Disc golf: in pursuit of success and a good time

When it comes to sports, I’ll play anything. So long as there’s a general set of rules, a basic objective and a winner and a loser, I’m in. When I was younger, but not that much younger, I dreamt up all kinds of half-baked games with my friends, plucking the best elements from various sports and then consolidating them within spontaneous guidelines. When you won, it was the best sport ever. When you lost, it was stupid and unfair and whose idea was this anyway? 

Part of me is frustrated for not coming up with disc golf myself. Part of me feels like maybe I did. It’s certainly my kind of game. Players traverse an 18-hole course by tossing a Frisbee — or any other brand of flying disc — into an iron basket in as few throws as possible. Each hole has a predetermined par, and experienced players use different discs at various locations on the course. It is homegrown and somewhat whimsical, but no less serious because of this. 

Anyway, when I heard there was a new disc golf course in North Canaan, I had to go check it out. I found the course page on Facebook last Thursday morning under the name “Camp Brook Disc Golf” and inquired about joining that night’s action. 

I wrote, “Would anyone object to a reporter tagging along? What would I need to bring? Is there a course fee?” 

Within an hour or so, I received two responses. 

“No course fee, water or favorite bev, most people will let you use their discs for a first-timer.” 

“Will, feel free to join! Nothing needed, no fee.” 

I’ll be honest: I loved the no fee part. That on its own was enough of a reason to play. It’s rare to find organized recreation at a public (or private) venue without facing the prospect of shelling out a few bucks for the privilege of playing. There are costs for ice time or field time or a tee time, etc. — which is fine, I suppose, and understandable, but there’s something unsettling about having to pay to do something you fell in love with as a child. So yeah, when I heard “no fee,” I pretty much dove headfirst into my car and drove in a straight line to North Canaan.  

An initiate, not a newbie

I pulled into the dirt parking lot between Caddie Shack and State Line Pizza around 5:30 p.m. It was warm and sunny, one of the first real spring afternoons of the year, and a bunch of elementary-school-aged kids were running around the mini golf course at the Caddie Shack. A few moments later, Aaron Knickerbocker drove up and hopped out of his truck.

“You Will?,” he asked, sticking out his hand in my direction. 

Aaron had written the second response to my Facebook post.      

“You bet. Thanks for taking me out today.” 

“Of course!” he replied, and I could tell he meant it. There is an inclusiveness in the disc golf community that seems specific to this sport. Disc golf is still very much in its fledgling state, and so those who have played before are eager to recruit those who haven’t. In this sense, I wasn’t so much a tag-along on Thursday evening as an initiate.   

Aaron told me we were meeting two more players at the first hole, so we set off in that direction. Along the way, he explained how the course came to be. 

The idea was spawned by Ronnie Lizana and Izzy Fitch a couple years ago. From there, Lizana handled the bulk of the red tape, namely seeking approval to build a course on public land. Once he was given the go-ahead, Aaron began the design and construction. 

“Eighty percent of the physical work was done by me this winter, but it’s really Ronnie’s thing,” Aaron told me. “He’s handled all the nitty-gritty, behind-the-scenes stuff, I just come here and have fun with chainsaws.” 

As we came around the corner of the wooded trail, we stumbled upon a teenager poking around in the underbrush along the first fairway. 

“Oh, there’s Reg!” said Aaron. “He’s only 17, but he’s our local prodigy. Just started playing and he’s already one of the best.” 

“Reg, what’s up dude?” Aaron called in his direction. 

“I lost one of my discs in here,” Reg replied, rather forlornly. 

“Oh no dude, the nuke or the groove?”

I hadn’t a clue what Aaron meant by this, which, as it turned out, would be a recurring theme over the next hour or so. I’m a big fan of slang myself, but disc golfers have more or less constructed their own language. And for some reason, it tends to make them sound like real-life G.I. Joes.  

As I scribbled in my notepad and pondered whether or not actual nukes were involved in disc golf — perhaps the sport was more than I bargained for — the last member of our foursome came strolling up to the tee box. It was Ty Beaujon, who, to my relief, was closer in experience to me than to Aaron and Reg.  

The first hole was a par 3. (Every hole but one on the Camp Brook course is a par 3). Aaron and Reg sailed their discs smoothly down the fairway, before Ty chucked his deep within “the rough.” Hoping to end up somewhere in the middle of this spectrum, I tossed my disc tentatively in the direction of Aaron’s and Reg’s and then watched it tail hopelessly off course. 

“That’ll work,” Aaron encouraged me. 

I rebounded to post a bogey on the first hole, which settled my nerves as we followed the oak-carved arrows toward the next tee box. And further reassuring was the collective attitude of Aaron, Reg and Ty. Despite my demonstrating a distinct lack of feel for the sport, the three of them continued to commend me for being a “quick learner” and having “natural ability.” Perhaps they were merely currying favor with the local reporter, but I like to think they meant it.

Whose idea was this?

As an impromptu kind of sport, disc golf has hazy origins. There are accounts of the game being played as early as 1915, but Reg told me it was officially sanctioned in 1975. The Professional Disc Golf Association was founded shortly thereafter, providing a platform for national and world championships. You won’t catch the sport on primetime TV just yet, but every now and then it pops up on SportsCenter’s Top 10 plays. 

“And then everyone’s like, what was that?” Aaron laughed. “But it definitely grabs your attention.”  

More than for the occasional hole-in-one — an “ace,” in disc golf vernacular — the sport is appealing for its ties to the world around us. It is played outside, along forest trails and through open fields, enfolded within nature rather than intruding upon it. In this way, disc golf is both an outlet for much-needed recreation and a reminder of where it can always be found.

The second tee box presented a downhill approach to the basket. Ty hurled a crazy overhand shot well beyond the target — gaining style points, if nothing else. Aaron floated his drive calmly down the fairway and I (more or less) followed suit. Reg, going for it all, crashed his disc into a big pine tree and watched it ricochet in the wrong direction.

“Dude,” Aaron smiled, “that was ballsy going with the champion destroyer right off the bat like that. I can control the monster much easier than the destroyer.”

Like I said, real-life G.I. Joes. 

Ball golf v. disc golf

Within time, Aaron and I began discussing strategy. Disc golf, he told me, requires the same measured approach as “ball golf,” which was another term I had never heard before. It spilled from his mouth a few more times, and eventually, I had to clarify. 

“So is ‘ball golf’ just traditional golf?” I asked. 

“Yes!” Ty laughed. Apparently it was a topic he and Aaron had debated in the past. 

“I just hate it when golfers refer to disc golf as ‘fake’ golf,’” Aaron explained. “I mean, they’re both real golf. So I like to differentiate the two.”

Fair enough, I thought. And ignoring the fundamental difference between iron clubs and plastic discs, the two sports really are the same. Disc golf is golf, only without the collared shirts, strict tee times and course fees.  

We played a few more holes on the front nine, curling and crashing our way from one basket to the next. Full-grown trees loomed in the middle of each fairway, and fallen ones spilled across them. The various obstacles in disc golf, I came to see, are the great equalizer. What looks like a great shot can quickly turn into a bad one, and what looks like a disaster can just as soon be saved.    

“No, no, no, noooooo,” Reg groaned, as he watched one of his drives drift off course. “Yessssssssss!” he exclaimed, as it crashed into a tree and took a favorable bounce toward the basket. 

In disc golf, where there is a hazard there is also a lifeline.  

I thoroughly enjoyed the company of Aaron, Reg and Ty as we made our way around the course. The three of them were keen on posting low scores, but didn’t let the pursuit of success get in the way of a good time. Of course, this might change on league night, when local bragging rights are up for grabs.

Ty and I had to take off early, but we agreed to play one more hole. After a mishmash of bogeys and pars, it was my last chance to make a birdie. I sailed a good-looking tee shot within a few yards of the basket and began the anxious walk up the fairway, feeling a bit like Jordan Spieth at the Masters. Or maybe Tiger’s a better analogy. What was his last name, again? 

I picked up my disc, gauged the distance to the target, and then let it fly. It struck the chains and settled into the basket, capping off my first round of disc golf in style. 

“Nice, dude!!” Aaron exclaimed. “You’re a natural!” 

Then he and Reg strolled down the trail toward the next hole, as Ty and I split off in the direction of the parking lot. Before they slipped out of sight, I heard Aaron say to Reg, “I love my new rock-3, man.”