The Up and Downs of a Life in the Sky: 2023 - A Year That Was Better Than Most
Alex Frolish has been a pilot for approaching 20 years and now travels to all corners of the globe in his role as a commercial airline pilot. His passion for flight is only equalled by his passion for golf and golf travel. Having picked up a golf club over 36 years ago when aged just 3 years old, Alex has played over 630 courses across every continent on planet earth furnished with a fairway. Over the next few months you’ll be able to follow Alex’s golfing travels as he brings you anecdotes of his life both in the air and on the course.
Well, quite where to start? I’ve pondered how to round up my golfing travels in 2023 and to be quite honest, I could fill 1000 pages. A year in which I flew a little over 300,000 air miles, played golf across 82 different golf courses on six continents (11 of which were major championship hosting venues), and suffered a pretty serious blood clot in my leg, leaves you with a myriad of places to begin a summary.
To list all the highlights, whether related to my travel or my golfing endeavours would be unwieldy and tiresome for both you and I. As the years pass, the more I have become attuned to what golf is really about. It isn’t about your trackman numbers, how you hit it on the range or what the scorecard says at the end of your round. It is about the people and the experiences. It is about the feeling of being transported to a breathtaking landscape, at one with the elements in a far off land and sharing an experience with somebody that you may never meet again, but will likely never forget.
I wanted to elevate six memories from my year for special mention in this blog. You’ll notice that those memories are as much about the people as they are about the golf course we played that day, or how our games fared. All the names have been changed to retain the anonymity of those involved, and to stop the inevitable deluge of requests and detective work as to who might help you access the courses mentioned.
Photo credit: Machrihanish Golf Club
Billy knows the crumpled fairways of the golf course at Machrihanish Golf Club and the history woven into their very fabric better than most. He had suffered some health setbacks in recent times, but his golf game was slowly returning after his leave of absence, and I could feel a sense of thankfulness within him for being able to walk his favoured links once again. Taking that walk with him on a baking June afternoon was an immersive experience, that proved to me beyond any doubt, that playing golf with somebody who knows their golf course so intimately is infinitely better than playing it for the first time on your own. His history lesson as we climbed the towering dunes and looked over these hallowed seaside grounds left me feverishly scribbling in my notebook, keen not to miss these tremendous titbits he was sharing. The golf course was spectacular, but it was Billy’s company, knowledge and love of his treasured course that made this visit so special.
Los Angeles Country Club is a mysterious place. For so long, it has been a club encircled by celebrity but shrouded in secrecy, the antithesis of everything else in Beverly Hills. Jimmy’s family had been associated with LACC for much of the club’s history, and over those many generations, none of his family had seen the club hold a major championship. There was a simple reason for that; LACC had never hosted a major championship. All that was about to change however as the curtain would soon be lifted on LACC to reveal the North course as a US Open venue, something that would have been unthinkable a generation or two ago. I instantly liked our host Jimmy. His classy exuberance and charm instantly blew away any pre-round nerves, and as we wandered aside each other down the 1st fairway, I knew this wouldn’t be the last round we would play together. Fast forward four months and we had swapped the stardust encircled grounds of LACC for the heather lined valleys of Hindhead in England. Different continent, same infectious enthusiasm for the game and a friendship that I’m sure will last a lifetime.
Photo credit: Patrick Koenig
It was in Pennsylvania on a muggy July afternoon that I ‘took a walk’ with one of my dearest friends that I have met since I started travelling and playing golf. Robin and I first connected over social media, and when the stars aligned and I was in his home town with work, I was glad of the opportunity to play a game together. We may be from cities separated by 3000 miles and an ocean, but I instantly got the vibe that if we lived in the same town, Robin would be my partner in crime. Since that first game, we’ve played a number of times when our schedules have allowed and the temperamental east coast weather has been kind enough. This particular afternoon was a special mission however, a shared pilgrimage to pay homage to one of finest golf courses (and clubs) in the world. As we stared down the 1st fairway at Oakmont, shoulder to shoulder, Robin uttered the most appropriate phrase ‘let’s take a walk my friend’. It felt like the times we shared together that day would be etched in both of our brains for a lifetime, and the walk was more important than the golf.
The weather forecast for our press trip to the northern coast of Ireland was decidedly mixed, and as we pulled into the car park at Ballyliffin, it became clear we would be needing the full arsenal of waterproof garments we had packed. Our merry band of eight headed off into the mizzle and driving wind feeling rather joyous while at the same time, bordering on lunacy. As we reached the turn, the weather ground its way through our waterproofs and our band of eight became a team of two. My compatriot Robert, wavered briefly before heading in to change his waterproofs and re-emerging armed only with a 6 iron. That back nine was so much fun, embracing the challenge and doing so in good spirits, despite the deluge. 52 minutes for nine holes sounds like we must have run around, but that wasn’t the case; we just kept our ball heading forwards. Robert’s score of +6 armed with one club in a howling storm was remarkable, but more so was the sheer joy on our faces as we bounced off of the 18th green, sodden like two over boiled vegetables, but as happy as two pigs in muck.
Photo credit: Jacob Sjöman
New South Wales in Sydney is the furthest golf course from my home in the U.K. that I have ever played. That opportunity arose through an acquaintance connecting me with his friend down under on the understanding that if I was ever in town, he’d be happy to show me this Mackenzie masterpiece he called home. I have found so many people have generosity that knows no bounds, and Sam was one of those guys. Knowing that I was flying in to Sydney early that morning, he arranged to come and collect me from the airport at 6.30am (I could have easily got a taxi), and chauffeured me to the club where everything was in place so that we could tee off a little over 2 hours later, feeling fully ready to embrace the challenge this devilish coastal course was certain offer. Sam did however miss one key bit of information out in all of our correspondence; it was Saturday and that meant we were playing in the club’s monthly medal competition from the white tees. How my jet lag was going to mix with that scenario was an unpredictable thing, but Sam just laughed at my nervous protestations and off we went to the tee. It turns out that jet lag is great at calming the nerves, which sparked an early series of birdies and solid shots, but annoyingly it also starts to numb the senses as the round progresses. My stellar front nine was followed by an abject attempt at playing the rearward half, but Sam’s positivity never wavered and his company that day made a world class experience all the better.
Finally, a treasured moment came closer to home at my beloved Cleeve Hill Golf Club, on the most magical of summers evenings. My eldest daughter Flo has always show an interest in golf. She’s only 7 and I’ve never pushed it upon her, but she often asks about the game and whether we can go and play, so we finally went out and got her a set of clubs. We never talk about how to play (in a technique sense), just how fun it is to play, and we try to bring that feeling to every contact we have with the course. On this particular evening, as the sun set over the 18th fairway and I watched as she methodically drove her bag of brightly coloured castoffs to and fro across the practice green, I smiled recalling that feeling of being a young junior and not wanting the light to fade, or the evening to end. That feeling I know will be familiar to so many of you out there. I was awash with a sense of pride mixed with a deep gratitude for being able to share this moment with my daughter, in one of the most special places in golf to me.
To those of you that I have been fortunate enough to walk the fairways with this year, thank you for your comradeship. For those of you that I’ve yet to meet, I hope to see you out on the links one of these days. 2023, thank you for the memories, you were indeed a year that was better than most. To all of you out there, I hope your 2024 golf plans are under construction, and until next time, I wish you many favourable bounces, finely struck shots and days on the course that are better than most.