Stalking the Yeti

I first saw the work of Ansel Adams when I was 12, and I’m still drawing inspiration from it. As I began my career, applying his sensibilities to the landscapes of golf photography was a natural fit—so much so that in the early 2000s I began pitching my editors at Golf Digest about an Adams-style photo series featuring black-and-white images with sweeping, snowcapped mountains. It took two years, but I finally got the green light.

My first in the series was the Canadian Rockies, followed by the Swiss and French Alps. In 2009, the Himalayas seemed like an obvious choice for the third installment. The mountains were jaw-dropping, and, as a lifelong Bob Seger fan, Kathmandu was a place I’d always wanted to visit. But finding a golf course proved to be elusive—all of my online and book searches came up empty. Then my friend and coworker John Barton mentioned seeing a sign for a course near Pokhara, in central Nepal, while trekking in the area. I’ll never forget him saying the course “should” have mountains visible. Upon further research with the help of golf course architect Ron Fream, I found two courses—Himalayan Golf Course and the Yeti’s Course at Fulbari Resort & Spa—near Pokhara that hopefully would have the recognizable peak of Annapurna within sight.

Somehow, my editors were willing to take a chance that at least one of the courses would have a good view of the mountains. But just to hedge our bets, we decided to include the region in China that’s at the southernmost part of the same mountain range. I knew of a great course that was very close to Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in Lijiang, China, and hoped that between the two countries I could find enough good photos. I contacted my old college friend Pat Lim, who lived in China, to assist and translate for me. We had a team and a plan.

The first stop was Nepal, and we planned to stay less than a week, as the two courses were close to each other. We timed our visit to coincide with what was considered the nicest time of year, weather wise, to guarantee clear skies. But Mother Nature had other ideas. We ended up waiting three weeks for the mountains to even be visible. There was also political unrest along the borders, which limited fuel deliveries. Electrical blackouts became common, and internet access was spotty at the very best.

A few days into our visit, a wise local told us, “If you don’t see the mountains at sunrise, you won’t see them all day.” The trip turned into my version of the movie Groundhog Day: Wake up before dawn, go to the course, wait for sunrise, don’t see any mountains, then kill the day wandering around Pokhara. Mike’s, an expat-run diner, became our de facto headquarters. By the end of the first week, the staff didn’t even bother to take our order when we trudged in; they would just smile and start cooking the same meal. We became quite familiar with yak meat. It was a strange feeling to be so frustrated every day on what should have been the trip of a lifetime. The fear was that the “cloudy season” had arrived early, in which case the mountains wouldn’t be visible for months. But it was a different time in the magazine industry, and I was given the budget and option to wait it out. Still, I began to consider pulling the plug on Nepal and hustling to China.

Then, one breathtaking morning, the sun emerged. We worked as fast as we could to capture images from both courses in one day. Our good fortune continued in China, as we arrived to a pair of perfect weather days.

On the flight home, I finally exhaled. Over more than 35 years at Golf Digest, my career has taken me to Rwanda with Betsy King, Thailand with Tida Woods, Russia on a fishing trip with Jack Nicklaus and his sons. But as far as adventures go, I still think there was nothing quite like the Himalayas. •