which means I will regret not asking for a caddie bib along with the coveralls, something I will rectify before my loop on Cabot Cliffs. The more pockets the better.

It is a loop, by the way. Not a job or a carry. You do a loop, and the night before my loop I pore through the Google Classroom videos that Kerr has sent. They cover the basics and are great for those new to the game, but they also provide important instructions. I am to arrive 30 minutes before my group’s tee time and park in the designated caddie lot. I am to check in with caddie services 20 minutes before our time and be on the practice green with my guest 10 minutes prior. This is known as the 30-20-10 rule. I am to present myself neatly, which I can manage, and come prepared for all types of weather, which I cannot.

So I drift off to sleep praying for clear skies.

It works. Sunlight spilling through the cheap blinds of Emma’s Place awakens me just past 5 a.m. The days are long on Cape Breton in June but I am delighted with Mother Nature’s mood swing. At 6, I head out to Robin’s Donuts for coffee and bagels, and at 7:15, opting for the long sleeves, I make the two-minute drive to Cabot Links. I’m ahead of schedule and eager.

Steve Kingwell is my golfer. He was born in Berwick, N.S., and educated at the University of Manitoba and the University of British Columbia before moving to the U.S. for work in telecommunications. His daughter, Aidan, attends the University of Michigan and he therefore takes umbrage with the Michigan State Spartans hat Justin is wearing. A villa owner, Steve has guests in for his stay, but we will be a threesome because one of his mates is laid up with an injury. The other caddies in my group are Eddie MacEachern and Ali Delaney. Eddie is a Day One guy who caddied for my brother 10 years ago when the two of us made our first pilgrimage to Cabot.

There are two things every caddie wants in his or her golfer: kindness and consistency. Right away, it’s clear Steve Kingwell possesses both. Although I’m initially weary of his bag being half-full of fairway woods and hybrids, meaning seven total head covers to manage — and I will drop the putter cover several times — my man is incredibly friendly and hits a lovely ball with a slight cut on almost every shot. He is not long but he’s aware of his limitations and has no problem laying up to a good number on the par 4s he can’t reach. He also knows Links well, which helps my cause.

My biggest fault early on is that I’m too chatty. The next morning I have breakfast with Jim Ryan, Cabot’s original caddie master. He was a huge ally to developer Ben Cowan-Dewar in the early days of Cabot Links because he’d long understood the potential of the site and what a golf resort could do for a community economically crippled by the closure of its mines. Jim tells me it would drive him nuts to watch four golfers and four caddies huddled together and walking down a fairway like wolves. A caddie should be cordial and make conversation, he says, but the job means being out in front of the golfer, getting a yardage and assessing the shot before he arrives at his ball. Jim learned how a caddie yard should operate by visiting Bandon Dunes, Mike Keiser’s coastal resort in Oregon, before Cabot opened. Cowan-Dewar would convince Keiser to come aboard as his partner in Cabot.

By the 11th hole I’m in awe of Eddie’s efficiency. There is nothing rushed about his stride, but every time I walk off a tee, I look up to see him 20 yards ahead of me, with Ali in his shadow. Eddie is our group’s gee-gee — the first horse out of the gate — and I am forever in the rear. He mentions that my golfer teeing off last on every hole is not doing me any favours. This is not because Steve never has the honours, but because everyone in the group is playing well and they see no reason to mess with karma and switch up the batting order. I appreciate this superstition.

The caddies of Cabot loop for a variety of reasons. There is the money of course. An ‘A’ caddie, meaning someone with experience who can read greens and provide the golfer advice, costs $70 plus gratuity. All cash goes to the caddie, which means the standard take from a loop is $100 or more, sometimes paid in American bills. Do the math on 10 to 12 loops per week, which some take on.

Woo Park is one such workhorse. A native of Victoria, he is heading into his third year at McGill University where he is studying business. He figures this is his last summer to do whatever he wants before it becomes prudent to take a job in the corporate world. “I wanted to chase golf,” he says, “and why not chase the best destination if you’re going to do that?”

While Park is from Canada’s opposite coast, it’s the locals who likely get the most pleasure out of the job. For the older ones especially — who’ve seen Inverness morph from tattered town to the envy of every rural outpost in Nova Scotia, maybe Canada — it’s about showing off what’s theirs and watching golfers come from away to soak in the splendour. Cabot asked several locals to volunteer for caddie training before the course’s opening. A number of them stayed on the job.

“It’s just, you meet some wonderful people,” says Eddie, a retired educator. “Once you’ve done it a few times, this is a great thing to do. Most of us would be exercising anyway, so why not walk with people and give them the history of our community and get some good stories?”

Speaking of terrific tales, old-timer Archie MacDonnell once witnessed two holes-in-one by the same golfer on the same trip on the same hole, Cliffs No. 14. I ask him how big his tip was.

“I did ok,” Archie smiles.

Jim MacMaster, the 2019 Nova Scotia Golf Association senior champion, moved from Cape Breton to Calgary in 1981 for work and had designs on returning home when he heard whispers of a golf resort in Inverness involving Keiser. But he wanted to know for sure, so he found the greeting card magnate’s email address — not easy to do — and sent him a note, asking if the rumours were true. He never thought Keiser would reply, but the next day he did, confirming his involvement with a simple sentence saying he’d love to help MacMaster with his retirement.

Keeping them all content from an office cluttered with coveralls and caps is Kerr, who started at Cabot in golf services and climbed the ladder to become caddie master. The resort is extra special to him because it’s where he met his fiancée, Hayley Wilson. She spent a year learning the caddie craft and the game’s nuances by watching tournaments on TV. Now she’s a member of the caddie advisory committee and loops when she’s not teaching at the local school — pre-primary to Grade 12 — or helping out on the family farm.

Kerr takes great delight in leading the only caddie yard of its kind in Canada. At a caddie appreciation barbecue in the newly constructed Cabot Barn, a bit of a Where’s Waldo gathering given everyone is dressed in their whites for a group photo, Kerr tells his charges they are putting Cabot on the map. COVID stretched the yard thin the last two years but the overall number is nearing 200 again, approximately 20 of whom are women. Kerr uses a software program and app to meet guest requests and ensure caddies are getting the number of loops they desire, within reason.

“We used to cart 200-pound rucksacks through the desert where people were mad at us,” says Sean Sutherland of the workload. “Now we carry golf bags for people who are happy.”

Caddies want their golfers to play well, too. And not just because it may lead to bigger tips. It’s the connections that are made. As a caddie, you wish good things upon good people, though not every golfer is a delight. Archie tells me a banger about the day he was treated so poorly he walked off the course after nine holes. The other caddies in the group rushed to his defence and Archie was paid out by the club. The day after he’s with us, Sean loops for a louse who blames him for every poor shot. Some golfers are just tortured souls and every caddie in the yard has one or two nightmarish tales.

I’ve lucked out with Steve Kingwell on Cabot Links and find myself pining for him to keep hitting the ball well. He does so again and again, with two in the soup off the tee on the par-5 eighth his only real mistakes.

Our round ends with a nice par-saving effort after a greenside bunker blast on 18, but my highlight comes on the par-4 15th hole, courtesy of Eddie. We are short of the green in two and have an awkward approach over a cavernous bunker. Eddie tells me to bring my golfer up to the green for a look at the pin before hitting his shot. The extra effort convinces us there is room to hit one more club, and Steve lofts a perfect shot to some 10 feet and makes the putt after we agree on the read. My fist pump is instinctual, as if I’d made the par myself.

That night I tell Justin I almost don’t want to caddie on Cabot Cliffs the next day. Not because my feet are killing me after my morning loop and afternoon game — 36,000 steps! — but because I can’t foresee the day going as well as it did on Links.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

I am not sure about my second golfer when we meet. Todd Quinn is not wearing a hat, his shirt is untucked, and his putter and one of his hybrids do not have head covers. (Actually, this is a good thing.) He’s at Cabot with his wife and three other couples from their hometown of Flin Flon, Man., after parading through Prince Edward Island the previous week. This is the 27th straight year the eightsome has travelled somewhere together.

I do know before teeing off that Todd is up for a good time. He shows an A-plus personality while yucking it up on the putting green, as does everyone in the group. I’ve never been to Flin Flon but I know it has nothing that compares with Cabot Cliffs, and these folks are going to relish the day, with the women playing in front of the men.

What I don’t know is that four hours later Todd and I will share something so special it will put a lump in my throat.

Todd pulls his opening tee shot into the rough but I can tell he’s got a sweet swing. We make bogey out of the gate but he stripes a 4-iron down the left-middle of the fairway of Cliffs’ phenomenal second hole, which features a gargantuan dune guarding the middle of the green like a gargoyle. He is in between a 9- and 8-iron for his second shot and I suggest the latter given the slight headwind. Todd hits his ball to 20 feet and we’re off and running.

It’s not long before I discover Todd Quinn may be the world’s most enthusiastic man, which is all the more impressive given what he and his wife have endured. The Quinns had twin boys, Tavish and Teagan — along with an older son, Brennan — but in 2014, Teagan, at 19, was killed in a motor vehicle accident involving a drunk driver. He was an excellent hockey player and Flin Flon named an annual pee-wee tournament in his honour. On this day, Todd tells me he’s brought along some of Teagan’s ashes. He will spread them on Cabot Cliffs’ signature hole, the cliffside par-3 16th.

He is not forlorn when he says this. He is excited about the prospect and his smile is ever-present. The jokes and quips fly between he and his pal Duke, who sports a Flin Flon Bombers hat. Todd hits a couple of loose shots but for the most part he is smashing the ball. We make birdie on the par-5 seventh after I provide a line right of the flagstick, aware of a slope in the green that cants left. Todd nails the target and his ball rolls to within a foot of the hole. He calls for the “birdie juice” flask from Duke’s bag. Rum, I believe.

On the par-5 10th, Todd crushes a drive downwind that ends up in a fairway bunker some 300 yards of the tee. This is an uh-oh moment for any caddie, but Jim MacMaster, looping for Duke, assures me the hazard is hardly ever in play. Todd is not one bit miffed, at least not at me.

He makes a curling par-saving putt on 13, just misses birdie on 14, and is disappointed to only make par on the par-5 15th after another 300-yard missile off the tee. When we reach the tee deck on 16, I know the importance of Todd hitting a good shot. It’s not a long hole from the tees we are playing — a deck up from where Todd should be but he’s being courteous of his pals who don’t hit the ball as long — and he’s thinking it’s either a soft pitching wedge or a full gap wedge. We are not so much caddie and golfer by now as we are friends. I tell him to go with the pitching wedge and he hits a shot that never leaves the flagstick, his ball coming to rest 15 feet below the hole.

And now we are on the green, just he and I, with the others preparing for pitch shots, and Todd pulls a small pouch out of his pocket and does what he’s long wanted to do. “I love you, Teagan,” he says towards the heavens. It is another sun-soaked afternoon, as though the weather was preordained.

Ashes in the wind, Todd walks over and shakes my hand and tells me he is happy I am there with him. Just as Luke Cyr confided in me that he’d wanted to die until Sean Sutherland and caddying at Cabot saved him, Todd Quinn feels fortunate to have shared the most sacred of acts with someone he didn’t know that morning. He leaves the birdie putt a rotation short, by the way, and true to his personality, Todd screams Teagan’s name in jest and shakes his fist as we laugh together.

Yes, the caddies of Cabot loop for many reasons. For the money, for the exercise, for the setting, for the community pride, for the therapy. And yes, for the $10 green fees, plus tax, to play either Links or Cliffs when they can find a tee time. But so much of it is about people. The bonds formed over four hours. For the golfer, there is nothing like playing the game with the freedom of having nothing to carry or push or pull. Having someone there to guide you through your round, tasked with heightening your happiness. And for the caddies, it’s about witnessing such joy and wonderment.

“You get to see the golf courses through their eyes and it’s almost … spiritual,” says Eddie MacEachern. “You take the turn at 15 on the Cliffs, if you’re not feeling close to God coming through there, and it doesn’t matter what the weather is like, it’s just beautiful.”

Spiritual.

We nailed it.