I challenge anyone to find a find a 3.5 hour flight that stands more on the knuckles of your grip on reality than the redeye from Perth to Melbourne. We boarded at 10.20pm and landed at 5.05am. BMJ (Bart, Michael and Jamie ?? not to be mistaken for the British Medical Journal) were three spaced out specimens when rubber met tarmac let me tell you. By the time we??d collected our cargo ?? it??s misleading to call it ??luggage? because, combined, it weights just over 6 tons ?? there was a 40 minute window before Michael ??Bowser? Hauser was due to pick us up. My fellow astronauts beat me to the wooden benches by the window so I was forced to spread myself across the Titleist coffin bag housing my sticks and 2 tons of miscellaneous ??golf equipment? (for check-in purposes). A dozen Srixons dug into my back but I couldn??t summon the energy to re-pack the coffin (the temptation would??ve been to empty it and encase myself in it, in the hope that the world stopped spinning for a few hours).
Anyway, we snatched 15 minutes or so of precious shuteye. I then wandered around the terminal in search of an Optus shop (new SIM card required), probably looking like one of those poor drug addicts that march the streets at dawn, still smacked out of their faces with That Expression on their dial. And I felt worse than they look. The mission wasn??t a successful one, but when I returned to Base Camp Bowser had arrived and was looking decidedly more compos mentis than our trio. [Sidenote: Bowser??s the affable character from Tourism Victoria who looked after us famously all those moons ago back in March; he also writes a neat little blog on extra terrestrial mysteries that you can access here].
I did my best to muster conversational brilliance on the journey into Bowser??s office but didn??t even reach the heights of mediocrity. Not even close. The faculties were not firing on all cylinders folks. Y??er man must??ve been wondering what 8 months of golf travel had done to us. Weren??t we all...
A stiff, proper Antipodean doppio would soon see to that though. Bowser parked up outside his office just off Bourke Street then took a massive leap of faith by unleashing us on Melbourne, with his car. Our first endeavour was to caffeinate in the hope that it would draw us out of The Twilight Zone. Delicious coffee (after the tar we??ve been subjected to in the UK), but no such luck ?? still spaced out, even less cognitively balanced than before.
By some miracle Michael was able to follow the road map and with Bart as his driving instrument navigate us to The Heritage, right out on the north east outskirts of Melbourne by a bend in the Yarra. In my stupor I was at least able to make one observation en route: Melbourne like a sea sick child had turned green. After 11 years of drought it??s finally rained for weeks on end. Hallelujah. The valley in which The Heritage lies, then, was a picture that could almost have been lifted from our very own Aotearoa. Byoootiful.
To be honest I was in no mood for small talk, but the staff were delightful and went out of their way for us. Sadly in the circumstances their names went in one ear and out the other, so I can??t credit them personally; but suffice to say they??re a swell crowd and if you turn up to The Heritage without having slept then you??ll be in good hands. In the blink of an eye we found ourselves on buggies bound for The Henley Course.
They have two tracks out ??ere: a Nicklaus (The St John) and a Cashmore (Henley). Driving in you pass a few holes on The St John and realise quickly that you??re somewhere rather nice. Wide open doglegs sweep beneath the hills and around lakes. In a word, bonnie. The Henley??s out the back ?? a 5 minute cart drive away, following a green line down the path. No doubt the single longest cart drive I??ve ever taken from clubhouse to 1st tee.
Fortunately we had the course entirely to ourselves, so zipping ??round at break neck speed (with the objective of getting to bed back at Bowser??s place ASAP) wasn??t going to trouble anyone else. 5th gear it was then. In 2 hours and 40 minutes BMJ hacked it ??round what proved to be a very picturesque wee layout indeed. Granted the course is young and still bedding in, but the vistas you enjoy when you bother to pause for a moment are idyllic to say the least. And a few of the holes ?? like the uphill par 5 15th ?? are exemplary illustrations of clever design too. Would??ve loved to have played it in less trying circumstances.
But no matter. Michael??s wife Nicky was at base camp to greet us; although she soon realised we weren??t the full shilling and showed us to our rooms. 4 hours later I emerged somewhat dazed & confused. The kids must??ve been bemused ?? scared, even ?? by the Kiwi zombies traipsing through their domain. At one point wee Sam was explaining to me which badges he??d earned at Scouts ?? and it took every iota of brain activity I could muster to throw sensical questions back his way. Fortunately I was saved by the barbeque. Michael and I stood out on the deck with beer in hand, turning the sausages, doing what men do best: stare at the meat. And all was well after a long day.
JP
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Chisholm Park
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