Wasteland Disc Golf

Where discs go to die

In the Wasteland, nothing flies straight. Especially not a disc. You throw with passion, aiming for the perfect curve – and then, a branch you didn't even see decides your disc is better off ending up in the forest floor than a core sample.

The trees? Personalities. Every single one. The thick beech tree on hole 3 is called "Helga" because it's always in the way. The twisted pine tree on hole 7—"the liar"—looks like there's a line there. There isn't.

Anyone who plays on this course learns two things: 1. Trust is for cleaner fish. 2. Undergrowth is a graveyard of discs with poor reception.

All you hear is: “She should be around here somewhere...” And then the rustle of hope caught in blackberries.

In the Wasteland, you don't throw, you pray. And sometimes, very rarely, a disc finds its target. Then you pause, breathe—and throw the next one into the void.