Lest we forget. And it would be easy to do so since the Fire & Fury GC in Leh wasn?t written about, didn?t feature on golf tour itineraries and was played (and maintained) mostly by military and air force personnel posted in this cold-desert frontier. And yet, stretching over 7,031 yards from the tips, this obscure unheralded golf course had a superlative claim to fame: at 11,302 ft above sea level, it was, literally, heads and shoulders above any other layout in the world.
That was before the calamitous flash floods hit Leh in 2010 and destroyed numerous settlements in the proximity of the course, including the Tibetan settlement of Choglamsar. The massive relief efforts by the military that followed faced a major challenge: setting up temporary encampments for survivors and people displaced by the catastrophe. And the level
fairways of Fire & Fury GC were perfect for the purpose. And so it came to pass that 43 years after coming into existence, the course became unplayable.
Today, pre-fabricated structures and housing units have come up on the putting surfaces and the only remnant of the erstwhile course is the clubhouse, which the army has let stand for posterity?s sake.
I first played here in 2008. For the highest GC in the world, it conjures up visions of precipitous slopes and undulating fairways, but the Fire & Fury GC was surprisingly expansive and level. The 18 holes were spread in a vast basin area on the edge of Leh town. The best view was from the airplane on the steep descent into Leh valley: it appeared as a faintly barricaded brown landscape punctuated by dark brown spots with the Stok Kangri Mountain looming in the distance. You would have missed it unless you were looking for it. One thing is for certain: the Leh Golf Course was not pretty; no creeks or willows. But it was singular. High-speed winds routinely lashed the basin in which the course had been built, the fairways wee barren, which meant your caddy had to lug a piece of Astroturf. The golfers I saw were using a regular foot mat: pop the ball on the high tuft at the corner and sweep away. That really is the best part of playing on brown courses; lie is just pulled out of the equation and you can heave away with your favourite club. The browns were kept soft with used engine oil; there was no slope, though, once you got a measure of the speed, putting was pretty much sorted out.
The board and plaque that stood in front of the clubhouse proclaimed that the course was established in 1967 as the Trishul Golf Course (later rechristened Fire & Fury by the military). There were no trees or any hazards besides the odd bunker. The entire exercise of getting the ball to stop was challenge enough. The army had planted hundreds of poplar saplings. Most would not make it through the harsh winter months, but the few that did have added the much needed foliage.
The clubhouse had a snap of golfers trudging through deep snow. Brave men, these soldiers: with temperatures dipping to -30 degrees Celsius in winters, it seemed nothing short of an extreme sport.
I recall playing with borrowed blades and taking a slow, low wide backswing (smooth and easy, just like the coach said), loading up nicely at the top before losing it on the way down, the club crisscrossing the swing path a few times before clipping the ball on its way forward to a wobbly finish. In spite of my best efforts to look elegant, my audience had not been the least bit convinced that I was a golfer of any merit. But you wouldn?t have thought that if you saw the ball go. It rose, albeit a bit late, straight down tiger line before flying an easy 180 yards into the distance. The air is thin in Leh and that is most apparent when you gauge the added yardage to your clubs. It also negates sidespin, which meant you could pretty much hit it straight most of the time. The check ball didn?t exist here, you had to make sure you flopped it high, so it landed softly on the heavily-oiled browns. This was an optimist?s course.
The Fire & Fury GC wasn?t open to civilians. It was maintained by the Indian army and the large contingent of officers were the only patrons, but if you worked for the government or could pull some strings in the army, you could have got a game. It did add to the allure a bit: Leh, in any case, to the unaccustomed eye is surreal. Its sheer cinemascope and frame make it unique, something which is precipitated by the inability to draw parallels with any other place you may have been to in the past. The course was exotic and melded in with the almost lunar topography. While it is pretty certain that this course never got golf tourists, there was a certain posterity value to playing at the highest golf course in the world. Not to mention the once-in-a-lifetime pleasure of pasting a driver 400 yards.
Still, there?s hope for golf in Leh: J&K Tourism is planning a ?green? course and work has reportedly started. And if the golf courses the tourism authority has opened in other parts of the state?the Lidder Valley GC (Pahalgam) and Sidhra GC (Jammu)?come to mind, then this course in Leh is certain to be a worthy successor. But for sheer ruggedness, the Fire & Fury GC was one of a kind and belies comparison.
A golfer, Meraj Shah also writes about the game
