Editor’s Note: Dan plays a lot of golf with his wife, Terri, therefore, each of them will be contributing to the following as well as upcoming reviews. In this way, you’ll be able to benefit from both gender perspectives.

One of the many beauties of the sport of golf, as opposed to other recreational activities, is that all golf courses are different.  You can’t say as much about a basketball court or a football field, and while the same statement might be true of, say, skiing, it’s not as if you can ski uphill on some slopes; to that end, golf is unique among sports.

There is just as clearly a difference between a layout that create a unique sort of charm in some courses, and a layout that creates a certain degree of difficulty. 

For those courses generally thought to be harder than others, tee boxes are usually the great equalizer. 

Tee boxes, which in a sexist world were formerly referred to as men’s and women’s tees,  have since evolved into differential color designations, with courses attempting to be politically correct by correlating color to the anticipated length of your drive (even though men still know that it is muy macho to be “hitting off of the blues”).

Well, even though I am a notoriously short hitter for, well, a man, Terri hits long, so we get along great.  We both can play the whites together, and everyone’s ego is secure.

Until it came to playing Antler Creek last Saturday for the first time.  My male ego is now in pieces.

Antler Creek is the new golf course in Falcon that boasts – actually boasts! – that

it is the third longest course in the world, the second longest in the country, and the longest in the state.

Length, it would appear, is a virtue in golf courses, as it is purported to be in other aspects of life.

But a long golf course is not such a virtue when you are a weenie hitter like I am.  No shifting of tee boxes can save a powder puff hitter from a fate like that which awaits it at Antler Creek.

 My round of five hours of dink shots evolved into the Bataan Death March of golf.

Believe me; Antler Creek is a beautiful course, well-maintained, with the friendliest staff you’ll ever hope to meet. 

In a golfing world often filled with chewed up greens, bad course marshalling, and outrageous greens fees, Antler Creek is a pure delight.  But why, oh why, did it have to be so long?

We’ve played a lot of golf courses as a couple, and many of them like to punish you with narrow fairways, fast greens, tough pin placements, and tall rough.  You pay your nickel; you take your chances.  But we’ve never been punished previously with pure length.

Bogey/double bogey golfers like us try to overcome the frustrations of high handicaps by playing target golf. 

The target golfer avoids becoming intimidated by the task before him by creating a target in his mind for each next shot. 

The target golfer is disciplined to not think about how many shots it will take to get him to the green; otherwise, his second shot becomes an attempt to hit a seven-wood three hundred and fifty yards from the rough.

But you can’t hit what you can’t see, and you need a recognizance team to figure out where to hit next at Antler Creek.

Am I whining too much, you say?  How many times have you played a course where you can’t see the next green from the tee box?  (Oh yeah?  On a par 3?)

Antler Creek is a welcome addition to the golfing scene in Colorado, and is a must-play destination.  But before you go, remember that the goal is not to improve the quality of your game; it is to make certain that, for the first time in your golfing career, you don’t become lost on a golf course.