G'day Tragics,
Part 1
Last week three mates and yours truly did something exhilarating, mind blowing and awe-inspiring....No, we didn't go sky diving, we didn't swim with sharks and we didn't arm wrestle Serena Williams.
Give up?...We jumped on a plane at a ludicrous hour, flew south to my home state of Tasmania, hired a car, drove for an hour and a half, then strapped on the spikes, polo shirt and knickerbockers to finally tackle the jewel in Australian golf's crown, Barnbougle Dunes.
After two holes of typical Tassie rain, we slid our umbrellas back in their holsters and settled in for the ride of our lives. Barnbougle has been praised in every golf publication available, so our expectation was sky high - boy did it deliver! Hole after hole we stared at each other blankly on the tee. We were dreading to be the first to hit and all wanted to learn from someone elses mistakes.
Barnbougle was not only challenging, but beautiful. The course was delicately woven into the landscape, with great care being taken to not over power the raw natural appeal of this hidden oasis. The rough was like a pick-pocket, waiting for your ball to drift off course....in the blink of an eye, it was gone, never to be seen again. The greens looked like a heard of elephants were buried under them...intimidating, but spectacular.
Being a proud Tasmanian, I was chuffed to see my companions giggling like school girls at the majesty of the course. Their golf was solid under the conditions without being spectacular, but form meant nothing and the experience everything. I'd pumped up the place like a supermodels rack and it had done me proud.
Six hours later we were spent but happy. We'd searched for every lost ball....and there were shit loads. We'd been hammered for 12 rounds and lived to tell the tale. The next day we were tackling The Lost Farm course down the road....more of the same...bring it on!
The Lost Farm was equally mind-blowing. You could say it was like going from Disneyland to Disneyland Paris. The holes were brilliant, but not quite as intimidating as day one. Up, down, round and round....what a rush. This was golf at its finest. You would be hard stretched to find two courses that are so brilliant sitting side by side anywhere else in Australia, if the World.
Before I dribble too much more, I must also make mention of the the accommodation, the club houses, the pro-shops and the staff. Every element of the two days of golf we spent at Barnbougle was superb. If you love golf and don't play these little rippers this year, it will be a scandal of Tiger sized proportions.
Part 2
We drove North West after the golfing shenanigans, bound for my home town of Ulverstone. We called in on the folks as every good son should, then went for a few beers at my old stomping ground the Ulverstone Football Club. Ulverstone is a small town on the North-West coast of Tassie and has dominated in many areas of local sport - such as cricket, golf and basketball.
I showed my mates some old footy photos, that showed me muscled up and tanned....much the same as I am today. After a good feed and a sleep we were off South for the second leg of our Tasmanian sports odyssey, the mighty Hobart Cup.
Because this is a sports blog, I'll leave out he skulduggery that occurred in the few days before the cup. In summary a pleasant time was had by all. We had now been joined by 8 more blokes from around the country, 4 had become 12....let's go racing!
Our little group had a $20 outfit limit for the cup...some of the lads thought this was an invitation for fancy dress. So amongst a group of disgusting retro suits, we were graced with the presence of a cow, horse and a guy riding an inflatable bull. Not a good look.
The Hobart cup is Tasmania's premier horse race. It is held at the picturesque Elwick race course. With the river and mountains serving as the backdrop, the track could be described as a boutique track and this word would also perfectly sum up the meet.
A healthy crowd of all ages, shapes and sizes enjoyed some cracking weather. The horses did their bit on the track, while the fashions of the field fought it out with the dagwood dogs for off-track honours. The atmosphere was a blended mix of family and fun. The Boags beer flowed freely and the dickhead count was low. Bookies were plentiful, so laying a bet was a breeze. Best of all there were no lines...none... not even the ladies dunnies. Hooray!
Again seeing my crew enjoy themselves swelled my little chest with pride. It was my first Southern Cup and I genuinely loved it.
When you think of Tasmania, you think food, scenery and incest, but not necessarily sport. The golf and the gee gees are just a taste of what occurs on the local sporting calendar.
Targa Tasmania, Symonds Plains V8's, the Sydney to Hobart, not to mention cricket, AFL and world class tennis, make my little home state a hidden gem for a sport themed holiday.
If you haven't been, get your backsides to Tassie...We might go back next year.......Tragic.
