Lake park turf
Soft rye hides an overlap until two irons claim one acre.
Rapid City lies are rarely clean. A lot that still looked fine on a mat will void from Canyon fringe and knuckle from the gravel by the creek.
We do not own a lake. We own a chain and a memory of how this town's grass actually sits: rye that goes slick after a lunch rain, Sioux Park shade that never dries the ball, Founders infield dirt that grabs a short face.
If your card says you live in the fringe, the stake call gets stricter. A brochure lot on a scoring iron is an overlap waiting for the next Canyon evening.