Some were there from the beginning. Some arrived later and simply refused to leave. Some contributed quietly in the background while others did so loudly and with great enthusiasm. All of them, in their own way, helped turn a patch of flood-affected ground between two caravan parks into something far more meaningful.
THE SANDBAR STORY
Chapter 9 – Icons of Sandbar
By the time an organisation reaches the stage where people begin to talk about its “history,” something subtle has already taken place. The early chaos has settled. The arguments about what it might become have slowly been replaced by the quieter understanding of what it is. Systems are in place. Competitions run without too much debate. New members arrive and assume the structure they see has always existed.
But those who were there at the beginning know better. Because behind every functioning community organisation there sits a collection of people whose fingerprints are everywhere, even if their names rarely appear on the paperwork.
Sandbar Golf Club is no different.
Up to this point in the story we have spoken about ideas, about structures, about conflicts between community expectation and commercial ownership. We have watched a group of volunteers slowly build something that resembles a club out of little more than goodwill, a few dollars in a tin, and the stubborn belief that Wednesday afternoon golf was worth protecting.
But clubs are never truly built by systems. They are built by people.
People who turn up when no one else does. People who carry responsibility long after the novelty has worn off. People who organise, encourage, argue, repair, sweep, calculate, cajole and occasionally complain, usually in the same afternoon.
Some hold official titles. Presidents, Secretaries, Treasurers, Committee Members. Those roles matter, of course. They are the visible framework of governance that allows the club to operate with some sense of order. But titles only tell part of the story. Because every club also develops its characters.
The unofficial starters who somehow always seem to know who is playing with whom. The quiet organisers who ensure the competition prizes appear each week without fuss. The tireless course improvers who arrive with shovels, plants or tools and simply start fixing things that everyone else had accepted would always be broken. The storytellers at the end of the day whose recollections slowly turn into club folklore. And then there are the figures who sit somewhere between volunteer and legend. The people whose contribution quietly shapes the culture of the place. The ones who, whether they realise it or not, become part of the identity of the club itself.
In time, some of these people receive formal recognition. A Life Membership here. A Presidential term there. A line in the minutes acknowledging service rendered over many years. But the truth of their contribution is rarely captured in those formal gestures.
It exists instead in memories. In the stories told over a cold drink after a round. In the familiar rituals of competition day. In the small improvements scattered across the course that newer members assume have always been there.
Clubs like Sandbar are not defined solely by fairways and scorecards. They are defined by the personalities who breathe life into those spaces.
Some were there from the beginning. Some arrived later and simply refused to leave. Some contributed quietly in the background while others did so loudly and with great enthusiasm. All of them, in their own way, helped turn a patch of flood-affected ground between two caravan parks into something far more meaningful.
A club.
This chapter is not about governance or structure. It is about people.
The Life Members whose dedication deserved recognition. The Presidents who steered the ship through calm and occasionally choppy waters and continue to do so. The committee members who carried the burden of keeping things running when most members simply wanted to play golf. And the characters, those wonderful, irreplaceable personalities without whom Sandbar would never quite feel like Sandbar.
Because every club has its icons. And over the years, Sandbar has gathered more than a few.
Life Members
To date there is only one life member and that was bestowed on our founder.
Evan Hunter – The Vision That Started It All
Every organisation has a beginning, but very few can point to the precise individual whose imagination first set the wheels in motion.
For Sandbar Golf Club, that person was Evan Hunter.
It is difficult to talk about the history of the club without Evan’s name appearing somewhere close to the beginning of every story. Long before the committee structures, before the membership books, before the systems that slowly transformed a loose collection of golfers into a functioning club, there was simply a local manager who believed the little golf course sitting between two caravan parks could be something more than an amenity attached to a business.
Evan was, first and foremost, a golfer.
That might sound like an obvious statement, but it is an important one when placed alongside the broader context of the place. The land itself belonged to a large private enterprise within the Paspaley group, an organisation whose focus was understandably driven by numbers, occupancy rates and the financial performance of its caravan park operations. To them, the golf course was one of many assets within a much larger enterprise.
Evan saw it differently. Where others saw a recreational feature for guests, he saw a gathering place for locals. Where others saw a line item on a balance sheet, he saw the potential for community. And like many good ideas that eventually become institutions, his approach in those early days was not built on complicated planning documents or strategic frameworks.
It was built on instinct.
The Wednesday competitions that slowly became the heartbeat of Sandbar Golf Club began in exactly that fashion. Golfers would turn up, green fees would be paid, a small prize pool would appear almost magically from the day’s takings, and before long the course would be filled with groups of locals enjoying an afternoon that felt increasingly like it belonged to them.
Evan encouraged it.
He made sure the cold drinks were available. He created the conditions for the players to gather. But perhaps the most important thing he did was step back just enough to allow something organic to form.
Players started organising themselves.
They sorted out groups. They discussed handicaps. They argued about scores in the good-natured way golfers have done for generations. And without anyone formally declaring it, a club began to emerge.
Evan understood something that many administrators never quite grasp. A club cannot simply be created through paperwork. It must grow through participation. People must feel a sense of ownership before the formal structures will ever mean anything.
So rather than impose a structure from above, he allowed the players to grow into one.
There was the now-famous “tin,” sitting quietly on the table collecting a few dollars here and there. Memberships were discussed long before they formally existed. Badges appeared. Conversations began to shift from playing at Sandbar to being part of Sandbar.
The difference might seem small. But it was everything.
Eventually, as all volunteer organisations must, the club reached the point where goodwill alone could no longer carry it forward. Systems had to be created. Financial records had to be maintained. Committees had to be formed. Constitutions drafted. Bank accounts opened. The messy, often thankless work of turning an idea into an institution had to begin.
Even then, Evan’s influence remained everywhere. His vision had given the club a foundation. Without it there would have been nothing for others to build upon. The first committee meeting, the early competitions, the membership structure that slowly followed, all of it grew from the culture he had encouraged in those early days.
It is one of the quiet ironies of community organisations that the people who ignite them are not always the ones who remain in charge of them forever.
Circumstances change. Careers move on. Businesses restructure.
Evan’s own journey with the Paspaley organisation eventually came to an end. Whether described as resignation or something less voluntary depending on who was telling the story, the result was the same. The club lost the man who had been its earliest champion inside the management structure of the property.
By that stage, however, something important had already happened. The club had grown strong enough to stand on its own. And that is perhaps the greatest legacy any founder can hope for.
As a gesture of recognition, and in truth as a statement of simple gratitude, Sandbar Golf Club made Evan Hunter its first Life Member. At the time of writing, he remains the only person to hold that honour.
Life Membership is not awarded lightly in community organisations. Titles come and go, committees change, but Life Membership is reserved for those individuals whose contribution helped shape the very existence of the place.
In Evan’s case the reasoning was simple. Without him, there would likely be no Sandbar Golf Club.
He saw the possibility before others did. He nurtured the idea while it was still fragile. And he allowed a community to grow around a golf course that might otherwise have remained just another feature within a caravan park.
Years later, as new members arrive and competitions continue each Wednesday afternoon, many may not fully appreciate how close the place once was to never becoming a club at all.
But those who were there in the early days remember. They remember the manager who was also a golfer. The man who believed locals would support something that felt like their own. The quiet encouragement that turned casual rounds into organised competition. And the vision that started it all.
Sandbar Golf Club has had many volunteers, many committee members and many characters over the years.
But it has had only one Evan Hunter.
And that is why his name sits alone on the Life Members board.
Presidents
Craig Wilson – The President Who Carried the Vision
If Evan Hunter was the man who first imagined Sandbar Golf Club as something more than a golf course attached to a caravan park, then Craig Wilson was the man who took that fragile idea and ran with it harder than anyone else.
Known universally as “Wilso” to his mates, Craig represented something that every genuine golf club eventually needs, a real golfer with real community instincts.
Not the kind of golfer who simply arrives, plays his round and disappears. The kind who sees the place as something worth building.
Craig had been around golf long enough to understand what makes a club feel like a club. An avid player with an AGU handicap approaching a shot a hole, he could be found on the course at almost any time. Wednesday competition days, Sunday President’s runs, casual rounds with mates or the occasional twilight wander around a few holes, if there was golf being played at Sandbar, chances were Craig wasn’t far away.
Golf and fishing are his great passions.
Work, as he liked to say, was simply the thing that made both of them possible. But where Craig truly left his mark was not just in the rounds he played.
It was in the work that happened when the golf stopped.
A handyman by trade, Craig possessed that practical skill set that every volunteer organisation quietly depends upon. The ability to look at something that needed fixing, shrug slightly, and simply get on with it.
The original charter of the club, the vision that Sandbar would slowly evolve into something more organised and more permanent, required more than meetings and minutes. It required people willing to physically shape the place.
Craig was always one of those people.
Sometimes the work happened in larger working bees where a handful of members would gather with tools, shovels and the vague promise of a cold drink afterwards. Those days often produced visible change across the course, a repaired structure here, an improved area there, small pieces of infrastructure quietly appearing where none had existed before.
But just as often the work was done in the quieter moments. A working bee of one. Or perhaps two.
Craig arriving with tools in the back of the ute, fixing something that had been bothering him the previous week. Repairing, adjusting, improving. The sort of steady, practical effort that slowly transforms a place without ever really announcing itself. And alongside the physical work came the leadership.
As the first President of Sandbar Golf Club, Craig was instrumental in ensuring the club stayed true to the spirit in which it had been created. Competitions had to run smoothly. Gala days needed organisation. The steady encouragement of members, new and old, required someone willing to lead by example.
Craig did that in the same way he approached everything else. Quietly. Practically. Consistently.
He embodied the kind of local involvement that Sandbar had always hoped to attract, people who were proud of the place and willing to contribute to it. People who didn’t see the course as simply somewhere to play golf, but as something worth nurturing.
Life, of course, has a habit of moving people along. Craig no longer lives in the area the way he once did. Like many people whose lives intersect with places like Sandbar, circumstances eventually pulled him elsewhere. But the funny thing about clubs like this is that distance rarely changes the connection.
Whenever Craig returns for a visit, a round of golf with him becomes something to be enjoyed rather than simply scheduled. The stories pick up exactly where they left off. The laughter carries across the fairways just as it did years before.
And somewhere during the round you are reminded that many of the things around you, the small improvements, the culture of the place, the rhythm of the competitions, still carry traces of the work he helped start.
Sandbar Golf Club has had many volunteers over the years. But when it comes to the early days, when the club was still finding its feet and discovering what it might become, Craig Wilson was one of the men who carried the idea forward with both hands.
Wilso. Golfer. Handyman. President. And unquestionably one of the characters who helped turn Sandbar into the club it is today.
Greg Harris – The Man Who Just Turned Up
Every club has people who hold positions. And then it has people who simply hold the place together.
Greg Harris, or “Harro” to those who know him, has always belonged firmly in the second category.
When this passage was originally written for a marketing piece showcasing the fledgling club, it was technically accurate to say Harro had never been a member of the Committee. He didn’t need to be. Some people feel compelled to sit around a table discussing what needs to be done. Harro was never particularly interested in that part of club life.
He was far more comfortable just doing what needed doing.
That trait became particularly important when Craig Wilson eventually moved away from the area. Craig had been one of those steady figures around the club, the sort of person whose quiet leadership filled gaps without making a fuss about it. When he left, there was an inevitable moment where the question hung in the air.
Who steps up now? Harro never made a speech about it. He simply started filling the space.
Not formally. Not ceremoniously. Just in the same practical way he had always approached things. The club needed people who would help organise the day, keep the competitions moving, and make sure the rhythm of Wednesday golf remained intact.
Harro was already doing most of that anyway.
On a typical Wednesday, assuming the weather meets Harro’s somewhat selective definition of “playable” and he hasn’t decided the cold or rain is better enjoyed from bed, he can usually be found performing one of the most understated but important roles in club golf.
The starter.
Standing near the first tee, greeting players as they arrive, sending groups off on their quest for that elusive perfect round. Along the way he’ll casually remind golfers about the day’s challenge holes, pass on any news that needs conveying, and generally ensure the day begins with the right mixture of structure and humour.
And then, later in the afternoon, he performs the equally important role of chief storyteller. During prize presentations, Harro has an uncanny ability to recount the day’s play with enthusiasm, embellishment and just the right amount of merciless sledging. No one is entirely safe when Harro has the microphone, but the laughter that follows usually tells you the members wouldn’t have it any other way.
Of course, Harro’s involvement around the club has never been confined to Wednesdays.
During one of the Sandbar Rural Fire Service fundraising days a group of women found themselves short a fourth player. In true Sandbar fashion the solution appeared quickly.
Harro volunteered.
Whether he was acting as their “chaperone” or something closer to a “pimp”, a description Harro himself would probably prefer, remains open to interpretation. What is known is that the group, the now legendary Partee Girls, finished in the top five for the day.
Clearly Harro fitted in just fine. But perhaps the best example of his character has nothing to do with competitions or stories. It involves friendship.
At one point a fellow club member, known around Sandbar as Bracky, suffered a serious back injury. The medical advice suggested golf was probably finished for him. For most people that sort of diagnosis would quietly close the door on the game.
Harro had other ideas. He started by simply encouraging Bracky to come down and walk the course with the group. No golf clubs required. Just the company. The conversation. The feeling of still being part of the place.
After a while that turned into a little putting. Then the occasional gentle swing. Before long the man who had been told he would never play again was back out on the fairways.
With Harro beside him. That’s the sort of thing friends like Harro do.
There has never been much refinement about him on a typical Wednesday afternoon. Harro tends to call a spade a clubbing instrument, speaks his mind freely, and carries himself with the relaxed confidence of someone who has spent a lifetime around the game. And then there’s the golf. Because behind the easygoing personality sits a handicap many members can only dream about.
Week after week he simply turns up. No fuss. No ceremony. Just another golfer who enjoys the game and the company that comes with it.
Sadly, the game has not always returned that loyalty. In recent years Harro himself suffered a serious back injury, one severe enough to rob him of the golf he loved playing so much. For someone whose presence had become part of the weekly rhythm of Sandbar, it was a cruel twist of fate.
But even without the clubs in hand, the influence remains. Because Sandbar has always been about more than golf. It is about the people who show up. And few have embodied that spirit better than Harro.
Greg Harris. Starter. Storyteller. Occasional chaperone to the Partee Girls. Friend to injured golfers.
And unquestionably one of the characters who helped make Sandbar Golf Club what it is.
Mark Lawson – Leadership When It Matters Most
Every club eventually reaches a point where leadership is less about ceremony and more about resilience. For Sandbar Golf Club, that moment arrived just as Mark Lawson stepped into the role of President.
Mark is one of those people whose name is already well known in the local community long before a title is attached to it. A local real estate agent with deep ties to the area, his involvement across the district stretches well beyond the boundaries of the golf course. Over the years he has served on numerous local sporting and school committees, the sort of quiet civic engagement that helps hold regional communities together.
In places like ours, reputations are rarely built on business alone. They are built on showing up.
Mark has spent a lifetime doing exactly that.
Golf, however, remains one of his true passions. Unlike many of us who enjoy the game with varying degrees of competence, Mark plays it rather well. A very low handicapped golfer, he is capable of striking a golf ball distances that cause the rest of us to look down suspiciously at our own clubs.
If you listen to some of the less proficient members, and there are a few of us in that category, the ball doesn’t simply travel when Mark hits it. It goes miles.
The truth, as always, probably sits somewhere between admiration and mild exaggeration. But there is no doubting the pleasure members take in watching someone play the game at that level, particularly when it happens on their own course.
Ironically, just as Mark assumed the presidency, the golf itself became the least complicated part of the job. His appointment coincided almost perfectly with the introduction of new green fee structures, changes that stirred strong reactions across the membership and the broader local golfing community. The adjustments were necessary from a business perspective, part of the ongoing tension between operating a viable facility and maintaining the welcoming community atmosphere that had always defined Sandbar.
But necessity does not always soften the response. Instead of inheriting the presidency during a period of calm stewardship, Mark found himself navigating something closer to a storm. Conversations that might normally occur quietly around committee tables suddenly spilled out into the wider membership. Opinions arrived quickly and often passionately.
More than once during those early months the role of President resembled that of a fireman rather than a golfer. Calls to answer. Concerns to calm. Explanations to offer.
Leadership in community organisations rarely looks glamorous when circumstances become difficult. It requires patience, diplomacy and the willingness to stand in the middle of competing expectations.
Mark brings all three.
His long-standing presence within the community proved invaluable during that time. People knew him. They understood his connection to the area and his history of contributing to local causes. That credibility helped steady conversations that might otherwise have drifted into unnecessary conflict.
Through it all he remained what he had always been. A local bloke who enjoys the game of golf, values the role the club plays within the community and understands that volunteer organisations occasionally need steady hands to guide them through complicated moments.
Presidents often become associated with the eras in which they serve. Some oversee periods of growth and celebration. Others inherit challenges that require a different type of leadership.
Mark Lawson’s presidency began during one of those moments when the club needed calm judgement and local credibility more than it needed ceremony. And like many of the people who have helped shape Sandbar Golf Club over the years, he stepped forward simply because the club needed someone willing to do the job.
Real estate agent. Long-time community contributor. Low handicapped golfer who can hit the ball further than most of us would care to admit.
And in a time of change, the President Sandbar needed to help steady the course.
Committee Members
Chris Wallace – Experience That Never Quite Steps Away
Community clubs rely on volunteers. But they rely even more heavily on the quiet presence of people who bring experience to the table.
Chris Wallace is one of those people.
Although his name once appeared formally on the Sandbar Golf Club committee list, and technically still does in the memories of many who have served alongside him, Chris has since stepped aside from the official paperwork. Like many long-time contributors to volunteer organisations, he has discovered that sometimes the best way to help a club is simply to remain available without needing the title.
On paper he may no longer hold a committee position. In reality, particularly on a Wednesday afternoon, he still manages to do his bit.
Chris brings with him a considerable background in both business and club management, experience accumulated over years of involvement in various community organisations. That experience has often proven invaluable when the club finds itself navigating practical issues that require more than enthusiasm alone.
Behind the easygoing presence on competition days sits a mind well trained in numbers and accountability. With an accounting background and a strong sense of how organisations should function, Chris has always been someone who quietly keeps an eye on how things are being run. Not loudly. Not intrusively.
Just with the steady attention of someone who has spent a lifetime around committees, finances and the occasional spirited debate about how a club ought to be managed.
His connection to community organisations stretches well beyond Sandbar. Like many parents who become deeply involved in local activities through their children, Chris spent years participating in and helping manage clubs connected to family life, including the familiar world of Pony Clubs, where volunteer structures and passionate members often combine to produce both remarkable achievements and the occasional organisational challenge.
Those experiences shaped his understanding of how community clubs function. And more importantly, how they sometimes struggle.
Alongside golf, Chris is also a keen fisherman, a pastime that fits neatly with his appreciation for spending time outdoors and, more importantly, with family. That balance between community involvement and family life has been a constant feature of his approach to the clubs he participates in.
Of course, for most Sandbar members, Chris is best known not for his committee experience but for what happens when he actually plays golf.
For a start, if you happen to be wandering around the course and stumble upon a golf ball decorated with red dots, there is a very good chance it once belonged to Chris. The distinctive markings are his way of ensuring his golf balls can be identified easily, particularly when they are discovered in the bush, nestled among animal scratchings, or occasionally resting near the water where they have taken an unscheduled detour.
Chris is one of Sandbar’s gifted left-handed golfers, a trait that occasionally feels like an unfair advantage on certain holes around the course. Like the former President Wilso, he plays off a handicap hovering around that familiar “shot a hole” mark, good enough to produce moments of real quality while still leaving the handicapper feeling comfortably in control most weeks.
Where Chris really benefits from his left-handed swing is on some of Sandbar’s more interesting holes. Anyone who regularly plays the course will immediately recognise the challenges presented by holes three, four and five, with six not far behind. For many right-handed golfers these holes seem designed specifically to attract golf balls toward hazards that lurk exactly where a slightly errant shot might travel.
Chris, however, has the advantage of his natural left-handed fade, which bends the ball gently away from some of those dangers rather than toward them. Watching the ball curve safely back toward the fairway while the rest of us contemplate the bush or water ahead can be mildly frustrating.
Still, that is the benefit of being a left-hander. And Chris has learned to use that “affliction” to his advantage.
But perhaps the most telling aspect of Chris Wallace’s involvement with Sandbar Golf Club is the simple fact that even after stepping away from formal committee duties, he continues to appear each week, offering help where it is needed and enjoying the company of fellow members.
Some volunteers leave committees and disappear. Chris simply stepped sideways. The paperwork may say he is no longer a committee member. The club itself knows better.
Chris Wallace. Golfer. Fisherman. Former committee member who never quite stopped contributing. And unquestionably one of the characters who continue to shape Sandbar Golf Club every Wednesday afternoon.
John Schoeman – The Quiet Clubman
Every club has people who become part of its structure almost without anyone quite noticing when it happened.
At Sandbar Golf Club, John Schoeman is one of those people.
Like a few of us, John has been there from the very beginning, watching the club grow from the early days when systems were still being invented into the more organised structure that now exists. His involvement originally came through something quite practical, the auditing of the club’s accounting records, ensuring that the finances behind the fledgling organisation were in order.
It was typical of John’s approach. See what needs doing. Do it properly. Then quietly move on to the next thing.
But as with most volunteer organisations, new needs tend to emerge just as quickly as old ones are solved. At one point the administration of the club’s AGU handicaps began to demand more time than could comfortably be managed alongside everything else that needed attention.
John noticed. And in what could only be described as a moment of “Bigweld (Robots – 2005 – 20th Century Fox) logic”, see a need, fill a need, he stepped forward and volunteered to take it on.
From that point the club’s handicapping system found a steady custodian. It is one of those roles that rarely attracts much attention when everything runs smoothly, yet becomes immediately noticeable if neglected. John has ensured it has always been the former.
Alongside that work, John has also remained one of the club’s most reliable committee members. When others are unavailable, particularly on Wednesdays, he can often be found working alongside Chris Wallace to ensure the competition setup and administration continue without interruption.
Scorecards organised. Groups sorted. The machinery of the day quietly functioning as it should.
It is the kind of contribution that rarely appears in headlines or trophy presentations, but without which the weekly rhythm of the club would struggle to operate.
John Schoeman is not the loudest voice in the room. But he is very much the kind of person every club hopes to have around.
A founding member. A steady committee presence. The man who quietly stepped in when the club needed someone to keep things running properly.
In short, a true clubman.
Sam Dystynski – The Kid with the Tonka Truck
Every club has its characters. But only a few can genuinely say they were there before the club even existed.
Sam Dystynski, known far and wide around Sandbar as “Sam Bear”, belongs to that rare category. Long before there were competitions, committees or membership badges, Sam was already part of the story. One of the old photographs from those earliest days of construction shows a very young Sam standing nearby with a Tonka toy in hand, watching on, or perhaps helping, at least in the way young boys insist they are helping, as the adults carved fairways out of the flood-prone ground between the two caravan parks.
His father was one of the locals involved in creating the course all those years ago.
So in a way Sam didn’t just join Sandbar Golf Club later in life. He quite literally grew up with it.
Like many long-time locals, Sam carries the sort of connection to the place that can’t easily be manufactured. The course isn’t simply somewhere he plays golf. It is a place woven into his personal history, a piece of landscape he has watched evolve from rough beginnings into the club it has become today.
On the course, Sam’s golfing style could best be described as power first, finesse second. He is very much a golfer of might rather than delicacy, which probably explains why he finds himself comfortably among the large group of Sandbar players hovering somewhere around that familiar “shot a hole” handicap. Like many committee members, he can produce moments of brilliance followed almost immediately by shots that remind him the handicapper still has the upper hand.
In his prime, Sam was one of the bigger hitters in the club. When he connects properly the ball tends to travel impressive distances, although there were occasions where the height of the shot appeared to exceed the forward progress. Those towering strikes have earned the occasional joke about the mysterious club in his bag, the now legendary “Wedgewood”, a club apparently capable of sending the ball almost vertically before allowing gravity to take over.
In recent years injuries to his hands have forced Sam to rethink some of the bash-and-barge elements of his game. The raw power remains, but experience has begun to creep into the decision making. Well… occasionally.
One aspect of Sam’s golf, however, has remained stubbornly consistent.
His suspicion of the putter. For reasons that only Sam truly understands, he often seems reluctant to use the flat stick when standing just off the green. Instead he will frequently pull out a wedge and chip toward the hole with surprising confidence. While this approach might horrify traditional golfing purists, the results speak for themselves.
The man chips in far more often than seems statistically reasonable. Birdies appear unexpectedly. Pars are saved from improbable situations. And on a few memorable occasions there have even been eagles.
Yes, eagles. Plural. One most memorable one, was to win the sausages on the 18th with a chip in from some ridiculous position on the fairway and which was later imortalised with a hole in one like trophy to “honour” the feat
Those moments tend to fuel the legend rather nicely. But beyond the golf itself, what truly defines Sam is the simple fact that he is a pleasure to play with. Every group eventually appreciates the value of someone whose company makes the round better regardless of the scorecard.
Sam Bear brings exactly that. His demeanour is easy going. His conversation, while occasionally colourful in that uniquely Australian golfing way, is almost always delivered with a grin and a sense of humour. Like the rest of us he has days when the game behaves beautifully and days when it stubbornly refuses to cooperate.
Either way, Sam takes it in stride. The goal, as he will happily admit, is simply to beat the handicapper. Unfortunately, as most Sandbar members have discovered, that particular opponent tends to win more often than not.
But that has never been the point. For Sam, golf has always been about the same thing it was when he was that young boy standing beside the construction crews with his Tonka toy.
Being part of the place. Watching it grow. Playing the course his father helped build. Sharing a round with mates who understand the history of the fairways beneath their feet.
Sam Dystynski. The kid in the old photograph. One of the bigger hitters of Sandbar. A master of the occasional miraculous chip-in. And unquestionably one of the characters who help make Sandbar Golf Club what it is today.
Jeff Banks – The Reluctant Everything Else
Every club eventually has someone who finds themselves wearing more hats than they ever expected.
At Sandbar Golf Club, that role has quietly fallen to Jeff Banks. Jeff’s involvement began the same way many volunteer commitments do, through a conversation with a mate. In this case it was Craig “Wilso” Wilson, who suggested that the fledgling club might benefit from someone with a little accounting experience helping organise the books.
It sounded simple enough at the time. A look at the records. A bit of structure around the finances. Perhaps the occasional bit of advice when required.
Like many things in volunteer organisations, it didn’t quite stay that simple.
What started as a small contribution gradually evolved into the role of Honorary Secretary and Treasurer, a position that tends to collect responsibilities the way a golf bag collects extra balls over the course of a round. Minutes needed writing. Financial records needed maintaining. Membership lists needed updating. Correspondence required answering. The sort of administrative details that rarely attract applause but are absolutely essential to keeping a club operating properly.
Over time the role began to resemble something closer to the Mikado’s famous character Poo-Bah — the Lord High Everything Else.
Not by design. Simply because when something needed doing, it was often easier to quietly take care of it than organise a committee meeting to decide who should.
When Wilso eventually moved away from the area, many might have expected Jeff’s involvement to wind down as well. After all, the original invitation had come through that friendship. But that is not always how community clubs work.
Once you become part of the structure, stepping away is rarely quite that straightforward. The club still needed someone to keep the paperwork straight, to ensure the competitions ran properly and the finances remained in order, and add to that Wislo’s replacement, Harro was also a personal friend
So Jeff stayed.
Not out of obligation, but simply because that’s the way these things tend to happen in volunteer organisations. Someone keeps doing the job because the job needs doing.
Over the years that quiet consistency has helped provide Sandbar with something every club needs but few members ever see clearly, continuity. While committees change, players come and go, and the course itself continues to evolve, the administrative backbone of the club has remained steady.
Golf clubs are built on fairways and friendships. But they are sustained by the people willing to look after the unglamorous work behind the scenes.
Jeff Banks may never have intended to become the Lord High Everything Else of Sandbar Golf Club, but through time, patience and a willingness to simply keep things moving, he has played a role in ensuring the club continues to function as smoothly as it does.
Drawn in by a mate. Still there long after that mate moved on. Which, in many ways, is exactly how community clubs manage to survive.
Cay Stevens & Marilyn Young – The Women’s Liaison
While Wednesday competitions might dominate the weekly rhythm of Sandbar Golf Club, the life of the course extends well beyond that single afternoon.
Each Friday the Ladies Competition takes place, organised largely independently and run with the same quiet efficiency and enthusiasm that characterises many long-standing women’s golfing groups. In many respects the ladies’ side of the club operates autonomously, managing its own competitions and traditions while sharing the same course and community.
But where the two sides of the club intersect most clearly is through the role of the Women’s Liaison on the Sandbar Golf Club Committee.
That responsibility has been carried with dedication by Cay Stevens and Marilyn Young.
Both women recognise that while the ladies run their own competitions, they also share a vested interest in the broader relationship the club maintains with the management of Sandbar and Bushland Caravan Parks. Issues involving course access, conditions, scheduling and the overall future of the facility affect every golfer who walks the fairways, regardless of whether they play on Wednesday or Friday.
Cay and later Marilyn on her own, ensure the ladies’ voice is part of those conversations.
Time and again they can be found attending committee meetings, representing the interests of the women who enjoy the course each week. Like many volunteers in community organisations, their attendance often comes despite the competing demands of daily life, yet they continue to make the effort because they understand how important that connection is.
Their presence helps ensure that Sandbar remains one club with many voices, rather than separate groups simply sharing the same course.
In a place built on cooperation and goodwill, that sort of representation matters.
Cay Stevens and Marilyn Young may formally serve as the Women’s Liaison, but in practice, they help maintain the connection between the broader Sandbar community and the women who contribute just as much to the life of the club. And like many of the volunteers who give their time to Sandbar, they do it quietly, simply because the club is worth the effort.
Both have been honoured with honorary memberships.
The Characters
Ron Thornton – More Than Just the Best Golfer
Every golf club has a player who stands just a little above the rest. At Sandbar, that golfer is Ron Thornton.
When conversations turn to the best player the course has seen, Ron’s name inevitably surfaces very quickly. His achievements alone would make him stand out in any club competition.
He is the current holder of the Sandbar A Grade Matchplay title, a trophy he has never relinquished since the competition was first introduced. Each year challengers have arrived believing it might finally be their turn.
Each year Ron has quietly reminded them that the title still belongs to him.
Alongside that achievement sits another piece of Sandbar folklore. Ron is the current holder of the Golden Ball and the Green Trenchcoat, awarded for his victory in the inaugural Sandbar Masters, a tournament that has already begun to carve out its own place in club tradition.
Then there is the round that golfers still speak about with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. Ron remains the only player known to have carded a par round “off the stick” at Sandbar. No handicap adjustments. No favourable arithmetic. Just a pure score against the course itself, a standard that many of the rest of us can only contemplate from a respectful distance.
But as impressive as those golfing achievements are, they only tell part of Ron Thornton’s story at Sandbar. Because Ron holds another distinction that is just as remarkable.
He has never paid for membership to the club.
That might sound unusual for someone so closely associated with the place, but in Ron’s case the reason says a great deal about what Sandbar values.
Following his victory in the Sandbar Masters, the Golden Ball brought with it a rather convenient reward, free golf on the course for a year. For most players that would have been the first time they avoided paying membership.
For Ron, however, it was simply a continuation of an arrangement that had existed long before that trophy was ever created. In the earlier days of the club, when Sandbar was still finding its feet and the fairways required more effort than the small committee could always provide, Ron could often be found quietly helping around the course. While others might have been discussing improvements, Ron was more likely to be out there with a whipper snipper, tidying the rough edges where the mowers couldn’t quite reach.
It wasn’t glamorous work. But it was necessary.
Those efforts didn’t go unnoticed. In recognition of the time and care he invested in helping maintain the course, Ron was granted honorary membership of Sandbar Golf Club, a small gesture of appreciation for someone who had already shown he saw the place as more than simply somewhere to play.
That dual identity captures Ron perfectly. Yes, he is arguably the best golfer Sandbar has produced. But he is also one of those players who understands that belonging to a club sometimes means something more than scorecards and trophies.
It means caring about the place itself. About the fairways. About the greens. About the small jobs that make the course better for everyone who walks onto the first tee.
Ron Thornton. Champion golfer. Keeper of the Golden Ball. The only man to match Sandbar shot for shot. And proof that being a Sandbar golfer is sometimes about far more than the golf itself.
Steve Brack – Bracky
Not every story at Sandbar Golf Club is about trophies or great golf. Some are simply about people.
Steve Brack, known to everyone around the course as Bracky, is one of those stories. A local through and through, Bracky suffered a devastating back injury that for a long time appeared likely to end not just his golf but much of the active life he had enjoyed around the community.
Golf was certainly the least of anyone’s concerns at that point. But clubs like Sandbar have a habit of quietly rallying around their own.
Encouraged, or perhaps more accurately coerced by his great mate Harro, Bracky began returning to the course. At first it was simply to walk the fairways for a bit of exercise and fresh air. No clubs. No scorecards. Just the slow process of reconnecting with the place and the people who had missed him.
Eventually that turned into a little putting. Then a few tentative swings. And before long Bracky was back playing again, proving that sometimes determination, and the gentle persistence of good friends can achieve more than medical predictions might suggest.
No one at Sandbar would pretend Bracky’s handicap strikes fear into the rest of the field. Even on a good day it has never been less than 20… and that’s for nine holes. But that has never really been the point. Because Bracky represents something far more important.
While Harro may have been the chief instigator in getting him back onto the course, the entire Sandbar community watched his return with genuine warmth. Golfers and non-golfers alike quietly hoped that each visit marked another small step in his recovery.
Moments like that remind everyone why clubs exist in the first place. Not just for competition. Not just for golf. But for companionship.
Steve Brack. A local. A battler. And one of the many reasons Sandbar Golf Club feels less like a course and more like a community.
Ron Richardson – Ronnie the Robot
Every club has players whose presence adds a little colour to the weekly competition.
At Sandbar, one of those figures is Ron Richardson, better known around the course as “Ronnie the Robot.”
Ronnie is a quiet achiever who plays off one of the club’s higher handicaps, but that can be dangerously misleading. Most weeks his game follows a familiar rhythm, steady, unremarkable and very much in line with the handicapper’s expectations. But every now and then the golfing stars align. And when they do, Ronnie produces scores that leave the rest of the field scratching their heads.
His method is deceptively simple. On those rare but memorable days he just hits the ball down the middle again and again. It might not be spectacular, and it certainly isn’t flashy, but it is remarkably effective. The result is usually a scorecard that does serious damage to his Wednesday handicap.
Of course, the laws of Sandbar golf soon restore the natural order. After one of Ronnie’s great days he will typically spend the next few weeks, sometimes months, gradually “earning back” the strokes that disappeared so quickly.
Such is the rhythm of handicap golf. Quiet most of the time. Occasionally brilliant. Always entertaining for those watching it unfold.
Ronnie the Robot.
The Forster Boys – Mates, Golf and a Bit of Fishing
Every club has its regulars. And then it has the groups whose friendship becomes part of the weekly fabric of the place.
At Sandbar Golf Club that role is proudly held by a group affectionately known as “The Forster Boys.”
As the name suggests, they come from the nearby coastal town of Forster. They already had their own golf options closer to home, yet for reasons that quickly become obvious to anyone who spends time with them, they fell in love with Sandbar and began making the trip out to play here as well.
It started simply enough with three mates, Kevin Olsen, Dallas Locke and Dave Hardacre.
Like most great golfing friendships, the connection was built around more than just scorecards, although Kevin once was runner-up in the inaugural Sandbar Masters. The three of them would turn up together, often well before the Wednesday competition began, sometimes playing a warm-up round simply because they enjoyed being out on the course together. The golf was important, of course. But the company mattered just as much.
Over time, as life inevitably does, things changed. Dallas eventually stepped away from the game due to a troublesome shoulder injury, while Dave found himself dealing with personal matters that made regular golf difficult.
Yet the spirit of the group remained.
Kevin continued to appear, and in time another member joined the fold, Rick Eggleshoven, though very few at Sandbar actually attempt to pronounce his surname. Around the club he is more commonly known as “Rick de Shovel,” a nickname born out of the practical reality that it is far easier to say.
Together they continued the tradition. The Forster Boys were never just golfers who happened to arrive at the same time. They were, and remain, a group of mates who genuinely enjoy each other’s company. The laughter often begins well before the first tee shot and continues long after the final putt has been holed.
Their friendship runs deep enough that Dallas once wrote a song about Kevin, inspired largely by Kevin’s legendary fishing exploits. Whether the song was intended as tribute, gentle ridicule or a bit of both remains open to interpretation, but like many Sandbar stories it quickly became part of the folklore.
That kind of camaraderie is exactly what Sandbar has always been about. Not just the golf. Not just the competition. But the friendships that form around it.
The Forster Boys. A group of mates who could easily play somewhere else, yet keep returning to Sandbar simply because they love the place, and the company.
And in doing so, they embody exactly what Sandbar Golf Club is all about.
Sam Marshall – The Man in the Middle
When Evan Hunter departed the caravan park hierarchy, the club lost more than just a supporter of golf. It lost the natural conduit between the community and the owners.
Into that space stepped Sam Marshall, the current Park Manager and the man who now occupies one of the more delicate positions in the ongoing story of Sandbar.
Unlike Evan, Sam did not arrive with a background in golf. In fact, he is not a golfer at all. Nor did he come with a long history of managing caravan parks or similar ventures. What he did bring, however, was something perhaps more important in the long run.
He is a manager. And clearly a valued one, otherwise he would not have found himself entrusted with the responsibility of overseeing a significant asset within the Paspaley portfolio.
What has become evident over time is that Sam is also someone who learns quickly. Managing a coastal caravan park with a golf course attached to it, and a local community that feels a deep emotional connection to both, requires a level of adaptability that cannot always be learned from manuals or management courses.
It requires patience. And occasionally a thick skin. Because one of the more complicated aspects of Sam’s role is the position he occupies between two very different worlds.
On one side sits the Paspaley ownership, for whom the property is ultimately a business asset that must be managed responsibly and sustainably. On the other side stands the local community, many of whom have grown up around Sandbar Golf Course and feel a genuine sense of connection to the place. For some locals, the fairways and greens are more than simply part of a caravan park business. They represent memories, friendships and decades of community life.
Balancing those perspectives is not always easy. As the Park Manager, Sam inevitably becomes the public face of decisions that originate well beyond the boundaries of the course itself. When changes occur, whether to green fees, course operations or broader management policies, it is often Sam who finds himself standing at the intersection of community expectation and corporate reality.
That position can attract its share of criticism.
From time to time he becomes the focal point for frustrations from locals who believe they have a vested interest in the land, even though the ownership ultimately rests with his employers. Much of that attention is unwarranted, yet it comes with the territory of being the person people can actually speak to.
It is a burden many managers might find uncomfortable. Sam, however, appears to approach the role with genuine passion. He takes his responsibilities seriously, not just in terms of running the park but in understanding the complex relationship that exists between the business and the community around it.
That willingness to engage, to listen, learn and occasionally absorb the heat that comes with the job has made him an important figure in the ongoing life of Sandbar.
He may not play golf. But his role in the story of the club is no less significant.
Sam Marshall. The Park Manager. The conduit between community and ownership. And the man standing quietly in the middle of a relationship that continues to shape the future of Sandbar Golf Course.
The Greensmen – Quiet Perfectionists
If there is one group largely responsible for Sandbar Golf Course looking the way it does today, it is the greensmen.
Unlike many of the other characters who populate Wednesday competitions, they tend to prefer working out of the spotlight. Quiet, slightly reclusive perfectionists, they are far more comfortable behind a mower or leaning over a green with tools in hand than standing in front of a room receiving praise. Which is perhaps exactly why the course has benefitted so much from their efforts.
Most golfers will encounter them at some point during a round, usually somewhere between the sound of a mower in the distance and the sudden appearance of a familiar figure arriving to collect green fees. Sandbar’s relaxed system often means golfers have already teed off before the formalities are settled, leaving the greensmen to track players down somewhere along the fairways after a text message has been sent through announcing their arrival.
It is all part of the rhythm of the place.
Beyond the practical work of maintaining the course, the greensmen are always happy to chat with players. They listen to suggestions about how Sandbar might be improved, ideas about plantings, hazards or the overall ambience of the course. Not every idea receives universal agreement, perfectionists rarely accept change lightly, but most are at least considered. Because at heart the greensmen see the course almost as if it were their own.
That sense of ownership becomes obvious when certain subjects arise. Weeds creeping toward the greens. Large shady trees interfering with turf growth. Or golfers who wander the course without a sand bucket and fail to repair their divots.
Those things tend to irritate them more than most. And to be fair, many of us would quietly agree with their frustration. Anyone who has walked onto the first tee at Sandbar and looked across the fairways can appreciate the level of care that goes into presenting the course as it is.
It does not happen by accident. It happens because someone cares enough to notice the details.
Over the years a number of different individuals have filled the role of greensman, but they share a common trait. Like the committee members and the regular competitors, they have become part of the living character of the club itself.
They may not always seek recognition. But the golfers who enjoy the course each week certainly know the difference their work makes.
The greensmen. Quiet custodians of the fairways. And, whether they like the attention or not, very much among the characters who help define Sandbar Golf Club.
The Sponsors
Sandbar & Bushland Caravan Parks – The Foundation Sponsors
For all the stories told about Sandbar Golf Club, the volunteers, the golfers, the characters who give the place its personality, there remains one simple truth. Without the course itself, none of it would exist. And the course sits within the grounds of Sandbar and Bushland Caravan Parks, both part of the wider Paspaley group. While the relationship between a private business and a community golf club can occasionally feel like a delicate balancing act, it is important to acknowledge that the parks remain one of the club’s most significant supporters.
The management of the parks provide discounted green fees for club competitions, currently allowing Sandbar members to play for $10 less than the standard green fee. That small concession plays a surprisingly important role in keeping the Wednesday competition accessible for locals who simply want to enjoy a game of golf in good company.
Beyond the green fees themselves, the parks also contribute directly to the weekly prizes that add a little extra excitement to competition day. Each week two bottles of premium wine from Paspaley’s Bamangaroo Estate winery find their way into the prize pool, one awarded as part of the competition winner’s prize and the other reserved for the golfer who manages to produce the day’s longest drive.
It is a fitting reward for those rare occasions when someone manages to send a ball travelling well beyond the expectations of their playing partners.
Perhaps the most visible example of the parks’ support appears during the club’s special fundraising events. On days such as the annual Rural Fire Service fundraiser, management has been generous enough to donate the green fees entirely to the cause, turning a regular day of golf into something that directly supports the wider community.
Those moments remind everyone that the relationship between the caravan parks and the golf club is more than simply commercial.
It is part of the broader connection between the business, the course and the local community that has grown around it.
Sandbar Golf Club may be run by volunteers and enjoyed by its members, but it sits on land that belongs to the parks. The willingness of Sandbar and Bushland Caravan Parks to support the club in these ways ensures that the partnership, occasionally complicated though it may be, continues to benefit both the golfers who play there and the community that surrounds it.
Pacific Palms Bowling Club – The Bowlo
Every community club needs places where people can gather, talk things through, and occasionally celebrate a good result. For Sandbar Golf Club, one of those places has long been the Pacific Palms Bowling Club, known to locals simply as the Bowlo.
Over the years the Bowlo has quietly provided the club with more than just a welcoming place to enjoy a drink after a round. The club generously offers space for Sandbar committee meetings, allowing the volunteers who help run the golf club somewhere comfortable to sit down, debate the occasional issue and organise the business of the place.
But their support extends well beyond a meeting room.
The Bowlo regularly provides $25 vouchers which Sandbar uses as Nearest the Pin prizes during Wednesday competitions and special events. For golfers, these vouchers carry an extra appeal. Winning one means a visit back to the Bowlo, where a successful shot on the golf course often turns into a round of drinks shared with friends.
More often than not, the voucher becomes the centrepiece of a small celebration, the winner shouting a drink or two while others join in the moment.
In that way, the Bowlo’s generosity helps create a connection between two community institutions.
Much of that support reflects the philosophy of Ashley Lambert and the Board of the Pacific Palms Bowling Club, who view community involvement not as an obligation but as part of the club’s purpose. By providing these vouchers and opening their doors to local organisations, they help strengthen the social fabric that keeps small communities vibrant.
It is a simple gesture. But like many things that work well in communities, its impact travels further than it first appears.
The Bowlo supports Sandbar. Sandbar golfers return to the Bowlo. And somewhere between a Nearest the Pin prize and a shared drink at the bar, the sense of local connection grows just a little stronger.
Smiths Lake Butcher – The Sausages Hole
Some sponsorships quietly support a club.
Others become part of its folklore. At Sandbar Golf Club, one of the most talked about prizes revolves around a hole now known simply as “The Sausages Hole.”
The sponsor behind that legend is the Smiths Lake Butcher.
The arrangement began years ago, with the butcher providing the prize for the particular challenge hole, usually a golfer who manages to achieve the required feat walks away with the reward of quality sausages, a prize that seems to resonate particularly well with a group of golfers who have often spent the afternoon thinking about what they might cook for dinner.
Over time the hole itself has become part of Sandbar mythology.
Despite the enthusiasm surrounding it, the prize is not won particularly often, which only seems to enhance the legend. When someone finally does manage to claim the sausages, the story tends to travel quickly through the clubhouse and beyond, adding another small chapter to the growing collection of Sandbar tales.
The current owners of the Smiths Lake Butcher, Mark and Alison, inherited the sponsorship when they took over the business. Rather than reconsider the arrangement, they wisely chose to let sleeping dogs lie, recognising both the goodwill the prize had generated and the value of being part of the local community.
Since then they have continued the tradition with enthusiasm. Not only have they maintained the Sausages Hole prize, they are also never backward in coming forward with additional prizes for gala days and special events. In truth, all that is usually required is for someone from the club to ask.
That willingness to support local organisations reflects the spirit of many small businesses in communities like ours. Sponsorship is not always about marketing budgets or formal agreements.
Sometimes it is simply about being part of the place. For Sandbar golfers, the Smiths Lake Butcher has become exactly that, a reliable supporter and the proud sponsor of a hole that now sits firmly among the club’s favourite traditions.
The Sausages Hole may not produce winners every week.
But the legend continues to grow.
Smiths Lake Bottlo – The Quiet Enabler
Not all sponsorship is visible. Some of the most valuable support a club receives happens quietly in the background, helping the organisation function in ways that many members might never fully notice.
One such supporter of Sandbar Golf Club is the Smiths Lake Bottlo, a business owned by NTP Montague, who operates several bottle shops throughout the local area.
While most golfers may simply enjoy a cold drink after a Wednesday competition without giving it much thought, the Bottlo plays an important role in making that small tradition possible. Through their support, the club is able to purchase beer at a discounted rate, allowing Sandbar to offer drinks to members at a lower cost than might otherwise be possible.
That small margin makes a meaningful difference.
The modest profit generated from Wednesday afternoon refreshments contributes directly to the running of the club itself. Those funds help cover day-to-day costs and, when numbers are strong throughout the year, gradually build a pool of money that supports one of the club’s most enjoyable traditions.
The annual Christmas function.
In previous years that gathering has even included a free round of golf for members, a small gesture made possible not just by membership fees or competition entries, but by the steady support of businesses willing to work with the club behind the scenes.
It is a useful reminder that membership alone does not keep a community club running.
It takes volunteers. It takes supporters. And occasionally it takes something as simple as a bottle shop willing to help ensure there is a cold drink waiting at the end of the round.
The Smiths Lake Bottlo may operate quietly in the background, but its contribution to the rhythm of Wednesday golf at Sandbar is very much appreciated.
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