Yeah, so, that whole ‘nude golfing’ thing. People sometimes bring it up, like it’s some kinda wild story they heard. Gets a chuckle, or an eyebrow raise, you know how it is. It’s one of those topics that sounds more straightforward than the actual, well, doing of it, if you can even call it that.
My Brush With It
Thing is, it ain’t like you just roll outta bed one morning and think, ‘Yep, gonna go golfing in my birthday suit today.’ Nah, that ain’t how it works, not for most sane folks, and definitely not for me. For something like that, there’s usually a specific, kinda weird set of circumstances that gotta line up just right. It’s not a decision you make lightly, or, frankly, very often. If ever.
I recall this one time, I was way, way out. Like, seriously off the grid. I’d taken a wrong turn, then another, just exploring some backroads, and ended up on this piece of private property that looked like it hadn’t seen a human in a decade. No fences for miles, no houses, no roads nearby on the map I eventually consulted. Just miles of rough, open land. Sun beating down, silent as a tomb except for the wind. Felt like I was the only person left on earth. You get that feeling sometimes?
And, as luck would have it, I had this beat-up old 7-iron in the trunk of my car. You know, the kind you just toss in there for whacking pinecones or whatever when you’re bored on a long trip. This place wasn’t a golf course, not by a long shot. It was just… land. Uneven, patches of tall grass, some scrubby bushes. More gopher holes than anything resembling a fairway.
So, picture this: complete and utter solitude. Miles from anywhere. The thought just sort of… drifted into my head. It wasn’t about making a statement, or even really about ‘golfing’ in any competitive sense. It was more a spur-of-the-moment, ‘well, nobody’s around for a hundred miles, what if?’ kind of thing. A moment of feeling absolutely, completely free from any kind of judgment or prying eyes, which is a rare feeling these days, eh?
I took a few swings. Just a couple. The ‘golf’ itself? Terrible. I mean, truly awful. Sent a few imaginary balls into the weeds. My swing’s nothing to write home about on a good day, fully clothed, on a proper driving range. Out there, with the uneven ground and just the raw elements? Let’s just say the PGA Tour wasn’t calling anytime soon. That wasn’t the point of the exercise, though. Not really.
It’s funny what sticks with you. It wasn’t the quality of the shots, ’cause there was none. It was more the… sensation. The sun on my skin, the breeze, the sheer quietness of it all. Just being. For a few minutes, it was just me and the elements, no barriers. A very primal sort of feeling, I guess. Hard to describe properly.
It’s one of those experiences you file away in the ‘odd and unusual’ cabinet of your mind. Definitely not something I’d make a habit of, or recommend willy-nilly. Absolutely not. It requires a level of privacy and isolation that’s almost impossible to find, and frankly, probably for the best. You can’t just do that anywhere, and you shouldn’t. It was a unique confluence of factors: the isolation, the mood, the utter remoteness.
So, when folks occasionally, and I mean very occasionally, bring up the idea in some hypothetical, ‘crazy things to do’ conversation, I just kinda nod. It’s less about the ‘nude’ and less about the ‘golfing’ as separate things, and more about a fleeting moment of… well, a moment. A very specific, very personal, and very private little blip. Most folks are much, much better off just sticking to the regular courses, with the proper attire and all. Way less complicated, and your scorecard will probably look a heck of a lot better too. Trust me on that one.
