Dirk Does Seattle

Return with me, if you will, to late June 1998. The Unknown is still in its infancy, perhaps even still just an embryo, a small of clump of cells furiously dividing and dividing again, but with no hint yet of the monstrosity it was to become. Leaving The Unknown in its incubator and in the hands of my nefarious collaborators, I leave for a month-long road trip that will encompass the western half of our great country. From Cincinnati, I drive to Chicago to visit my brother and his family and to pick up a passenger for the second leg of my journey, my mother, who has flown into Chicago to visit some of her grandchildren and to rendezvous with me. After a few days in the City with Big Shoulders, we depart for Spokane, Washington. Along the way, we stop at some obvious tourist sites, like Mt. Rushmore and that massive volcano plug that Spielberg featured in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Eventually, we reach Spokane and I hang around a few days at the ancestral homestead. While in Spokane, I search for a disc golf course. I know Spokane has one or two, or at least I think it does. For reasons that have been forgotten, I am unsuccessful, and I leave Spokane having failed to fling any plastic at all. Leaving my mother behind, I left Spokane for Seattle. The Unknown Disc Golf Tour had not been conceived in those days (if I recall correctly, William hadn't even been coaxed onto a course yet and hadn't discovered the divine agony and ecstasy that disc golf provides), and yet, in retrospect, the next few days would produce an embryonic version of that grand enterprise.

Using information gleaned from the PDGA site, or so I assume since I did not own the hard copy PDGA Disc Golf Course Directory in those days, I located a course in Yakima. It was easy enough to find, not far from the highway, but it proved to be a horrible disc golf experience. A tiny course on a hill in a park, the primary obstacle was the constant wind that was so strong even the shortest putt was fraught with hazard and the occasion for multiple curses. I quickly played a round and, thoroughly disgusted, made my way to Seattle. [Checking the PDGA Online Directory, I don't find a Yakima course listed anymore; perhaps it no longer exists. If so, good riddance.]

In Seattle, I played two courses, both very interesting, if not terribly challenging, Mineral Springs and Lakewood King County Park. As I remember it, there weren't many other players on those courses; I felt as though I was one of the chosen, one of the few who realized just how fun disc golf could be. I played both courses a couple of times before I headed south to Oregon and California. If I played any more disc golf during my journey, which would eventually take me from San Francisco through Reno on my way back to Cincinnati, I have no clear recollection of it—too many friends to see, too much other stuff to do. In retrospect, this baffles me given the number of courses in Oregon that seem to line either side of I-5. Maybe those courses didn't exist in 1998 (I'm currently looking at 2002 edition of the hard-copy guide). But the experience I had on the Seattle courses (my favorite city in the USA and where I hope to one day permanently reside) remained with me and I always hoped to have the opportunity to play them again.

Fast forward to July of 2005, exactly seven years later. I have flown to Spokane to visit my dear mother and to attend a wedding of an old friend in Seattle. I have, of course, brought discs along with me in my luggage. My youngest brother, Ward, is also in Spokane and soon after I arrive, we seek out Spokane's Down River Disc Golf Course. The Down River Course is a rugged place just across the road from the Down River Ball Golf Course with the Spokane River serving as its other border. My brother had already played this course once with his sons several months previous but wasn't really familiar with the layout. We located the first hole without difficulty and began the tedious process of trying to figure out where the tees were and what holes we were supposed to aim for. Around the third hole, a solitary golfer caught up with us and we joined forces: he graciously served as our guide. I wish I could remember his name, Jed, I think it was, but my hearing is such that names often get lost in the wind. Whatever his name, I thank him for his hospitality and wish for him many aces. The Downriver Course reminded me of the courses William and I played in Arizona: lots of pine trees, barren sandy terrain filled with volcanic rock, and a lot of wind. The course has 21 holes, and some have alternate tees, so there are a wide variety of challenges to be experienced. There are a couple of elevated tees that are so much fun to throw from, I often took two drives, just for the hell of it. The pin placements were frequently diabolical (a term I found myself using over and over): perched on a hillside, or behind a grove of trees, or simply hidden until your second or third shot. Jed told us that this was the toughest course in Washington, and that was a claim easy to believe. When my other brother, Brent, arrived from Chicago for the weekend, all three of us played Downriver, and I returned twice more with Brent after Ward returned home to the Tri-Cities. The course is well used; every time I played there the course was crowded and frequently there were back-ups on the tees. It is easy to understand this: it is simply a great course, one I will be happy to play whenever I get the opportunity. On one throw, I hit a tree and when I recovered my disc, I discovered it had been punctured by a branch. The disc still works, though I suppose it violates some PDGA rule now. Every time I use it now, I am reminded of the excellent times I had at Down River.

Early in the a.m. on July 9th, I took Brent to the airport because he was flying back to Chicago. Then I immediately headed west on I-90 to Seattle. Using cruise control and judicious violations of the speed limit, I made excellent time and arrived in Seattle several hours before I had to make my appearance at my friend's wedding. I decided to play some disc golf. I had consulted the PDGA Online Course Directory before leaving Spokane and had several possible courses to choose from. I decided I'd head south and work my way north to the wedding. So after gassing up my vehicle, I got on I-5 and went looking for the Seatac Disc Golf Course. Seatac is a city I never really knew existed, even during the years I lived in Seattle. It gets its name from the Seatac International Airport (i.e. Seattle-Tacoma), which, I presume, is the town's most prominent feature. Certainly, the airport was a major element of the Seatac Disc Golf Course experience. The PDGA Directory says in its description that it is a "Long, challenging, well balanced course under the flight path of Seatac airport" and that is a most accurate description. Every minute or so, throughout my round there, a plane or a jet would fly right overhead as they made their landing approaches. The planes were flying so low it was not difficult to identify what airline each represented. A most appropriate location, I thought: discs flying from my hand, planes flying overhead. And what a brutal course! Long indeed and crammed with holes hidden by doglegs, trees, and bushes. And thousands of places to lose a disc: usually in a thicket of blackberry bushes with thorns just waiting to draw blood. I'm not sure what this course used to be, but there were remnants of concrete structures throughout. It was like playing in an ancient abandoned city that had succumbed to the inevitability of nature. And all the while, planes are flying overhead. At the first tee, an overhead satellite-like photo showed where all the holes were, but the signage on the course was erratic, often the victim of vandals. Who are these morons that find such pleasure in tearing down disc golf signs? I'd like to tie them to a basket and fire discs at their most sensitive bodily parts. Very irritating. Fortunately, most of the baskets had directions to the next tee scrawled on tape wrapped around the rim of the basket, and so the question of where to go next was not often difficult to answer. Down River is a tough course, but I'd have to say that the Seatac course trumps it. I left it drained and very scratched up by the vicious blackberry thorns. By some miracle, I did not lose a disc, though I came close more than once. The course's difficulty is matched only by its beauty, however. The variety of trees and flowering plants, the lushness of the landscape in general, was captivating. Highly recommended, but be prepared for a rigorous workout. As I was leaving the course, two local disc golfers arrived and headed for the first tee. I was trying to take a digital photograph of the satellite photo guide (unsuccessfully-which taught me the value of reading the damn manual first) and one of them tried engaging me in conversation. As I was hearing-aidless at the time, this proved difficult, but I gleaned that they had just finished playing in a tournament at another course, which they suggested I try: Lakewood King County Park.

As it turned out, that was exactly where I had planned to head next. As soon as I crossed the bridge to West Seattle, I knew I was headed to one of the courses I'd played in 1998 and I recognized it immediately once I pulled into the parking lot. The tournament was over by then, but there were still a lot of players milling around or on the course for post-tourney action. A disc vendor was selling discs from the back of his car and I bought an XD from him because, for me, the XD is the most valuable disc I've ever used. A good friend of mine, Louis, once told me that if he could only use one disc, it would probably be an XD; I'd have to agree. I feel naked without one, and I'd been playing nude for several months. Armed with my new disc, I asked where the first tee was and began my round. As is my practice on a new course (though given my previous experience at Lakewood, this was a different kind of new), I decided to follow a group of three players that were already on the second hole. They soon noticed me playing behind them, and eventually they offered to let me play through. I was reluctant to do this, because I would then lose my guides, but I threw a terrible drive and marched out to find it. They asked me if I wanted to play with them (which I knew they would—disc golf courtesy and hospitality is pretty much the same wherever I've played). I demurred, explaining that I was hard of hearing and aidless; they just said they'd talk loud or use hand signals, so I joined them. We introduced ourselves and I shook hands with John, Mark, and—here my ears betrayed me—Sam, or maybe it was Rob, or something else, for all I know. Neither John nor Mark ever used his name, as far as I could hear, so I never could confirm his identity. He was the best player of us all, and gave me a running commentary about the course as we played, most of which I understood. Lakewood is an exquisite course. After the rigors of Seatac, it was like a proverbial walk in the park, which it would be in any case since it is located in a park. Not the longest course in the world, but a wide variety of holes, many of them with alternate tee placements, which Sam/Rob pointed out to me as we played. Excellently maintained with adequate signage. All in all, a pleasure to play. And I was particularly glad I had decided to accept John, Mark, and Sam/Rob's invitation to join them. One of the joys of disc golf, I've discovered is playing with others. Watching a great shot is almost as fun as throwing a great shot, and it's always nice to have witnesses to the good shots you happen to throw. I mentioned that I'd just come from Seatac and all three moaned and complained about its difficulty. They asked whether I'd played Fort Steilacoom Park in Tacoma. I said, no, but that I had directions to the course and planned to before I left Seattle. They urged me to make sure I played it: they obviously were impressed by something. After we finished playing and were headed to our cars, I told them to check out the Unknown Disc Golf Tour online, if they got the chance. Sam/Rob: if you're reading this, send us an e-mail so that we can get your name right. And thanks to all of you for a wonderful disc golfing afternoon.

I still had a little time before the wedding and I knew that my next destination, Mineral Springs was close to where the wedding was going to be held. I knew, too, from playing it in 1998 that it was a very short course, so I figured I had time to fit it in before the nuptials. The PDGA Online Directory says this course is on "4 acres in [an] old arboretum." That may be so, but if so, then an acre is a lot smaller than I imagine it is: I would have guessed the course barely covered a single acre, if that. Mineral Springs is one of the most interesting courses I've ever played, and it had gotten even more interesting since I had last played it. What I remembered was that it was small, very small, that it had probably originally been a Frisbee golf course, set up before the discs we use today had been invented. It was still small, all right, but it had been modified significantly. Multiple tees had transformed the original nine-hole course into an 18-hole course (and maybe there were even more than 18; it was hard to tell: there wasn't enough signage to clearly tell). But the major modification was the addition several extremely tall fences—at least 25 or 30 feet high—immense sheets of wire mesh strung between flagpoles on steroids. The reason for the fences was clear enough: Mineral Springs is stuck in the middle of a residential neighborhood, with houses on three sides of the park. And the course is so small, and the holes are so close together, the risk of hitting other players is huge. The fences define the fairways and protect other players. It was like playing in a gigantic pinball machine. Every once in a while you'd hear this loud clang ring out as a disc hit one of the poles. Discs bounced off the fences in curious ways and I could tell that if you were to play the course often enough you'd learn how to use the fences to your advantage. It is a well-designed course in a lovely little park. At times I felt as though I were playing in a Japanese garden, though the fences sort of diminished that aspect. Definitely a finesse course. I used only an XD, and that was more than adequate for the length of the holes. To make another comparison: it was like playing in the disc golf equivalent of a miniature golf course, where only putters need apply. This course, too, was crowded; apparently, a lot of people have taken up disc golf since 1998, which is good to see. I rushed through nine holes, not bothering to figure out how to play 18 (or 27 or however many holes are possible there) and then headed to the wedding, arriving with over a half hour to spare.

Early the next morning, I awoke in the house of friends of the bride and groom with only the hint of a hangover (thankfully). No one else was up, so I wrote a note of thanks and slipped out of the house into a glorious Seattle Sunday morning. I was supposed to meet another Seattle friend later that evening, so I had the whole day to myself. There was only one thing to do: play more disc golf. After eating breakfast at Dick's Hamburgers (a Seattle institution I always visit when in town) I drove to Tacoma to seek out Fort Steilacoom. The Online Course Directory directions got me to the course, but not because they were particularly accurate. The roads they mention change names and directions a lot more than indicated and for a while I was in despair, certain that I would be unable to find the park. Somehow—pure luck basically, given my geographical disability—I found the park entrance and found the parking lot next to the first tee. The effects of the previous night's celebration began to reassert themselves, and I found it necessary to lower the car seat and attempt a short nap. I failed to get much sleep and passed a little more time reading the Seattle Times. Finally, I felt ready to play. The bulletin board near the first tee had several course maps tacked up, but I couldn't quite believe what they were telling me. Apparently, I had stumbled upon a disc golf complex of immense size. If the maps were correct, there were at least 5 different and complete courses available. I eventually learned that multiple tees (usually each hole had a pro and amateur tee) accounted for the variety of course options, but there were also more than 18 baskets spread over three different fields, at least 27 by my reckoning, probably more. In any case, my Lakewood golf buddies were correct: however many holes there are, Steilacoom is a fabulous place to play. Again, I began following some players already on the course, because the signage (wooden plaques upon which a wood burning tool has been used) was not always sufficient. That plus all the multiple tees, which proved to be a little confusing on more than one occasion. The two players ahead of me urged me with hand signals to play through, but I waved them off and they finally gave up trying to be polite. Eventually, though, around hole 11, one of them lost a disc and I was forced to play through. I thought I'd be able to figure out the rest of the course using the signage that was available plus my impeccable disc golf instinct, but I was wrong. I couldn't figure out where hole 14 was. The two players caught up with me and I approached them and explained I was new to the course and needed their help and would they mind if I finished the round with them. I also explained my hearing difficulties and we introduced ourselves. I shook hands with Michael and Joshua, both of whom were, I'm guessing, in their late teens. They were local boys who hadn't played any other course in the area, but they certainly knew Steilacoom, and I'm glad they did. I never would have figured out the rest of the course without their help. My thanks to both of them. I asked them about the course layout and it was then that I learned about the various courses available and that I was free to take copies of the maps tacked up on the bulletin board. The course pro replaced them regularly, apparently. Like Seatac, Fort Steilacoom has its share of vegetable hazards and it is easy to lose a disc in the blackberry thickets or the tall grass or the forbidding bushes. Only one disc was lost during those last 5 holes, and fortunately it wasn't one of mine. It was beginning to rain by the time we reached the 18th hole which precluded me from playing another round, though I was sorely tempted: the course(s) were that good. After saying goodbye to my hosts, I went to the bulletin board and took copies of four of the course layouts and headed back to Seattle. The rain had ended by the time I reached the Seattle city limits and I still had a few hours before I was to rendezvous with my friend, so I crossed the bridge to West Seattle to play Lakewood Park one more time.

When I arrived, it was clear the course was very crowded. In fact, I thought I saw Sam/Rob in a huge group (7 or 8 players) on the third hole. I know it was anti-social of me, but I decided I really didn't want to play with another group, so I went to the 17th hole and took two drives, so that I could play two simultaneous games. I then played hole 18, holes 1 through 6, hole 12, and then 17 and 18 again, throwing dual-dueling games throughout for a total of 22 holes. The rain began again after I finished 18 for the second time and it was time for me to go.

The Unknown Disc Golf Tour is not really what Spineless Books is about.