ROLF-ing While Folf-ing

It's summertime, and that means the return of disc golf.

In most places disc golf is a relaxing, fun, somewhat competitive game college-age boys play while drinking beer. In our household it's a ruthlessly competitive, high scoring excuse to fire off one-liners and quite possibly knock family members unconscious with errant frisbee throws.

Alternately known as “frisbee golf,” or “disc golf” by those who actually know how to throw a disc/frisbee, The Prince decided to call it “folf.” Because “dolf” just sounds ridiculous.

The Princess kicked off our first outing of the season in full-on fashion police mode, announcing that “if he doesn't have to wear a shirt” – pointing at a group of college-age boys – “then I don't have to wear a shirt either.”

I explained that part of the reason an attractive 17-year-old girl does have to wear a shirt is because of college-age boys who don't wear shirts. And that while we were at it, perhaps she would like to put on a pair of baggy-saggy sweatpants and shapeless sweatshirt.

We teed off on the first hole with our usual lack of style and distance, but showed unusual grace and etiquette in remaining behind whoever was throwing. We've learned the hard way that while there are no guarantees in folf, behind the thrower is the safest place to be. There, or in sitting in the parked car, but that gets hot.

The Princess has been charting the pollen count with a growing pile of tissue since the snow melted, so I wasn't surprised to hear a loud “AHHHHHH-PPFFFFTTTHTHH!” in the middle of the first tree, bush and weed-strewn fareway.

What followed did surprise me: “MOMMMYYYYY! A BUG TRIED TO KISS ME!”

I was also surprised by the full-on body tackle she nearly leveled me with, apparently expecting some post-tramatic, bug-kiss comfort. I was just happy it was a bug that tried to kiss her and not one of the bro tank, cargo shorts-wearing college boys.

After shooting quadruple bogey, reverse albatross, flying filberts on the par 3 hole, we set off for the next tee. This is where we decended into our usual chaos. The hole-by-hole highlights:

Hole 2

Not only did we hit our first trees, but I managed to land my disc in the middle of the road.

P&P: “You gotta play it where it lies, Mom!”

Me: “They really should warn motorists when we play.”

Hole 3

A thought occurred to me as I tried to hack my way through a solid wall of gnats...

Me: “You know what we need?”

Princess: “Margaritas in a can!” (she said as she kicked an empty can off the trail)

Prince: “Folf shoes!"

Me: “Bug spray!”

Hole 4

The Prince tried a new throwing technique which did, indeed, improve the distance thrown but did nothing to improve his accuracy. Thus he launched drive from the deep weeds in the ditch on the far side of the road into a patch of deep weeds on the opposite side of the fareway... a patch of deep weeds separating us from a roaming pack of college-age boys.

Princess: “The first rule in looking for a disc: Go back 20 feet.”

Me, keeping an eye on the college boys: “The first rule in looking for a disc: Keep college-age boys 20 feet away from my daughter.”

While searching for the Hole 5 Tee

Princess: “That guy who took the road less traveled.... How does he know it made all the difference?”

Who knew folf could be so filisophical?

Hole 5:

The Prince launched a “thumber” straight and true across the deep valley, up the hill and onto the lip of the fareway. The Princess' disc sailed straight and true 10 feet away from the tee and into the woods.

Princess: “How to throw farther than Me: Step one, throw the frisbee.”

However, her short throw did made it somewhat easier to track her disc in the “deep nature.”

Princess: “It smells like allergies. I took ag classes. I know.”

While searching for the Hole 6 Tee

Prince: “I found the Hole 6 basket!”

Me: “We could walk back and try to find the tee.”

P & P: “Or we could move on to the 7^th tee.” Majority rules.

Hole 7

Prince: (While warming up) “I hope frisbee golf is a TV sport.”

Me: “I really don't...”

Princess: “If you don't hurry up and throw that frisbee, I'm gonna throw you!”

Me: “Hmmm, maybe reality TV.”

Once againg the Prince's “thumb drive” sailed down the fareway. The Princess? Not so much.

Princess: “Ugh. My frisbee is in this big pile of nature. Look at me! I'm taking the road less traveled by.”

Hole 8

The Prince continued to dominate, and it started to annoy his sister.

Princess: “It starts out and looks like it's going places. It's up in the air... it's going... but then it's like, 'Wow. Five feet'.”

Hole 9

Prince: “Aww man, 9 has that big grass thing you have to throw over.”

Princess, nodding knowingly: “The sea of allergies.”

Me: “Should I try to go around the obstacle and loose the frisbee in the grass, or try to go over the obstacle and loose the frisbee in the grass?”

P&P: “Just throw it!”

In the end the Prince and I both managed to clear the sea of grass, but the Princess' disc took a nasty hook and headed into the forest. While searching she announced...

Princess:“A plant peed on me!” I have no explanation, but there was something icky on her leg.

Between the bug-kiss and the plant-pee (and loosing terribly to The Prince) we decided to call it quits after the front nine (or eight, as the case may be). But rest assured once the swelling from the bug bites has gone down and the allergies are under control we'll be back at it.

You've been warned.

Disc-go Golf

Hot on the heels of our successful family canoe/paddle board outing (I left with two kids, returned with the same two kids) we headed out on another family favorite summer fun activity: disc golfing.

Disc golf, for the un-initiated, is an ancient Greek term that means “exercise in futility.” It is also a modern Collegiate-Greek term that means “drink beer in the woods.”

Disc golf is similar to traditional golf in that you start at one point (“tee off”) and count your strokes/throws as you make your way to a goal (cup/basket). The difference is that instead of chasing a little white ball hundreds of yards towards a hole in the ground with a skinny metal club, you try to throw a flying disc (similar to a “Frisbee” but not trademarked and twice as expensive) hundreds of yards towards a metal basket without beating yourself senseless with a wooden club (also known as a tree).

Between the “tee” and the “hole” the challenge is to keep your throws on the “fareway,” or cleared, semi-maintained and designated area. It is in your best interest to avoid natural hazards such as trees, oceans of deep grass, creeks, deer, giant rabid squirrels, drunk college students, ticks, chiggers, mosquitos, gnats, poison ivy, and stinging nettles, all of which produce force fields that suck your disc into the “rough,” also known on Eastern Iowa area disc golf courses as “ravines” or “gorges.”

The biggest advantage to disc golf is that is is less formal than traditional golf. Which is not to say that disc golf players don't take their game seriously. They do. Serious disc golfers warm-up by stretching and practice their “putts.” They carry a multitude of different discs, each specially weighted and shaped for long distance, middle distance, approach and/or putting. And they use them. Each of them. At the correct time.

We don't. Do any of that. At the correct time. And we yell a lot.

We do usually start our games with some traditional golf etiquette. We take turns on the first tee, complimenting each other on our first shot – even if it rebounds off a tree, landing behind the tee box. This has happened. More than once.

First shot out of the way, we fan out to help find the discs (on the off chance one of them has gone farther than 20 yards), because it's hard to see where your disc went when you're laughing so hard you're doubled over. And we stand behind the other players as they make their next throw.

This is a key rule of safety, etiquette and support. No one likes to have to ask the other players to move so you don't hit them with your disc. Especially when they know, and you know they know you know that there is no way you could possibly throw it that far.

Our first time out this year was particularly ugly. I'd like to say our skills were a little rusty after a long winter and wet spring, but the truth is we didn't have any skills to begin with. In a true show of group effort, the three of us combined for a record high seven tree hits. On one par three hole. That does not include “leaf-burners” (throws that ripped through the canopy) or discs that rolled up to hit a tree. Let's see Tiger Woods top that!

Like traditional golf, a disc golf course typically has either nine or 18 holes. Unfortunately our limit is 12 holes. It take those three extra holes to prove to us we aren't getting any better and that the longer we play the longer it takes to find our lost discs. This also get us as far away from the parking lot as humanly possible.

The last time we played at Turkey Creek I exercised Mom Authority and we packed up after the front nine. It was slightly after noon, the college boys had woken up and it was getting crowded (they were all playing faster than we were: play a hole, let they boys play through, repeat). At first it was OK. The boys were polite and helpful, offering to help look for our lost discs while they played through. Then I realized they were really only trying to help The Cute Teenage Princess (in shorts and a tank top) look for her disc. The Prince and I were just two more natural hazards to avoid.

This reminds me of most outings with the Princess lately. I've noticed a distinct increase in customer service from young men (plentiful in a college town) when accompanied by an attractive young girl. I've started to think about renting her out when speedy customer service is required, but I think there's another term for that.

I could tell the kids were loosing interest in the match when they cheerfully announced we were adopting Street Rules: a  literally no holds barred phase of the game. There was anarchy before, but now it was perfectly legal to distract the thrower by any means – yelling,jumping, hitting them with your disc and full-body tackling. It was also acceptable to deflect any throw and to defend the basket at any cost.

Forget loosing a disc, someone was in danger of loosing a tooth or and eye.

In other words, another typical day at our house.