Nothing beats a quiet course on Masters eve

Awarm, clear Wednes­day afternoon at Au­gusta Na­tion­al Golf Club is the perfect time and place to rekindle a tradition.

Though there’s never a bad time to walk around the most impressive sports venue in the world, late Wednesday – when the course is closed to practice rounds and the occasional pop of applause filters up from Ike’s Pond and the Par-3 Contest – is the most sublime.

That’s when you really get to savor the design and beauty of Augusta National without the distraction of golfers or closed crosswalks.

“One of my traditions at Au­gus­ta is to take a walk around the course late on Wednes­day afternoon,” CBS broadcaster Jim Nantz once said in a Golf Digest interview. “Usually very few people are around, and it serves as a little meditation.”

Before coming to work in Augusta and having too many obligations to fulfill on the eve of the Masters, it used to be a tradition of my own. The later in the evening the better as the course emptied of patrons exhausted from a long day stargazing in the sun.

A late-afternoon stroll through Amen Corner always has its charms, even with a few too many people milling around. You can eavesdrop on all kinds of commentary.

One man with a thick Glaswegian accent offers to take a picture of a couple.

“So, are you rooting for Rory McIlroy?” the man said in a thick Southern accent.

“Oh, no!” replied the Scot.

Mostly you hear theories on how to play a certain shot – especially from the spot where Bubba Watson hit his famous shot in last year’s playoff. Patrons huddled around a makeshift shrine – a stick in the ground with a plastic Masters cup covering it – whispering in awe about “how did he do it?”

There are few things more inspiring than walking from the clubhouse, down the side of the steep 10th fairway and on through Amen Corner. The spring colors might be past their prime, but the beauty of the old Fruitlands nursery grounds never fades.

You stand and stare at the blank scoreboard on No. 11 – a tabula rasa where for the next four days the story of the Masters will be written in green and red numbers.

You can see things you never get to notice when the ropes are packed with patrons. You can see more clearly how severe the side-to-side pitch is in the 13th fairway. You get an unencumbered view of the little flag someone stuck in the spot where Phil Mickelson hit his heroic shot from behind the pine in 2010. You can walk right up to the rope behind No. 16 where Tiger Woods hit his around-the-world chip in 2005. You can try to figure out where it was on No. 11 that Larry Mize chipped in to break Greg Norman’s heart.

You can pause in the middle of the 15th or seventh fairways and imagine what it’s like to hit into those guarded greens without a gallery guard shooing you out of the way. You can sip from the Palmer and Nicklaus fountains and read about their feats without rushing to see what the last roar was about. You can watch the mowers – 16 of them moving in strike formation from the second green to the tee and down the eighth fairway the same way – do their carefully orchestrated dance in preparing the stage.

It is the unhurried moments that you will remember forever if you’re lucky enough to get the chance. It reminds me of the plaque on the 17th tee at Cypress Point, which juts out into the rocks along the Pacific. “Boney’s Pulpit” forces anyone who passes to reflect.

“Let us pause for a moment of thanks for being one of the few who have been privileged to walk along these magnificent shores,” the plaque says, in a quote attributed to Clarke Bearden.

That’s what peaceful Wednes­day walkabouts – in the calm before the Masters storm – are all about.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when Byron Nelson walked for the last time through Amen Corner. With a cane in one hand and his wife, Peggy, holding the other, Nelson wanted to show her his plaque on the Nelson Bridge that crosses Rae’s Creek in front of the 13th tee. Nantz was there to watch the aging Nelson lean down and place a kiss with his hand on the plaque that celebrates his accomplishments in the 1937 Masters.

“It was as touching as anything I’ve ever seen,” Nantz said.

If you ever find yourself down there as the shadows grow longer across the pristine fairways, it’s guaranteed to touch your heart, too.