HOW
TO GO:
Milo McIver State
Park, 24101 S Entrance Road, Estacada.
Take I-205 South to Hwy 212 East to route 224, drive one
mile
to Carver, right across the bridge, left on Spring-water
Road for nine miles, following the signs to McIver Park.
Once in the park, bear to your left to find the course.
$3 parking. Call (800) 551-6949 for more information.
For more on disc
golfing in Oregon, visit the Oregon Disc Sports Associa-tion
website at www.odsa.com.
Also check out Break Away Disc Golf Club's
website at www.breakawaydisc.com.
Sunday morning, 11 am. Hawthorne Fred Meyer. Purchase
Wham-O 160-gram World Class Freestyle "Designed with the
Pros" Frisbee. Color: lime green. I am ready to play my
first-ever game of "Frisbee golf."
Noon. Bound up front steps of friend's house, shiny
new flying disc in hand. Suffer the scornful looks of friends
when they see my oversized, fragile, hopelessly inadequate
fetch-Rover-fetch Frisbee. One friend hands me three smaller,
denser, more-serious-looking discs of varying weights. "One
for short-distance putting, one for long-distance driving,
one for in between," he says. I nod.
12:02 pm. "We ready to play Frisbee golf, or what?"
I ask my friend gamely. "Disc golf," he says. "Not 'Frisbee
golf.' Disc golf." I am undaunted. We clamber into his car
and head out to Milo McIver State Park, where an 18-hole
course awaits my dubious debut.
1 pm. I stand on a concrete rectangle. 400 yards
away: the basket my Frisbee--uh, disc--longs to fly into.
I resist the urge to spin like a classical Greek discus
thrower. Deep breath. A few running steps forward, elbow
cocked, extend arm, release! Sailing bravely into the autumn
air, my first disc golf shot heads straight for the distant
pole. Then fades left. Then fades further left. Left. Lefter.
My disc sails bravely into a stand of trees.
1:35 pm. Fourth hole. I start to enjoy myself. Judging
from the beer bottles and cans perched atop each basket's
cage, I am not the only one. Make mental note to bring 12-pack
on the next disc-golf outing.
2:10 pm. 10th hole. Having corrected my tendency
to hook by snapping my wrist when releasing the disc, I
start to really enjoy myself. Actually throw one farther
than both my companions. Actually finish one hole
on par. Chest swells with pride and competence. Subsequent
throw: Disc vanishes into the Clackamas River.
2:25 pm. Pause to let another group play through
on the 13th hole. They are experts. They carry bags bulging
with discs of all sizes, shapes and weights. Their clothes
sport logos. After one of them throws a particularly gorgeous
shot that arcs around a tree obstacle, another one comments,
"Nice an-hyzer." I am confused. None of them is drinking
beer. My friend explains an an-hyzer is a type of throw--one
that I am not ready to attempt.
3:15 pm. The satisfying rattle of the final hole's
basket chains sounds a benediction for my newfound love
of the disc-golfing life. I am invigorated. I want more.
I beg to play another round, but it is not to be. My friends
are frightened by the crazy gleam of enthusiasm in my eye.
They usher me discreetly into the car.
6 pm. Home. Surfing the web. My new hero is Ken
Climo: nine-time world champion, the Tiger Woods of disc
golf. I find there are 11 courses right here in the Portland
area. I make a personal vow to master them all. Nothing,
no one can stop me.
|
The
Operation: Par! 
