River turf
Slick pine needles hide a fat lower hand until the face flips.
Leaf River lies are rarely clean. A wrap that looked stock on a mat will flip the face the first time the needles get wet.
We do not own a river. We own a strip of bermuda and a memory of how Hattiesburg actually sits: winter rye that stays slow, summer bermuda that gets glassy after a squall, De Soto shade that never dries the handle.
If your kettle card says you live in afternoon steam, the drop call gets stricter. A four-layer lower hand is a flipping face waiting for the next humid week. We would rather drop a wrap in June than hear about it in August.