THE BACK NINE

My take on the new nine at Lucero G.C.

THE BACK NINE

          By Doc Walton

My partner, Woowoo Charly, and I were working a consulting gig for the local Panama P.D.  What happened was that she and I were in Boquete town to see the sights and maybe get in a little golf when one of the locals, a resident gringo name of Lawrence Johnson, turned up missing.  We being vacationing P.I's out of L.A., Hollywood division, of no small repute - we had solved the Missing Mashie Case after all - and the Panama P.D. being underfunded and undermanned, it was a natural they'd ask us to look into the matter.  Johnson, we were told, had last been seen heading for the Lucero Golf and Country Club.  As that just happened to be our principal playing destination, we said what the hell, why not? 

Preliminary questioning of the staff at Lucero revealed that Johnson, a popular regular there, had arrived at the course and subsequently completed the first nine holes of a practice round before disappearing sometime before the back nine’s completion.  Maintenance personnel throughout the course testified to hearing Johnson's familiar cry of "Goddamn it Larry!" throughout the morning, but not a word after the ninth hole.  Although no one harbored suspicions of foul play we knew that with all those angry expletives the play could not have been all that good.

Woowoo and I decided to begin our investigation at the 10th hole.  If clues to Johnson's disappearance were to be found on the course they would most likely turn up between there and the 18th.   

Although five tee boxes were available at the 10^th from the most distant at 418 yards to the forwards at 286 where Woowoo teed it up, I chose the whites at 364 as we had been told that was the tee Johnson generally played.  This particular tee area is elevated and requires players to hit a drive across a narrow canyon where golf ball eating creatures were rumored to lurk.  The desired landing area is at the top of a hill that slopes up from the canyon.  A drive at least close to the top is necessary if the player wants to make the green visible for his second shot.  Dense foliage flanks the tee box on both sides, but no signs of Johnson or anyone else entering there was in evidence.  Woowoo and I surmised that if Johnson had been there, he had played through, so we hit our drives onto the hillside and continued.  Neither of us hit far enough to reach the hill’s crest and we were thus forced to lay up with our second shots as the tenth green was fronted by yet another menacing crevice.  From our laid up positions over the top, the course widens out and we could see beyond the green, where lush mountains capture the eye and inspire "Wows" from first time players.  Woowoo and I were not exceptions.  After hitting our thirds to the green, we crossed over the canyon bridge looking from side to side, but seeing no trace of our missing golfer.  After a few putts each on the nicely manicured “dance floor” we meandered on to the 11th tee.

The 11^th hole is a par 5 that ranges in length from 615 yards for the pros to 400 at the forwards for the fairer sex.  A goodly drive that fades or cuts is useful here as your ball must first clear an expanse of scrubland before confronting a fairway dog legged to the right.  Woowoo discovered our first Johnson clue while she and I were tramping about in the rough, short of the fairway, looking for my errant drive.  It was a Titleist golf ball nestled in the thick gorse bearing the initials LJ, imprinted with a black marker.  Our man had definitely been here.  We matriculated along the lengthy, broad fairway flanked by bunkers and trees left and dense wasteland right.  The fairway, after gently sloping downward, began to rise as we approached the cavernous sand-trap guarded green.  The journey there had taken longer than expected, but we were rewarded when finally finding the putting surface, by the plush vista that is Panama mountain jungle.  When I missed my short putt for double bogey, I inexplicably cried out, “Goddamn it Larry.” Somehow the words seemed appropriate and, as if to confirm that thought, they lingered on the air.

The challenge to drive straight and long continues at the 12th hole as it is a narrow par 5 whose fairway, for the first half, inclines left to right.  It's best to keep your drive hard left here or find it rolling into impenetrable gorse along the right hand side of the cart path.  I, um, hit mine, purposely of course, to the right to see if Johnson might still be in the aforesaid rough looking for an errant drive of his own. We had been told he hates to lose golf balls.  Having no luck finding him or my own ball, I dropped and hit another up the fairway avoiding bunkers left and, a little further along, right as well.  This hole features a gorgeous mountain backdrop that can catch the golfer's attention and distract from the task at hand, to wit, seeking par and learning the whereabouts of one Larry, "The Old Redneck" Johnson.  Arriving at the bunker defended green a stroke after my partner, I took a moment to take in the full 360 degree views this spectacular location provides. This is clearly a golf course that takes advantage of the many wonders a mountain terrain can provide.  If you were to play here but a single time, I would advise you to not forget your camera! 

Standing at the 13th tee Woowoo tells me that on the previous fairway she had stumbled upon divots that had been replaced as neatly as possible.  "Divots," she said, "deep enough to inspire a ‘Goddamn it Larry’ or two.  Curious, we thought, if that were the case, that none had been heard. 

Decent drives off tees that range from 482 yards to 388, will get you across a patch of  "You don't want to be in there" landscape and on to a fairway protected left and right by evil sand bunkers halfway home.  There is a seemingly endless view to your left that requires a moment of reflection and perhaps an exclamation along the lines of, "Whew!  Would you look at that!" which were my exact words.  Another manicured green with sand traps to test your accuracy awaits your second shot, or in some cases like mine, your third, when you have finished gawking at the environment.  A jacket found near the green turned out to be that of a groundskeeper and not one of Johnson’s.

Starting the 14^th, a 329 to 437 yard - pick the distance that suits your game - exquisite torture of a golf hole, we conjectured that perhaps the elusive Johnson had come this way playing well enough that his typical exclamations of disgust were rendered unnecessary.  Whatever.  We were now into our own games and completely captivated by the beauty of nature surrounding us and the golfing challenge the course presents.  Woowoo and I were both startled to silence as the green came into view and appeared before us as an infinity pool of wonder, its borders seemingly suspended at the edge of the world.  It was a long while after our golf balls arrived on the green’s surface before we got to putting them. Time spent staring at the majestic series of mountain and valley drifting to the end of human visibility and on into the sky was surely a prerequisite for all who played here.  Even after recording our scores, bagging our clubs, and climbing into our eerily quiet electric golf cart, we were reluctant to leave this very special place.  But…15 awaited and Johnson had still not been found.

Elevated tee boxes carved into the hillside at distances from the highest and longest at 441 yards to the forwards at 314 provides golfers at the 15th a straightaway view of the green below and beyond.  Some of Lucero’s elegant private homes tucked neatly into the mountainsides are visible from all parts of this stretch of golf course. There is yet another 360 degree Panama panorama to keep the golfer’s sense of an Alice in Wonderland magical experience intact.  I had to pull myself away from a trance-like stare to hit my high arcing drive onto the fairway.  Elevated tee areas are truly barrel-of-monkey fun and this course has them on nearly every hole.  The putting surface here has the requisite daunting sand traps beyond it, both left and right, and, to add further fear of being long, it backs up to a dense wooded area.  A cursory inspection of said area necessitated by a too muscled Woowoo shot uncovered not only her ball but another with the marker made LJ inscription, reminding us of our secondary duty, The Hunt for Red Oct… er, Johnson.

One of the additional pleasures of Lucero G.C. that you might not notice if you are completely caught up in your game is the nifty cart path that meanders from hole to hole through Hobbit-like landscapes of hollows and grottos and enchanted forests along with its necessary border-the-fairway route from tee to green.  Woowoo Charly and I paid particular attention to these diversions as it was easy to imagine a golfer getting captivated by this tropical beauty and perhaps wandering off in search of one mystical creature or another.  Woowoo Charly, in fact, was sure she had glimpsed a unicorn darting into the underbrush, but I couldn’t confirm the sighting as I was busy talking to a leprechaun at the time.

The 16^th hole is a Par 3 that plays from 110 yards at the forwards to 155 on, you guessed it, an elevated surface.  It is sculpted from a heavily wooded area and there are trees waiting to gobble errant shots left and long. There are also trees left and right of the tee box so your vision from there to the green is tunnel-like. An accurate tee shot is especially needed here as in addition to the ball beckoning trees there is sand to swallow under clubbed or miss-hits short.  Woowoo and I both found the green with “sweet spot” irons, but nary a trace of our missing golfer.  We walked off after paring puffed and confident, unaware of what waited at the 17^th.

If you hit left at 17, a 335 to 410 yard Par 4, a mountain lake will drown your ball.  If you hit short or too long - excluding pro style long – deep arroyos will see to it that you are hitting “Three” from the tee.  Right, you ask?  Nothing there to worry about, but impenetrable jungle.  There is a landing area here that your tee shot has to find so that your second shot will have access to the dog legged right green over the second arroyo.  This green too, is closely defended by traps and trees.  By now, though, Woowoo and I were accustomed to the rigors of this course and welcomed the challenge, having posted those routine pars the hole before.  “Whoops,” was not exactly what I said when I topped my second and watched it disappear into the grunge at the bottom of the arroyo.  I managed to save a triple with a nice 8 footer while Woowoo walked off with bogey.

At this point I should probably note that we had now both forgotten about our search for one Larry Johnson.  As we neared the completion of our round our thoughts were entirely on when we could next play this gleaming gem of a golf course.  Once was clearly not enough!

As we teed it up at the 18^th the beer commercial concept of “It doesn’t get any better than this” shared my reality with that old folksy song lyric, “I’ve got a peaceful, easy feeling.”  Our last two hours had been dreamlike and - if we had remembered - only our failure to locate the missing LJ kept it from being perfect.

The 18^th is a straightaway Par 4 ranging from 314 yards to 410.  There is a narrow canyon to clear with your tee shot and then it is a gentle climb up a gradual slope to the finish.  This hole is located in more open ground than most of the others and there is “Big Sky” here to see you on your way.  The course’s lake is visible to your left.  When you reach the green you will find, as we did, that it slopes from back to front.  My approach shot landed and stuck in some “first cut” grass nearest the trap that awaited overly long shots.  As I neared my ball, putter in hand, I began to hear what sounded like murmuring emanating from that very sand trap.  I peered tentatively over its edge and there found, deep in a hole, one Lawrence “The Old Redneck” Johnson digging even deeper with his sand wedge.  He had apparently failed to clear his first shot from the bunker and his ball had rolled back into the depression made in the sand by his club.  Subsequent shots of a similar nature caused the pit to grow ever deeper and steeper until I discovered him barely able to peer over the top.  Noble and true golfer that he is, quitting was not an option and though his teeth were gritted as he counted his strokes, 212, 213, 214, and let fly with his famous epithet, no amount of argument could stay him from his task.

Woowoo Charly and I two putted out and drove quietly away.  The sound of “Goddamn it Larry, Goddamn it Larry” fading like an echo as we did so.