We�??ve had several days this year that will be remembered in full Kodak colour for decades to come.  The sort of days you look back at, mystified, wondering why you�??ve been so fortunate to do what you did and with whom.  One of these episodes alone would�??ve made the leap of faith that was puregolf2010 worthwhile.  Acknowledging the fact that there have been not just one of these Miracles but several, Michael, Bart and I have a huge amount to be thankful for.  The latest installment?  I�??m about to share it with you.  Our most richly experiential day on home soil; a day when we all fell in love once more with our very own Aotearoa.

It all started at Eric & Sue�??s place.  Michael and I met Eric and his pals in the locker room at Loch Lomond (they were playing the same day as us, and had heard there were a couple of Kiwis in the hood �?? the ones playing 365 days�?? straight golf...).  That evening and again a few days later at Turnberry, they took us out for dinner and we all told lies until the wee hours.  Many, many lies.  Eric owns The Golf Warehouse �?? a keen supporter of The First Tee �?? and has had the privilege of frequenting a number of the same courses that we have in 2010.  He�??s also just a good bugger and does a huge amount for those less fortunate than himself.  We got on famously from the get go.  When it came up that we were heading through Queenstown in mid-December, Eric offered up a couple of beds at his �??bach�?�, which ladies and gentlemen is not your average tin shed.  Naturally �??twood have been rude of us (unpuregolf2010-like, even) to decline such a generous invitation...  

We woke up replete and brimming with excitement.  Eric and Sue had very kindly taken Oliver Twist, Bart and myself out to Saffron in Arrowtown the night before, where we inhaled fare slightly finer than that we�??ve grown accustomed to.  Central Otago�??s finest, in fact.  You know, venison arranged on a plate with wild local herbs with Damien Hirst-esque inspiration.  And deep fried marmalade ice cream, a highlight of the trip.  After an early night in spent inspecting the 10 acre property and reading coffee table books (the pick of the bunch being a cracker on French treehouses), we retired to our very own self contained quarters.  Which were of a calibre you�??d expect at Huka Lodge.  Or The Ritz Paris.

Sue prepared a feast of berries: more or less all we could stomach in the circumstances. Shortly we�??d be hurled off a wooden platform on the edge of a canyon.  Yes, Snoop Hollyer�??s bro Matt is involved with The Shotover Canyon Swing �?? and he�??d heard a rumour that the puregolf2010 boys like to swing.  Indeed we do.  A match made in heaven.  So with heavy hearts we left our adopted home, bound for the Shotover River.  Blue skies towered above us.  A man who was quite clearly Matt appeared at the side of the road, looking quite Kiwi in sandals, stubbies and a bucket hat.  Before long I found myself listening to a safety briefing delivered in the 42 Below School of Satire, quite clearly designed to scare the living hell out of us.  It worked.  Goldstein was shivering with fear and the minefield of pimples on his forehead were beginning to light up like a flock of Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeers at Christmas.  I wasn�??t sure what was more troubling: the prospect of death by canyon swing, or the prospect of one of Goldy�??s zits bursting all over me (we were to freefall in tandem).

A Swedish film crew was also present.  Mads, Mags, Mods and Migs were doing a piece on Queenstown and, unfortunately for their audience, decided it�??d be a good idea to quiz us during the preparation stages.  As it happened all 3 of us were in a darkly satirical mood, answering every question with the sort of droll deadpan mischief that won�??t come across well on TV.  But no matter.  We weren�??t a patch on Doug and John anyway (the two punters that chat you up before you�??re hurtled off the platform); their banter was dark even by Scottish standards.  Rascals.  

As our heels inched towards The Edge and we were eased backwards Michael began to turn a whiter shade of pale.  Jim Morrison�??s proclamation of �??This is The End�?� and the haunting strings of Robbie Krieger�??s guitar echoed through the corridors of my conscious.  Apocalypse.  Michael�??s 82 kilograms hurtled over my head and All Hell broke loose.  For an eternity we tumbled like Alice down the rabbit hole.  Then we swung and swung fast (160 kilometres per hour, or thereabouts).  The sensation?  A measure of euphoria akin to that which grips you when a 50 foot birdie putt pierces centre cup.  Perhaps even sharper than that.  As oil, gas and puss poured from Michael�??s trembling forehead as I suspected it would, I had an epiphany.  Better to be swinging from a cable above a canyon near Queenstown than to be doing absolutely anything else whatsoever. Tops.

And so to The Hills.  New Zealand�??s most mystical and salubrious golf club.  For those of you not familiar: what began as Michael Hill�??s private 9 hole backyard track has evolved into the premier NZ Open venue; a spectacular rock garden with 360 degree panoramas of God�??s Own.  In short, as pure as it gets in Nu Zillin.  Until recently it was Members Only.  These days you can front up with $550 in cold hard cash for the privilege, if you�??re so inclined.  What you�??re guaranteed in any case is a unique experience and that�??s exactly what we got.

Eric being a member joined us for the adventure.  On arrival into the trés chic polished concrete subterranean art filled bunker that they call The Clubhouse, we were greeted by Craig Palmer Director of Golf.  I pored over the Otago Daily Times with an espresso while our chicken sandwich order was being taken.  Then without much adieu �?? Eric doesn�??t like to stuff around any more than I do �?? we Got To It.  Carts, for a change.

When I snap hooked my first shot of the day I got That Sense �?? you know, that today might not go according to plan.  �??How did I get on on the 18th?�?�  A just and pertinent question, friends.  (I�??ve found this query is a useful tool to be used when people start telling you about their round, shot by shot).  A(nother) bogey, as it happens �?? but that�??s neither here nor there.  What matters is that we had one hell of a time testing our skills against a true championship course.  In the company of Wiser Than Methuselah Eric, too.  Under brilliant blue skies there could be few better places to play a few holes.  Not a soul on the course; our sandwiches delivered to us on the 11th by Craig;  views that even the most gifted of Lonely Planet photographers couldn�??t do justice; and immaculate grass that makes you want to take your shoes off.  Neverland, really.

Our day wasn�??t over.  While out on course Eric took it upon himself to jack up a helicopter ride for us.  (This happens every day folks...).  Yes, a helicopter ride.  No sooner had I finished chatting to someone on Radio New Zealand than I found myself listening to a brief safety briefing �?? delivered in this case by the incarnation of Hard Case, Louisa �??Choppy�?� Patterson, owner / chief pilot of Over The Top.  Eric and Sue and their three adopted sons poured into the chopper with Choppy & her young son.  Over a million bucks it costs, apparently.  Chicken feed.  With The Remarkables to the port side and Queenstown to the starboard we lifted off �?? setting course for Cecil Peak.  What followed was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and probably that of The Lads.  Words don�??t even get close.

Here�??s a short video Goldy�??s put together that�??ll give you a taste.  Basically, with not a cloud in sight, we boosted over Lake Wakatipu, scouting for a site on the slopes of Cecil Peak as we climbed.  A site for what, you might ask.  A golf green, of course.  Eric and Choppy are putting together an Extreme Hole and puregolf2010 was brought in for a bit of consulting work.  It�??s an area that we�??re looking to expand into, you see.  Then we set down; wandered around the tussocks for a while; hit balls from several potential Tee Blocks; and generally revelled in the euphoria of being On Top Of The World.  It�??s tempting to chuck in a throwaway line like �??It was life changing�?� - but that would cheapen what was really a heart stopping, time halting experience shared with special people.    

Surely that�??s the end of the day?  Nope.  Straight from the helipad to The Rees, venue for our First Tee fundraiser dinner.  At the last minute we threw together a Power Point presentation (inevitably there had to be a hitch �?? in this case, in the form of a projector lead that wouldn�??t plug into my Mac); welcomed our guests; had a wonderful 7 course dinner with matching Central Otago wines; said a few words about our experiences; enjoyed the company of friends New and Old; and generally rounded off one of the most memorable days of my life in style.  Phil T and the others from The First Tee were down for the occasion.  As one big happy whanau we celebrated the friendships that golf creates, and made sure that all the wine was drunk.  

Doesn�??t get much better than that, does it?

JP