“Hit it just over this patch of grass in front of you. It’s about 155 meters, a touch uphill and the greens will hold.”

With this advice I addressed the ball and focused only on making a pure connection with my trusted six iron. I swung through the ball, kept my head behind the neat divot, and hit the ball out of sight.

I hit almost every shot that day out of sight. Not because I hit it far, but because I was hitting into a mist which was certainly as grey and almost as thick as a traditional Lesotho blanket. The first 30 meters of the golf ball’s flight would serve only as an indicator of it’s eventual resting place, and to make matters even more challenging, I was wearing glasses. Silver beads of dew joined up to form droplets, and the droplets would run like small rivers off the rim of my frames. No matter how many times I wiped my lenses, Nature’s silent tears would form again and spill down towards an increasingly soft and soggy earth. No amount of straining my own eyes into the gentle gloom could provide any form of clarity as to the whereabouts of a target. I could see my ball, and I could see a collapsed version of my target in the tuft of grass a few meters ahead.

There was an eeriness in hitting into the unknown, and I wondered how many balls I would lose today. I could not tell on which side to miss so as not to short side myself, I could play no percentage shots, and would have no idea as to where the hazards were which should be avoided.

I should add, that I have never played this gem of a course at Gowrie Farm in the Natal Midlands before. I could not rely on even a shred of memory of the terrain, let alone the layout.

In times like this you need someone to help.

Pete, our colleague, mentor and friend which is an unusual combination of relationships, yet a highly valued one, immediately stepped up into the additional role of our caddy. He has played here before, and he has an innate sense of direction. I have never once seen him revert to ‘Waze’ or Google Maps to help him find his way, and if the fairway markers give you a distance, then his attitude is to question the need for any further technology.

Pete was playing the game with us, and he had his own ball to worry about, but it seemed as though his excitement peaked in the joy of giving the right line for others, and to add a little more complexity to his world, the ‘others’, Frank and I, play a very different game. I generally hit the ball from left to right and pray that the fade doesn’t turn to a slice, Frank aims right and draws the ball to the left. We pray to the same golfing Gods, but he hopes not to hook his ball too far too the left.

This means, of course that the tuft of grass which serves as the target in front of us, is never the same tuft of grass.

We marched on in glorious oblivion of the eventual outcome, but intentional focus on the process in the immediate present.

Eventually, the lightning siren sounded, and the unknown immediately became the known. We went straight to the pub for a well-deserved refreshment.

Whilst the mist outside became even thicker, the reflections of what we had experienced started to emerge with great clarity.

We are playing into the great unknown. As individuals, as teams, as organisations, as countries and as a planet. There is an impenetrable mist all around us, and it is impossible to see the end result. We don’t know exactly where we are heading, and we cannot even see the potential hazards along the way. We might hit some great shots which end up in a bunker, or some average shots which find the front edge of the green.

We don’t know.

So, what do we know now?

We need a guide. Someone to suggest a direction, to paint a possible picture for us, and to keep painting a new picture with every shot we play. I need a visual for a fade, Frank needs one for a draw. We are different followers.

We know that Trust is a non-negotiable. Mistakes can be made, but I know the intent is 100 percent trustworthy.

What I know now, is that sometimes, not knowing is entirely liberating. In fact, the only hazard I hit all day was the bunker on the short par three which I could see, and I wonder how often my attention is attracted to the potential pitfalls I can see, rather than to the targets I might focus on even if I can’t physically see them.

I know that if I choose to lead, the followers who choose to follow will have very different needs.

I know now, that all I can do in this time of uncertainty is to make my best swing possible. I have been given a line, and must keep my head down. After all, there is no point in looking up to chase the outcome. It is already into the mist. A good follow through helps to finish my best possible shot in the moment. I know that in times like this, the encouragement of someone else’s shot, or great outcome is important, and that my eyes could help them with their focus.

I know that I am deeply grateful for the encouragement that others give me when I am in the midst of my own mist.

And I know that when I flushed that six iron, it was the finest shot I never saw.

I look forward to seeing the course for the first time, the second time I play. But then again, it might be misty.

I hope then that I will have a good guide, and if I have the same one, there will be nothing blind about the Trust I have in his character.

Steve Hall