Approaching the tee my hand is already reaching into my bag.  There  is no question where it will fall.  I know my bag by heart and I can pull out the disc without even looking at it.

The yellow Avenger appears in my hand and I place the bag on top of the cut log that stands on end next to the tee pad.  It’s height is perfectly convenient for a bag holder or a seat, just one of the benefits of a wooded disc golf course is a ready supply of fallen trees and this course has had its share.  Setting the disc on top of the bag I remove my water bottle from its pocket.  It’s a hot day and I’ve already emptied half of the container.  I raise the bottle to my lips to take a drink of the luke warm water and gaze out from the tee.

Devens Disc Golf Course is a course I know well and hole 13 is a hole I know well.  In fact, it is my favorite hole on the whole course.  It is not the most difficult, it is not the easiest, but to me it is beautiful.  The tee pad sits up on a ledge and the fairway extends out, down, left, right, and finally ends behind a group of large trees where the basket stands.  It is a deceptive hole, unlike many at this course the fairway is clearly defined.  There are not a lot of trees standing guard ready to send your disc spinning off into another direction.  But the few trees that are present seem to be perfectly placed, almost like they were planted in anticipation that one day we would meet.

I swap my water bottle for my disc and step up to the tee pad.  My intended flight path is not in question, I wish I could say the same for the upcoming results.  I look at the one lone pine standing one hundred and fifty feet in front of me.   This tree and I have a history.  Somehow, some way I managed to laser my disc right into that tree more times than I care to admit.

“I’m going to hit that tree.” I say aloud.  Not because it’s what I desire, but because I know that I couldn’t hit that tree if I truly wanted to.

Ready, I step with my right foot, reach back with the disc while stepping my left foot behind my right.  My body is now coiled like a spring filled with potential.  I step again with my right transferring my weight forward and pull the disc across my body keeping it close to my chest.  When my upper arm has traveled all it can my lower arm flings out and catapults the disc from my hand.  The follow through swings me around but I quickly crane my neck to watch the disc fly.

Towards the tree shoots the yellow blur.  It looks like again I defied the odds and brace myself to hear the smack.  But this time the disc passes to the left of the tree less than 2 feet away.  It continues until it looses steam and then glides to the ground fading to the left as it follows the fairway.  Contacting the ground it kicks up some dirt skips along before coming to a rest on a bed of soft pine needles.

I pick up my bag and make my way down the side of the hill.  Approaching the disc I’m already planning my next shot.  The basket is obscured by trees but that isn’t a problem.  A nice gentile anhyzer should should place it into putting range.  I drop my bag to the ground and my hand reaches out.  I know my bag by heart and I can pull out the disc without even looking at it.