Caddie's Role:Impelled partly by a fascination with the biggest team competition in men's amateur golf and partly by curiosity about the progression of the infrastructure in the north-eastern part of the country I decided to take a day trip to the coastal town of Newcastle, Co Down, to watch the first day's play of the Walker Cup last Saturday.

With the 100km trip from north Dublin to arguably the best links course on the island taking less time than the 10km trip into the city centre at rush hour, it was a pleasure to keep in fifth gear for most of the trip.

Apart from playing in a regular competition in my home club I have never been to an amateur event here or anywhere else in the world. Despite it resembling a busman's holiday I was looking forward to the unknown world of golf without money as the ultimate lure.

On a relatively balmy day for a time of year when you might have expected to be wearing thermals, the heralded links looked stunning, having been preened to perfection by the greens staff under the guidance of the R&A.

Not having paid much attention to amateur golf I had no idea how many spectators to expect. Would there be public catering, scoreboards, stands?

On arrival I got the impression of a mini-Open Championship set-up. The ticket booth at the entrance was the same as that at the Open; the marquees and the Bollinger tent were scaled-down versions of those at the Open.

As I wandered out on the course and caught up with a few matches I started to recognise the referees accompanying the players. I even bumped into the secretary of the R&A, Peter Dawson, rambling well down the links looking more casual than I remember seeing him at Open Championships in the past.

Spectating at a golf event for someone who is more accustomed to being on the other side of the ropes was uncharted territory for me. What do you do? Do you stand or lie at the one chosen vantage point or do you march around with the one group? I ended up doing a bit of both and neither very effectively. I was drawn quickly into what live golf spectating is all about: socialising. What a great way to wander around outdoors having a chat, watching the odd shot and applauding at the appropriate moment.

I also became aware of the number of experts there are at these events. As Lloyd Saltman took a bit of a slash at his tee shot off the 10th a local sage remarked, "That boy's swing is gone; that match won't last long."

How right he was; Saltman went on to lose. Who needs professional pundits?

I made it to the 10th fairway and found myself drawn back to the dune beside the ninth green, which to those who have a fondness for links land is probably the closest place to heaven you will get here on earth: the verdant basin that is the ninth fairway stretches below to the north and up to the massive bank that leads to the tee and beyond east to Dundrum Bay. Across to the left lies the 10th green surrounded by craggy banks and rugged bunkers.

Directly below is the gently, sloping ninth green and beyond is the undulating practice chipping green, which leads onto the roofs and steeples of the town nestling under the dominant gaze of Slieve Donard.

You even got to see the members sipping their afternoon malt whiskeys in their perfectly appointed lounge in the clubhouse.

Having torn myself away from the ultimate golfer's view I wandered out on the links and happened upon the Rhys Davies and Dustin Johnson game on the 11th fairway.

Of course being on the manicured fairway was the privileged treat of amateur golf. The marshals contained what looked like a healthy-sized crowd by using ropes to keep us at a respectful distance from the players.

I am not sure if it was a coincidence that I came across a couple of management agents out scouting, and getting a rare view of fresh young talent from directly behind the hitting line.

Given any knowledge of the swing, it is a great way of viewing prospective clients from a technical perspective.

With about half of these very talented amateurs about to relinquish the relative comfort of golf for pride and not pounds, the agents were taking full advantage of this final opportunity to sign a potential big name.

I scampered up to the top of the hill left of the 12th green and looked west over the other side to see what looked the march of the diehard amateur golf fans of the nation coming down the 16th fairway. It was the lead group of the superstar of European amateur golf, the local wunderkind Rory McIlroy, and his opponent Billy Horschel.

I have not seen such an enthusiastic mob since the last time I saw the throng of thousands follow Tiger Woods. It was McIlroy mania.

The marshals needed stout ropes to keep this eager crowd from a flat-out stampede.

For old-fashioned golf aficionados the Walker Cup at Royal Co Down was the game at its best played on the links land in all its splendour.

Even the local pub I visited later had tiger lilies adorning the toilet. How civilised.