I had made the arrangements to play a month ago with two busy people. Since both of them are good golfers, I felt I could learn something if I hacked my way around 18 holes with them. What I learned is that the more I play golf, the dumber I am, especially when I play in the rain.

My friends had assured me that the course is never crowded on Tuesday. It turned out that we were the only three people in the world who were foolish enough to wade around this particular golf course.

On the first hole I had walked to my ball in the center of a very large puddle. The saturated, clay, topsoil had the tenacity of a five-foot octopus and it sucked my right shoe off!

We laughed at how hard it was to try and hit a golf ball that was half under water. Winter rules notwithstanding, all of us often had to move the ball as much as a hundred feet to get to a spot dry enough to hit the ball.

And, oh, I forgot to mention that before I left the clubhouse, I was nailed for the price of a pair of waterproof pants and a waterproof windbreaker. (What I really should have bought was a facemask, a snorkel, and a pair of swim fins.)

When the club pro loaned me his waterproof hat and his waterproof glove, I realized that he knew something which I didn’t. The hat worked the best because when I stood over the ball, the rain would really pour off of the brim. All I had to do was to figure out where to line up the flowing water in relation to the ball. Maybe Golf Magazine could offer a tip of the month about lining up your hat-brim-rain-drippings with the ball.

Most of the sand traps were two-thirds full of water so we played winter rules and took a drop on the sandy edge of the miniature lakes. When we sloshed into the lunch-stand at the turn of the course to thaw out, I bought my own pair of Northwestern golf galoshes. Northwestern golf galoshes are fourteen inch high rubber boots with golf spikes on the bottom.

Bob, Dan, and I were laughing so much at the silliness of our first nine holes that we decided to keep right on playing. However, after sloshing around in the pouring another hour, we headed to the clubhouse restaurant. It was closed for the day due to lack of customers.

Well, on a positive note, we did get to play on our own private golf course that day, and the green fee was only $18.00 a person. But for me, it was $18.00 plus my cost of a waterproof windbreaker, a pair of waterproof pants, and a pair of galoshes with golf spikes. It was a learning experience.

Editor’s Note: This is one in a Tahoetopia series written by Warren Miller, legendary ski cinematographer. For other columns by Warren, click on Warren Miller.