On
South Africa’s fabled golf courses, author Josh Sens dodges
giraffes, chips over a few crocs, and tries to answer an age-old
question: Does springbok taste more like wildebeest or hippo?
By
Josh Sens
Photos by Mike Story
Working as a tracker in
big-cat country, Greg Austin often grunts like a wounded wildebeest
to lure a lion from its hideout. He has withstood the onrush of angry
rhinos and stared down hyenas on moonlit hunts. Wild elephants listen
when he barks out orders. But Austin is a man of limitations. Golf is
a game he has never tamed.
On a scorching afternoon, with the
sun beating fiercely on Hans Merensky golf club, a verdant layout
carved through the South African veldt, Austin stood in the bunker of
a stout par four, beating fiercely at his ball. Behind a thorn tree,
giraffes gazed on in respectful silence, but baboons chattered in the
branches, and long-tailed vervet monkeys skittered by the green.
Austin swung. A hippo yawned in a nearby water hazard. Crocodiles
lurked in the murky shallows, waiting for a taste of something other
than the Titleist Austin had sent their way.
“Not too
close!” called Austin, as I started after his errant shot. “There
are a few crocs in there that’ll kill you and a few others that’ll
kill you properly.”
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South African Airways (flysaa.com) flies nonstop from New York’s JFK to Johannesburg, with fares from $1,635.
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Whatever his failings as a playing
partner, it was comforting that Austin had my back. He was, after
all, known for his precision—not with a two iron but with a
tranquilizer gun. A few years earlier, when an addled Cape buffalo
rampaged the fairways of Hans Merensky, scattering foursomes and
head-butting pickup trucks dispatched to stop it, Austin subdued the
beast with a dart. When leopards roamed too close to the ladies’
tees, as they often did on a golf course bordering a game park, it
was Austin who directed them toward other meals. Rarely had I played
in such a well-rounded group. If I needed a swing tip, I could ask
Sean Pappas, the former South African pro who had joined our outing.
And on the off chance a bull elephant charged us from the brush, I
could lean on Austin for his expertise.
I’d come to Hans
Merensky, eager but unarmed, to kick off a ten-day golf swing through
South Africa, a country in the complex throes of reinvention. Just as
there’s no forgetting the grim tinge of its history, there’s also
no denying its present-day appeal. From a sporting standpoint South
Africa’s story is especially compelling, since the country’s
emergence from global isolation in 1994 has coincided with a
homegrown golfing boom. In the wake of apartheid, dozens of new
courses have cropped up around the country, many designed by South
African golf stars like Gary Player, David Frost, and Ernie Els. From
the northernmost border near Zimbabwe to the southern cape where two
oceans meet, you can play in a stirring array of vineyards, forests,
and seaside bluffs. You can tee it up in suburbs, surrounded by
starter castles, or on layouts cut through tin-roof shantytowns. At
resorts like Hans Merensky, you can bed down on sheets with a
stratospheric thread count, then wake to bang your ball through the
sun-baked bush, where a player runs the risk of becoming prey. For
the avid golfer, South Africa is, in short, Scotland with sunshine,
Pebble Beach with alpha predators and a prettier coast.