When Alondo Brewington struck his first drive at 6:37 a.m. Tuesday, he could not see his golf ball land in the darkness.

More surprises awaited him and the "dew sweepers" who followed at Alfred "Tup" Holmes Golf Course in southwest Atlanta.

Elissa Eubanks/eeubanks@ajc.com (ENLARGE)

On the green, which is covered with sand known as 'topdressing,' footprints can be seen.

Elissa Eubanks/eeubanks@ajc.com (ENLARGE)

Haywood Curry, 66, of Atlanta stretches Tuesday before he plays the course with his 'drinking partners' at Alfred 'Tup' Holmes Golf Course in southwest Atlanta. He and his friends come to play in the early morning to beat the heat.

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Dawn promises golf at the most pristine time of day, in the most hassle-free way. The quiet is broken only by the flight path overhead. The grass isn't even mowed yet. Until the first ball lands in a sand trap, the rake patterns resemble crop circles.

Another telltale sign of morning here is the blaze of brown and black across the fairway. Zimba, a mutt who serves as the course mascot, gets the run of the place on weekday mornings.

"A dog — that's something you don't see at every course in the morning," Brewington said as Zimba rode by in a golf cart chauffeured by course superintendent Mark Goessling.

She roamed, her tongue lolling, soaking in the wide-open freedom. On weekday mornings, public golf courses are like her. The leash of golf — all the rules and etiquette — relaxes a bit. No crowds, no heat, no headaches — not yet, anyway.

"I'm planning to be at work by 9 a.m.," Brewington said after a good putt and fist pump on the fifth green. "And there's nobody in front, so we can move at our own pace."

At 35, he was not only this morning's earliest player, he was also its youngest. As a boy, he learned to play golf at "Tup." Now most morning players are retirees, like Haywood Curry, 66, of Decatur, who stretched his long limbs before his first tee shot. His same foursome has played twice a week the past three years — mostly in the morning.

"I try to get out early to beat the heat," he said. "By the third hole, the sun is out, and the dew is cleared off and they've cut the greens."

This time of day, you want to carry a towel to wipe down the wetness on your ball, clubs and shoes. Dennis Watkins, 65, of Atlanta tucked a white one under his belt. When he swung, the cloth wagged like Zimba's tail.

The morning moisture bestows golf's archetypal atmosphere, whether here in southwest Atlanta or over in Scotland where the game was born. The mist rises as the golfer heads out on a journey.

"I like the tranquility of it, the beauty of it," said Ralph Blodgett, 73, of Atlanta, who plays the back nine every rain-free morning, and hasn't missed a weekday all summer. He paused from tugging his cart up the long 15th hole.

"In the spring and fall, we have migratory birds in the morning — sandhill cranes that fly real high, but you can hear them, and there might be hundreds of them."

Flocks of Canada geese used to leave unwanted fertilizer on the greens, but Zimba chased them off. Other birds mostly stay up in the big specimen oak trees that survived the Civil War.

Several golf holes feature the old battle entrenchments, and in another mark of history, the course is named for the man who battled all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court to integrate Atlanta's golf courses. "Tup" Holmes' son, Hamilton, was one of the first two black students at the University of Georgia.

Most everybody at "Tup," though, plays on the weekends — golf's rush hour. Expect a six-hour round in the heat.

That's when Zimba's in lockdown, in a kennel near the mowers and sand piles.

When a weekday dawns, she's off the chain — another glorious morning of unfettered freedom on the course.