In “The 100 Best Golf Jokes,” which my son and I scanned at the Barnes & Noble outlet on Hilton Head Island, there’s a one-liner that goes something like: “I shoot in the 120s because I want to get my money’s worth.” That’s the attitude I copped after playing 18 holes on a couple of the gorgeous courses in this golfer’s paradise on the coast of South Carolina.

Our trip south during April school break started at the Portland Jetport. For those of you who have yet to experience the new security, listen up: get there earlier than anyone, official or not, and make sure you have the proper identification. We witnessed a family headed for the West Indies turned away at the ticket counter because one of the parents only had a photocopy of a birth certificate as proof of identity.

Another travel tip: keep an eye out for “volunteers needed” on the digital signboard above the check-in counter at your gate. The airline is not looking for people to help move luggage or serve snacks: they have a booking problem and they’re in need of travelers willing to take a later flight in exchange for free tickets.

Our air travel this year was paid for in part by such a “sacrifice” made the previous April.

After landing in Charleston, we picked up our rental car. Golfers beware: if you own one of the new hard-shell travel cases for your clubs, you’ll need a good-sized trunk to fit it in. Those mini-coffins offer no wiggle room.

From Charleston we drove to Savannah, Ga., about two hours, most of it on a lovely coastal route that took us through vast marshes and tall pine forests. The Gaston Gallery bed and breakfast where we stayed the night is in the old part of Savannah. It proved a perfect base of operations for a quick visit to this venerable Southern city, made famous in the film “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” (a fact you are not allowed to forget in your wanderings).

With a half-day to tour, we followed the walking route suggested by the folks at the B&B, which took us through the heart of the city. Savannah is known for its architecture, and without a degree in this field one can appreciate the wealth of preserved buildings. We visited the recently renovated Cathedral of St. John the Baptist and the Telfair Museum of Art, where we viewed, among other things, a traveling show of Tiffany lamps (through June 9) and an oil painting of Black Head on Monhegan Island by George Bellows.

Again, acting on the counsel of our B&B hosts, we dined at The Lady & Sons, a restaurant renowned for its genuine Southern cooking. Here’s a good sign of the meal to come: people exiting a restaurant assuring those standing at the door that it’s worth the wait. While my wife and I dined on fried green tomatoes and crab cakes with fried collard greens and black beans with pico salsa, our son headed for the Southern buffet.

Hilton Head is about an hour’s drive from Savannah. As you approach the island, golf heaven begins to unfold on either side of the highway: sign after sign for one course or another, plus “plantation estates” that offer all the amenities a millionaire could ask for. The courses just off the island tend to be less expensive – or a lot less, as in the Executive Golf Club where we played three times during our stay. This somewhat scruffy nine-holer proved the perfect practice course.

After checking into the Hilton Resort, we hit the pool. The resort offers two, one for the kiddies and one for the grown-ups, a sensible arrangement marred only by the closing of the former one day. It felt like an invasion.

Speaking of invasions, the island and its resorts are in a constant state of grooming. Everywhere you go, men with leaf blowers, hedge clippers and Weed Whackers are making sure everything is tidy. This devotion to maintenance was at times annoying as when a man with a motor on his back wandered the parking lot outside our room every morning, making sure no leaf touched the ground. So much for reading a book on the balcony.

True quiet could be found on the fairways – “true” meaning “natural.” For all their upkeep, golf courses are ecological systems too, and this is no more apparent than on Hilton Head where drives, chips and putts are accompanied by a variety of chirps, trills and squawks as mockingbirds, herons and other birds go about their avian business. On the George Fazio Course at Palmetto Dunes there is an actual egret rookery – an astonishing, and somehow reassuring sight amid carpetlike fairways.

Birds are not the only wildlife one may encounter. The “beware of alligators” signs are not a tourist gag, as we learned on the Arthur Hills Course, also at Palmetto Dunes. One of my son’s drives dropped between a 6-foot gator and, we presumed, its offspring, both creatures sunbathing on the edge of a small pond.

Needless to say, James chose another lie (and we didn’t penalize him a stroke).

For two days during our visit we attended the Worldcom Classic golf tournament at the Harbour Town Golf Links, about a 20-minute ride from the hotel. The first day was a practice round and proved an ideal opportunity to watch the pros going through their paces. They spent a good 10 minutes on each green, taking numerous chip shots and putting from every corner. It was reassuring to watch the masters miss their share of four-footers.

A brochure listing pairings and tee numbers and times is available each day. We followed Sergio Garcia’s entourage for a while, then staked out a green where autographs and photos with the pros could be obtained as they walked to the next tee. Most of the golfers were willing to take a moment with fans, although a few brushed us off. A bad day on the course, even in a practice round, can bend a nose out of shape.

The Worldcom Classic draws on a host of volunteers to help make it run smoothly. We were impressed by the local Rotarians who served as guides on the bus shuttles and by the various nonprofits serving food. Social capital lives on the links!

Security is tight at these events, so leave the bags and backpacks at home. Binoculars are handy, as is a hat, sunscreen and a simple folding chair. Cameras were allowed during the practice round. Golf merchandise abounded, including little sofa pillows with stitched sayings like “The 19th hole is the best place to improve your lies.” We bought a Worldcom Classic hat, which will never be worn as it is now covered with eBay-worthy autographs.

When we weren’t watching or playing golf, we spent hours on the beach in front of the hotel, a wide swath of sand that stretched as far as the eye could see, inviting long sunset walks. My son and I played nerf football in the small surf and rented low-riding chariotlike tricycles, which were a blast. Pelicans in loose formations flew past and the breeze played in the palmettos.

Get the picture? Relaxation with a capital R. Even if you’re not a golfer, Hilton Head has a lot to offer.

But if you are a duffer at any level of play, after a visit you’ll understand the sentiment sewn in one of those aforementioned joke pillows: “If there is no golf in heaven, I’m not going.”

Carl Little, a free-lance writer who lives on Mount Desert Island, contributes book reviews and other pieces regularly to the Bangor Daily News.