It was difficult leaving Narrogin, WA, for the last time, back in April. Maxine’s dad, Len Standley, had recently turned 88 and had been battling bone cancer for several years and we knew that it would be the last time we’d see him. Difficult though that was, Len insisted that we should hit the road and get on with our plans.
Len was an avid golfer and Life Member of the Narrogin Golf Club. Never one to miss a stray ball, he even fell out of his gofer one day retrieving a golf ball and had to be helped back in – but still he got the ball.
Wandering along a foreshore one day, we found a new golf ball and that set us thinking. We knew of the Nullarbor Links: 18 holes, par 72 and, at 1365km, heralded as the world’s longest golf course, stretching across the Nullarbor, where we were headed. The course spans numerous roadhouses from Kalgoorlie, WA, to Ceduna, SA, with greens and tee holes dotted along the journey.
Not having played for many years we were both essentially novices, but the idea grew, as we could report our progress back to Len.
Rob at Silver Lake
In Albany, we bought a wood and an iron in a second-hand shop, thinking that we’d only need a set of clubs that matched our skills. Realising a putter would also be handy, we headed for the Kokoda Op Shop in Jerramungup. Jill, a farmer’s wife and volunteer at the store, enquired: “Did I want left or right-handed?” I said that it didn’t really matter. It was a little worn, but two dollars later we had a fine bronze-headed putter that polished up well with some toothpaste.
A long drive lets the mind wander and, on the leg to Esperance, I thought a six-iron would be the ideal club for me. So on a wintry south coast day, it was into the Red Cross Op Shop in Esperance.
Maxine had seen a few op shops along the way and was happy to wait in the car. The assistant doubted they had any golf clubs – but a voice from behind the partition said “Yes, we have some upstairs” and scurried off on a mission, returning with a full set of clubs in a golf bag. I protested that
I only needed a six-iron, but she was insistent and really wanted to get rid of them. At just 15 dollars, my hand was forced.
We are conscious of weight and space limits in our motorhome, so imagine the ‘have you lost your senses?’ expression I got as I walked back out of the shop with a full set of clubs under my arm. Happily, the humour of the situation won the day.
Maxine drives a ball off the Eucla ruins in Len’s honour
A land of contrast
We hadn’t intended going via Kalgoorlie, but signing up for the ‘Nullarbor Links – Kalgoorlie to Ceduna’ meant a 400km diversion from Norseman. Having had a recent shoulder operation, Maxine thought better of compromising her recovery, so it was only me playing.
The first two holes are on the magnificent Kalgoorlie Golf Course, with pristine greens and fairways with a backdrop of red earth and kangaroos. With two holes in the bag, I had ‘CY O’Connor & Golden Mile’ stamped on my card.
In contrast, the Silver Lake hole in Kambalda was barelycleared bush, peppered with roo poo. It was here that we had our first meeting with players going the other way, from Ceduna to Kalgoorlie. It was a confidence boost, as their golf, with proper clubs and 15 holes of practice, was at a standard to which I felt I could aspire.
Facebook can be a wonderful thing; it had started a discussion with Len back in Narrogin. His partner Kaye was ever-vigilant, keeping up with our progress and reporting to Len the tale and photos of this monumental novice golfing attempt. Coaching was futile.
Over the next 10 days we conquered holes with titles such as Ngadju, Golden Horse, Sheep’s Back, Skylab, 90 Mile Straight, Eagles Nest, Brumby’s Run, Nullarbor Nymph and Oyster Beds. We faced myriad hazards, such as emus, kangaroos, ever-present crows, lizards, flood, wind, mud, rain, dust, heat, cold, blue skies and grey.
At Caiguna, we played ‘90 Mile Straight’ and also went to the airfield behind the roadhouse where we had refuelled a light plane while crossing the Nullarbor many years before, to see if the sign ‘Caiguna International’ hand painted on an old car bonnet was still there, but alas, no.
Expecting the Telegraph Station at Eucla to be consumed by sand dunes since our last visit, we were pleasantly surprised that the ruin was still visible and in good order, though sans its roof.
Back in Narrogin, Len was not travelling well and Maxine drove a golf ball off the ruin, towards the ocean and into the dunes: one for Len.
A stopover at Eucla Roadhouse
A sad passing
We drove on, but come dark we found ourselves out of phone range, so decided to push on in the hope of getting a few bars of reception. We arrived at the ‘Head of the Bight’ and settled in for the night but were awakened at 6am with the sad news that Len had passed away peacefully, but not before knowing we had christened the Telegraph Station ‘The Len Standley Tee’.
We had passed the Nullarbor Roadhouse in the dark but returned to play the Dingo’s Den hole as Len would have wanted. It’s an unusual hole, as the tee is 600m from the road and the hole is at the roadhouse. Usually along the course, the tee is closer to the roadhouse.
I walked towards the tee, playing practice shots to get there and by this time connecting reasonably well with the trusty six-iron, Maxine falling behind as her phone was running hot.
Somewhat unexpected flooding puts a different spin on things at Border Village.
Playing back towards Maxine, I figured the best thing was to aim for her, as there was no chance I could be that accurate. My second shot was quite good and rolled over a small dirt mound and out of sight, still well short of Maxine.
Getting to the mound there was no ball to be seen, but a large rabbit warren with the ball a club’s length down. It could have been worse, but obviously Len wasn’t yet in a position to help me. Anyhow, I retrieved the ball and another well-centred shot put it much nearer to Maxine.
There were crows about, we had heard the stories and this time I had their interest. A curious crow at first nosed my ball around, but then picked it up and a few moments later was airborne and dashed off 100m or so. My pleas of “Hey, let it go” (and worse), might have worked, as it landed, but took off again and this time flew out of sight!
That made me realise that Len had quickly gained influence ‘up there’ and was right on to it, taunting me – such was his humour.
Far and wide
We were then on a schedule to get to Adelaide and fly back to Perth, to lay Len to rest, but we did finish the course in Ceduna. Our assembled clubs were donated to the cause, to be sold with proceeds to the Royal Flying Doctor Service.
It was the best round of golf I’ve ever played, though at 127, there’s plenty of room for improvement!
If you’re not dashing across the Nullarbor, it’s a great activity and way of seeing the Nullarbor from a different perspective. We experienced mostly fine weather, but the wind at Mundrabilla was fierce and local flooding at Border Village was unexpected.
Fluoro-coloured golf balls are a must, as even the most proficient golfer will be in the scrub seeking their ball in probably the most diverse, white-speckled quartz terrain a golfer is ever likely to encounter.
The tribute to Len Standley didn’t end there. Len was a train driver in the days of steam, when Narrogin had been a thriving hub. He was a well-known identity in the community, known for his humour and he had a joke for every occasion – publishable and otherwise.
Two hundred ‘Len Standley’ golf balls were printed and distributed at his funeral from his old railway crib box and, thanks to his grandchildren, the ‘Len Standley Golf Balls’ Facebook page was started in his honour.
Len also left instructions that he be buried with his trusty left-handed four-iron – “The best club to get you out of the poo!”
Maxine at the ‘Nullarbor Nymph’.
So far, his golf balls have been photographed in New York, Canada, South Africa, Europe, as far away as Iceland, and across Australia in many railway museums and golf settings. Recently he made it to Base Camp, Mt Everest. Look it up – we plan to have posted Mt Kosciuszko by then, too.
