The oceans are all around us. They seem to have a slippery elusiveness the closer we get to them. It's obvious we are approaching them as the salt in the air joins the curtains of wind, meanwhile our aniticipation somehow pushes the water away like a low tide in recession. In a way its more rewarding ascending the final crest where, all in one moment, the ocean and its reflection devour the visual spectrum. Russian poet Joseph Brodsky explains water as a, "condensed form of time. . .the anarchy of water that spurns the notion of shape. It is as though space, cognizant here more than anyplace else of its inferiority to time, answers it with the only property time doesn't possess: with beauty." This peaceful balance between nature and time is one that definitely sets a tone or prose that all of us share universally. This balance also demands respect in that no person, no clock or machine can control-and maybe the sound of crashing waves is silenced by our appreciation for such a phenomenon.
In retrospect it's not surprising that the only way I found De La Veaga disc golf course was from a dripping, hip surfer chick(board in hand) who patiently told me to pull over so she could give me detailed guidance through this labyrinthesque grid. It was a relief making a connection with a stranger where the night before hours of aimlessly driving led me drinking myself to sleep in a Safeway parking lot. With a renewed sense of faith and a 24oz. coffee, I drove straight up the hill where an oasis filled with 27 baskets overlooked a half moon bay engulfed by the Pacific ocean.
It was a fresh Sunday morning where the sun had just eclipsed the trees and where a haggard road warrior from Boise encroached on the mecca of west coast disc golf. After changing my soiled threads in a nearby porta-john, I threw my 5 dolla in the pot which consisted of an "A" and "B" pool for doubles. Considering myself an "A" player, I set off on my first round accompanied by 3 veteran Santa Cruzians who honestly looked like transient "C" players. I was instantly humbled as these guys shredded the course while I moaped around looking for the fairway. On the eve of a national tour event I could have never imagined that these guys had the best lines of anyone out there (aside from Greg Barsby apparantly). My introduction to De La will need to be noted as the most humbling experience on a disc golf course in my life.
Needless to say I started my second round alone. Things went a little better when I realized a straight leopard thrown about 65% was my best ally for for managing pars. This was about the time that when strangers approached me halfway through the round, and I naturally said, "I'm a disc golfer from Boise and I've never been here before...you're welcome to play through or join me." I soon found out that one of them was a local icon and the other was a gem from Eugene, OR. After telling them of my situation the night before, Miles Harding said, "come crash at my place...you know how it is....if you're a disc golfer-you're family!" Ecstatic that I met THE host in Santa Cruz simply by putting myself out there, I was given a place to crash for the week with no strings or expectations. I arrived at the Harding compound alone. halfway between Santa Cruz and Pebble Beach I descended down a very steep private drive that opened up into a heavenly orchard that seemed to be cut out of the trees all for me.
While setting up camp I was a approached by a man. A little nervous wondering if this was the right place and figuring this guy is wondering what the hell I'm doing on his property, I played busy. We instantly shared a beer and a smoke and like some old high school buddys, we bullshited and told lies as Rob walked me to hole 1. Yes-hole 1. This kid from Idaho got to stay at this crazy HQ fully equipped with a fire pit, bass pond, pingpong, and yes, 9-18 disc golf holes.
Rob Harding with the forehand special and Andrew Rich documenting me fish for my crystal buzz.
At night I would party around the fire pit with people like Cale Leviska and Nikko Locastro as a reoccuring question kept popping in my consciousness: "Why am I so lucky?" I came to conclusion that it wasn't for taking a risk and leaving my hometown and it wasn't about the risk people were taking by entrusting me, it wasn't risk at all. And once words like risk and fear left my vocabulary, I was surrounded with words of optimism and joy. Words like "luck" morphed into words like "destiny" and I found myself being comfortable believing in it. My favorite stranger at DeLA was Mark(Nate Doss's old man) I brought my grill so we traded food for energy drinks all week. We both got to the park early so we always had the 2 best parking spots. (2 dollars to park daily)
Soon everyone was there-Avery, Kenny, Steve, Barry, Val, Dave, etc., and it was all random timing that I happened to be there for the Steady Ed memorial NT. It sunk in a little when fellow Boisean Gregg Beukelman yelled at me from a few holes away and soon asked, "what are you doin' here? Aren't you supposed to be in South Carolina or something?" I simply said, "I got caught up." We enjoyed a laugh as another Idahoan(Jason Scrivner) rolled up on the scene. We got to enjoy hours of golf together and some good times back at their hotel where I swindled a cold shower and bogarted some KFC from Jason's dad. Thanx guys!
If it wasn't for Kris Zahm I would probably still be pleasantly stuck in Santa Cruz. He sent me an emergency western union bailout stimulus package that fueled me to my next stop: "What happens in Vegas, stays in the desert!"
If the ocean is a "condensed form of time" then my week in Monterey Bay should be labelled a "dream wave".
Comment by Jason on August 4, 2009 at 9:56pm 
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