Golf in the Kingdom, Take Two

Photo of Makai Golf Course. The Woods Course is hidden beyond the trees.

Ye're makin' a great mistake if ye think the gimme is meant for the shots... the gimme is meant for walkin'. Tryin' too hard is the surest way tae ruin yer game. Tae enjoy yer'self tha's the thing. And beware the quicksand o' perfection -- Shivas Irons, from Golf in the Kingdom by Michael Murphy


Following a brief rainy period, the island weather has been spectacular over the past couple of days. It begs one to come out and play.

Puddles have dried quickly. Lava tubes and cracks have filtered rain water into the sea, an impressive cycle of ocean to sky to cloud to mountain to ground to ocean again.

We are playing out the final rites of island quarantine,  cleaning windows and screens, patching grout, dabbing paint here and there. There's always more to do. As we prepare to leave, ironically, our island hideaway has begun to feel more like home.

A couple of days ago, I scored some used golf clubs from a neighbor friend: old grips, graphite shafts, irons only, 3-through-pitching wedge and a putter. Clubs that were otherwise designated as a thrift store donation.

I gathered together a few golf balls I have collected and headed out to the Woods Golf Course, a forgotten sister of the famed Makai Golf Course in Princeville.

"Those nine holes are the most challenging of the Makai complex," the golf pro informed me."But they're not maintained very well. They were once a major feature of the course."

I belong to a minority of golfers who prefer a ragged course over a manicured one. It's the difference between $20 and $300 for green fee. I received the 20-buck Kama'aina (locals) rate without asking, keeping my California Drivers License secure in my wallet.

"You'll have to walk," he said. The more I heard the better it sounded.

"It has great mountain views," he continued. I was already sold.

Tucked behind the resort course, I found a tee area awaiting me. I pulled a 3-iron from a weathered Callaway bag given to me by the young starter wearing a face mask, teed up a dimpled white ball and hit a shot that surprisingly landed in play, not in the woods.

I was off and walking, strap over my shoulder, six clubs in my bag. Nobody around. My own private golf course. A golfing adventure about to unfold.

I thought something was odd when I found the first green guarded in front by a generous water pond. A forced-carry over water on the opening hole of a golf course is not normal. The course architect would not want to challenge, or discourage, a player this early in the round.

I felt the golf gods were with me when my approach shot flew over the pond, landed on grass. I was so relieved that I forgot about the oddity.

My fortunes immediately changed on the second hole. I lost two balls. They shot off my 3-iron like bullets burrowing into the right-side jungle, disappeared into the tree duff and tangle wood. At this rate, I surmised, I may not have the balls to finish nine holes.

I approached the third hole and discovered that I had lost more than two golf balls. I had lost three golf holes. The sign in front of me announced that I had arrived at Hole No. 6.

What happened to numbers 3, 4 and 5?

I scanned the landscape of trees, greens and teeing areas. The missing holes were not here. I found myself at a crossroads. A Zen koan, perhaps. A conundrum, for sure.

When in doubt, I told myself, play the hole in front of you. Don't go seeking holes that aren't here. Stay in the present.

I took a moment. I peeked though openings among the trees. I saw restful, pyramid-shaped mountains.

Onward. I played three more holes only to find myself in the exact same spot. I had completed a loop back to the crossroad where I discovered two guys teeing off. You can easily spot locals. Maybe it's body language. And why would a tourist fly to Kauai to play golf on red dirt.

I approached the couple through a stand of trees, as though I were Seamus McDuff himself, coming into focus.

"Excuse me friends. Can you tell me where I might find holes 3, 4 and 5?"

They studied me for a minute before answering.

I explained how I had arrived at this junction and it became clear to them that I had bypassed holes 1, 2 and 3.

"The first three holes are across the road," said one.

"It's a fine golf course," I offered.

"It's our own golf course," he said, spreading his open hands toward the tree-lined fairway without another soul in sight.

"Corona proof," said the other.

That sounded as if it had been rehearsed, perhaps over a beer.

With that information, I bid them well and resumed my golfing sojourn.

To my delight, I found the first three holes, vacantly awaiting my arrival. I forthwith completed my round of 9 holes, taking a breather and water break in the shade before heading down the final fairway.

Don't ever believe that golf is a simple game of hitting a ball with a stick. It is much more and much less. I calculated my score at two-under. Two lost balls.