I'm sitting in the picker cart behind the ball shed waiting for a handful of customers to hit their shots. As soon as they finish their swings I'm off, turning right sharply, down the slope, carving a path straight through the middle of the range. I'm trying to collect as many balls as I can on my way to the back of the four targets. They're the hardest to clear because of the terrain but also the best place to pick without fear or getting sniped by a tiny white rock coming in at close to 100 miles per hour.
The facility has 62 hitting bays. Since re-opening under Phase 2 of the state's coronavirus plan, the range has reached capacity, at some point, every day, leaving some customers waiting for a spot to open up well after 7 p.m. (lights go out at 9 p.m.). The average sale is a little more than a medium bucket, which contains about 90 balls. The biggest bucket has about 110 balls. So, when the range is fully booked like it has been this month, there are as many 6,000 balls being smacked onto the range, all of which need to be scooped up, returned to the shed, and sterilized before being recycled as ammo for the next round of customers.
The range has 14 targets (greens). The 15th target instantly becomes the picker cart as soon as someone takes it for a spin to collect. I've never been anywhere near a battlefield; my most vivid memories of "war" are from Saving Private Ryan, so please, forgive the analogy. But that's what comes to mind when I peel out down the slope, into the field.
I'm not in any danger. The picker cart is golf's version of an armored vehicle (a.k.a. a steel cage on wheels, with a thick plexiglass windshield and rearview window). It's easy to see the balls whizzing by the cart as I make my way toward the back of the range. I try not to drive in a straight line to avoid better players from lining me up. Sometimes, that strategy fails, and WHACK! A low stinger (intentional or otherwise) literally rattles my cage. It's inevitable: if you're in the picker cart on a busy day, you're gonna get hit. Headphones help.
It takes about 10 minutes of driving around in the field to collect enough balls to fill up the six baskets attached to the front of the cart (about 1,000 balls). If I plan accordingly, I can collect most of them at a distance, making the return trip back to the shed a little less nervewracking. On my way back in, I don't want to be thinking about picking golf balls; I want the customers to know that my time in the field is done, I'm waving the white flag, and it would be great if they could forget the figurative giant red X I'm driving around in.
I stay along the perimeter during my return. It's smooth sailing until I get within about 60 yards of the hitting bays and I have to slowly turn into the line of fire and creep toward the back of the ball shed. If the kids are still training, I'm a sitting duck. My presence isn't an excuse to pause; it's a chance for them to rapidly hit as many balls at me as possible. All they see is a moving target to practice on. All I hear is steel banging around in my head.
I did the same thing when I was that age. Little do they know, it's perfect exposure therapy. Just another day.