recreation

When Your Caddy's Wearing a Saddle You Know You're Playing COWBOY GOLF

Before the first ball had even been teed up, swung at, and cussed at, an incident occurred that made me painfully aware of a major difference between regular golf and cowboy golf: My caddy stepped on my foot.

This is worth mentioning because my caddy was a horse.

As the day progressed, I would discover other idiosyncrasies common to cowboy golf. One is that cowboy golfers use cows as greenskeepers. Another is the size of the holes. One of them on this particular course was eight feet in diameter. But such variances are acceptable when you're competing in the Cowboy Cow Pasture Golf Association (CCPGA) tournament, an annual event held on a lumpy, rocky, merciless, hilly course carved out of grazing land near Eagar in eastern Arizona. The tournament originated in 1995 on the X Diamond Ranch on the South Fork of the Little Colorado River a few miles east of Eagar. Russell Houston, an Eagar artist, inadvertently became its sire when he saw a photo of cowboys playing golf in an old copy of Arizona Highways. He developed a series of oil paintings on the subject. Residents of this area in the White Mountains looked at the paintings of the cowboys hitting golf balls off rocks and cliff overhangs and said something to the effect, “Well, goshdarn, we got places that look just like that. Why don't we have our own golf tournament?” And so it began.

Only about 30 golfers showed up for the first event, but word spread rapidly so the 1996 field swelled to 60, and 80 showed up for last year's gallop to the greens.

The rules are similar to non-cowboy golf, but best explained by Sam Udall, an Eagar resident and a member of my group. "They ain't much to it," he said before teeing off. “You just swang hard, holler 'shucks,' and hope you can find your ball afterward."

Then he gave a demonstration, tak-ing a mighty swing which tore up a large chunk of congealed cow pie, several small rocks, and enough dust to cause a bigTheir purpose is to act as four-legged golf carts. They carry the golf clubs in the leg of a pair of blue jeans that has been cut off and sewn shut on one end. It's not much of a load because each golfer gets to carry only three clubs, most of them manufactured when Sam Snead was still in kindergarten. Because they do not watch much television, horses are not up to date on golf, and they don't understand the subtle nuances of the game, becoming easily bored. So instead of giving advice, they wander off in search of something edible. And they don't have to select the proper clubs for their golfer because the golfer dismounts before hitting a shot. This, and the difference in attire, sets cowboy golf apart from polo.

The other four in our group - Jim Foster of Prescott, Tod Bosen of Eagar, Chris Udall of Mesa, and myself - teed up and tried to follow Sam Udall's example. One by one, we placed our golf balls on a cow pie and took a healthy swing. When a golf club hits a ball that has been teed up on a cow pie, the impact doesn't go “whack!” Instead, it's more of a “smoosh!” This not only gives an entirely different meaning to whiffing, but also demands an extremely delicate touch when replacing a divot. None of that bothered Jim Foster, the 1996 champion. He ing a divot. None of that bothered Jim Foster, the 1996 champion. He smacked his tee shot to within a couple feet of the cup then sank the putt for a birdie 2.

It was a difficult 2, however, because the greens were exceptionally tough.

City smog alert. The ball arched toward the green 127 yards away and came to rest in a hoofprint. Udall watched it descend, said “shucks,” got on his horse, and rode off. For those unfamiliar with such cowboy golfing terms as “hoofprint,” “cow pie,” “swang,” and “shucks,” they mean, in order: “a large indentation left on the ground by a bovine animal,” “something else left on the ground by a bovine animal,” “the past perfect of 'swing' with John Wayne overtones,” and “a euphemism used by gentlemen cowboy golfers when in the presence of ladies, small children, and horses.” Also, a few words of explanation about the function of horses in a golf tournament: There is no bent grass or tiff grass on any of them. It's cow grass, and some of it is six inches or more high. This may be the only course in the world where golfers can lose a ball while putting. And, because cows don't know the difference between greens and fairways, they trample both areas with equal enthusiasm. This makes it very difficult to read the breaks. But the course designers weren't absolutely unsympathetic. To make some atonement for the aforementioned hazards, they made the holes substantially larger by sink(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 32 AND 33) Armed with three garage sale golf clubs and a sack of golf balls he's not afraid to lose, a tournament player prepares to start his round.

(TOP AND ABOVE, RIGHT) Over the pasture to the woods, a cowboy golfer negotiates the par 3 third hole.

(OPPOSITE PAGE) The course's “signature” hole is the ninth, where the golfers tee off from a cliff, aiming for the stock tank “hole.” Pouring coffee cans into the ground and marking them with flag sticks that only days earlier had been tree branches and plastic irrigation pipe.

COWBOY GOLF

The second hole was a par 4 which started, in the words of Sam Udall, “on this hill over here, and you ain't done until you get clear over there.” It was 430 yards long and made even tougher because a batch of golf-loving spectators in a horse-drawn carriage kept riding up and down along the fairway shouting “you-da-man” after every shot, spooking the caddies, some of whom ex-pressed a deep interest in returning to the barn even though there were still seven holes to play.

By the time we reached the third tee, it was apparent that my caddy and I were not compatible. Because he'd stepped on my foot, three of my toes were doing a pass-able imitation of eggplants. Then, after I shanked my tee shot into some knee-high grass, he refused to cooperate when I asked him to eat some of the foliage so I could get a swing at my ball.

After two hits, I was within striking distance of the green so I took out (excuse the terminology here) a chipping iron and accidentally hit the ball way too hard, launch-ing it into orbit far over the surface of the green. Alarmed, I resorted to common golf terminology and yelled, “Bite!” But Udall, a cowboy golf veteran, saw my predicament, realized a cowboy golf ball doesn't comprehend city golf language, and came to my rescue with the proper phrasing: “Whoa back, there, you dang little var-mint!” he hollered. It didn't do any good. The ball proceeded on its chosen course.

The next five holes were up in the rock-strewn hills that guard the valley below. None of them were very long, averaging about 145 yards, and we played them well, except for the fifth where we took a wrong turn while en route to the tee and almost got lost. It was very embarrassing.

There was a major breakthrough on the sixth hole. My caddy and I reached an agree-ment. If I'd quit sitting on his back, he'd quit trying to knock me off his back by walking under low-hanging tree branches. This is an occupational hazard that Tiger Woods has never experienced.

We arrived at the ninth hole weary and badly in need of some 19th-hole refresh-ments. The ninth was the final hole of the tournament because on a course like this, playing 18 holes would have required over-night accommodations and a personal masseuse. However, the ninth was the most challenging hole on the course. Although the distance was only 205 yards, the tee was about a quarter-mile higher her than the green, which was guarded by a stream and a forest of pine trees.

But once again, the course designers showed they were not without pity because The green wasn't really a green. It was a stock watering tank about eight feet in di-ameter. However, it wasn't sunk into the ground like the coffee cans. A chip shot had to rise over a three-foot steel circle, then descend with a clank into the tank. As some sort of reward for finishing the tour-nament without radioing for help, we were allowed to take five shots at the tank, and if we still didn't get the ball inside, we could pick up and take a 5. Foster made it in 3; everyone else in our group took a 5 and was thankful.

Foster made it two titles in a row, shooting a nine-hole total of 35. Second place went to Tom Finch of Eagar, Bob Pollock of Greer took third. Shackled with purple toes and a reluctant caddy, I shot 46.

Tournament proceeds were split between a youth charity started by the late actor Ben Johnson and the White Mountain Community Hospital in Springerville.

And my caddy and I parted friends. He never criticized my chipping, didn't whinny during my backswing, and, after I agreed to walk the final few holes, quit trying to dis-lodge me.

But the toe incident cost him. I gave his tip to charity.

Author's Note: The 1998 cowboy golf tour-nament will take place Saturday, June 6. For more information, call the X Diamond Ranch Charity Golf Tournament, (520) 333-2286.