Fancy course. Questionable golfers. Incredible day.
As I approach the ripe old age of 50, one of the things I look back on most fondly isn’t how well I played golf. It’s where I somehow managed to play it.
Despite averaging roughly a 20-plus handicap for the entirety of my human existence, I’ve been inordinately lucky when it comes to golf destinations. And one of them still defies logic from a capabilities-versus-beauty standpoint.
In 2008, we were invited to a wedding in Hawaii. Maui, specifically. We spent a week in Lahaina, living the dream, eating too much, drinking just enough, and pretending I was Magnum P.I. without the car or the handsomeness.
(The View before we headed to the course)
While we were there, we stumbled into what I still believe is the world’s most expensive round of value golf.
March of 2008. Kapalua Bay Course. $189.
Now, in the real world, $189 is never actually considered a bargain. But this is also one of the most beautiful places on Earth – and they had just aerated the greens the week before. (Groundhog-size holes in the greens!)
Didn’t matter.
The course itself was breathtaking. Ocean views everywhere. Trade winds. Palm trees. The kind of place where every tee shot reminds you of some incredible movie set you somehow snuck onto – and haven’t yet been forcibly removed from.
And despite being absolute duffers, hackers, and full-fledged Snowman Golfers, we were treated like royalty.
That said, Kapalua seemed to have this completely unreasonable expectation that people who show up there are… good at golf.
So the rental clubs?
Pure, unforgiving Titleist blades. The kind of clubs a Samurai would be jealous of. Deeply committed to punishing imperfection. I had no business holding them, let alone swinging them.
So yes. I chased balls all day. Banana slices. Kicking wedges. Questionable contact. The full Snowman experience.
But when every tee shot looks out over the Pacific Ocean (or a literal volcano) you’re willing to forget about the mechanics of a Stallone-esque golf swing.
(I had a bit of a Snowman Physique in 2008 as well!)
On the famous par-3 fifth hole – the one where you hit over Kapalua Bay itself – the three of us (my brother-in-law Noel, and Manny, A.K.A. Jesus) somehow managed, on our first attempt, to hit the ball over the water and onto the green.
Shockingly.
The reaction level was Detroit Lions finally winning the Super Bowl. I’m fairly certain we all clubbed up aggressively to make sure we got it over, but details don’t matter once the ball is safely ensconced on the green with nothing but the flatstick and a DeVito putt standing between you and glory.
Now, because the greens had just been aerated, there was nobody behind us. And because we are who we are – and because this was likely the first and last time we’d ever play Kapalua Bay – we made a perfectly reasonable decision.
We teed it up again.
And instead of aiming at the green, we intentionally hammered golf balls straight into the great big blue Pacific Ocean.
Not because we had to.
Not because we were mad.
But because when else are you ever going to do something that stupid?
I’m sure we poisoned some baby seals or something, and I’ll live with that guilt forever. But in that moment, it felt right.
Despite the reasonably unreasonable cost, gravel-level bumpy greens, and murderously difficult clubs, it was one of the most memorable rounds of my life. Multiple snowmen. Zero regrets.
So if there’s a lesson here, it’s this:
Snowman Golfers don’t melt on fancy courses.
Play the place.
Enjoy the view.
Hit one into the ocean just because you can.
Carpe Diem
(At least that’s what Metallica told me.)