THE DIGEST-OUT OF BOUNDS
Lunar in Leh
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| The moon-like topography of the course at Leh Golf Club. |
For the highest golf course in the world, conjuring up visions of precipitous slopes and undulating fairways at 11,302 feet, the Leh Golf Course, christened the Fire & Fury G.C. by the Army, is surprisingly expansive and flat. The 18 holes are spread over a respectable 7031 yards in a vast basin area on the edge of Leh town. The best view is from the plane on the steep descent into Leh valley. It appears as a faintly barricaded brown landscape punctuated by dark brown spots, with the Stok Kangri mountain looming in the distance; you'll miss it unless you're looking for it.
One thing is for certain: the Leh G.C. is not pretty; no creeks or willows. But it is singular. High speed winds routinely lash the basin in which the course has been built, and the fairways are barren, which means your caddy also has to lug a piece of Astroturf. The golfers I saw were using a regular foot mat-prop up the ball and swing away. That really is the best part of playing on brown courses. The lie is just pulled out of the equation and you can have a real go at the ball! The browns (or, in other words, the greens) are kept soft with used engine oil. There is no slope though, and if you can get a measure of the speed then putting is pretty much sorted out.
The golf course is surprisingly old. The board and plaque in front of the clubhouse says that it was established in 1967 as the Trishul Golf Course. There are no trees or any hazards besides the odd bunker. The entire exercise of getting the ball to stop is challenging enough! The Army has planted hundreds of poplar saplings. Most will not make it through the harsh winter but the few that do will add much needed foliage. The clubhouse has a snap of golfers trudging through deep snow. Brave men, these soldiers. With temperatures dipping to minus 30 degrees Celsius in the winters, it seems nothing short of an extreme sport.
I borrowed a friend's eight iron, an old Slazenger with a miniscule head, just to see what it felt like to hit a ball up there. I took a slow, low wide backswing, smooth and easy just like the coach said, loaded up nicely at the top and then lost it on the way down. The club criss-crossed the swing path a few times before clipping the ball and taking a substantial chunk of Leh on its way forward to a wobbly finish. In spite of my best efforts to look elegant, my audience was not the least bit convinced that I was a golfer. But you wouldn't think that if you saw the ball go. It rose, albeit a bit late, straight down 'tiger' line before flying an easy 180 yards into the distance. The air is thin in Leh and that is most apparent when you gauge the added yardage to your clubs. It also negates sidespin, which means you can pretty well hit it straight most of the time. As for stopping the ball, you've just got to make sure you flop it high enough so that it lands softly on the heavily oiled browns.
The bad news is that civilians are not allowed on the golf course, and there's no provision to pay green fees and play. The place is maintained by the Indian Army. The officers, of whom there is a large contingent, are the only patrons, but if you work for the government or can pull some strings in the Army, then you might be able to get a game. It does add to the allure a bit. Leh, in any case, to the unaccustomed eye, is surreal. Its sheer cinemascope and frame makes it unique, something which is precipitated by the inability to draw parallels with any other place you may have been to in the past. The course is as exotic, and merges in with the almost lunar topography. While Leh may not get golf tourists, there is a certain posterity value to playing at the highest golf course in the world. And for the sheer once-in-a-lifetime pleasure of pasting a drive 400 yards, there is no substitute for altitude!
By Meraj Shah
Aug 2008
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