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Standing on the tee of a beautiful par 5, you pull out a driver and take a practice swing, then proceed to shank your shiny new golf ball into a large pond off the fairway. You spend a few minutes searching for it but soon give up, figuring it’s gone forever.
Or is it?
Not if Mike Hughes is on the job.
When Hughes goes to work, he dons an air tank, mask and diving suit. The water he swims in can be so murky he sometimes can’t see his hand in front of his face. He’s come across otter, been bumped by a bass protecting its nest and uncovered what he thought was a battery but turned about to be a plastic container bearing the name of a crematorium.
But in a good year, Hughes can put 20,000 miles on his truck, traveling to golf courses around the Northwest to dive for golf balls that he sells on the used-ball market.
Last year was Hughes’ best – he scooped 182,000 balls out of ponds, lakes and other bodies of water.
For the 56-year-old, diving for golf balls can be a money-making venture, but he considers it more of a hobby that keeps him in good physical shape.
“It’s a good workout,” Hughes says. “After a day of diving I sleep well at night. I was pretty stiff when I got up this morning.”
Hughes dives at 35 to 40 courses in the Northwest. Working alone, he straps a bag to his chest and uses both hands to shag the balls.
“I enjoy it,” he says. “It’s exciting. It’s like beachcombing.”
The job definitely has its hazards. Every dive is a gamble because he never knows if he’ll find balls in good enough shape to resell, and he can easily get tangled in grass and weeds or have a surprise encounter with a wild animal.
“Sometimes you don’t know what you are grabbing. I’ve grabbed turtles and fish. Big fish will follow you wherever you go. Grasses and aquatic weeds take over and sometimes you can’t swim through it. In some places tumbleweeds blow into the pond.”
Hughes sells the refurbishable balls to outfits that clean and resell them. At least one company buys well-worn balls, removes the covers and recycles them into new products, such as park benches. Hughes also sells to individuals and golf courses, sometimes in exchange for the rights to dive at a facility. The amount each ball fetches can fluctuate; some courses buy them back for 10 cents a ball, but the price dropped sharply, to 4 cents, when demand sagged after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.
The market for used golf balls spans the globe. Many used balls found on U.S. courses are exported.
Though new-ball manufacturers may cringe at seeing used balls sold at pro shops, Hughes points out that his business stretches the marketing dollar of companies and golf courses that market logo balls because their products are sent “around the world” when resold. And if balls were simply left in ponds and other bodies of water, they eventually would collect in such numbers that their displacement would change the shape of the water features in ways that course designers never intended.
Hughes has always been comfortable in and around water.
He grew up around the wetlands of New Jersey. A former Marine who learned how to snorkel in the service, Hughes was wounded in Vietnam when he stepped on a bamboo spike in his bare feet while doing underwater reconnaissance.
He also has a golf background, working for a time as a golf course superintendent in New Jersey.
Hughes began diving for golf balls five years ago. He got his start at the popular resort in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, well known for its “floating green” that can be adjusted to increase or decrease its yardage. Today, he works at courses in Washington, Idaho and Montana, and is marketing his services in Oregon.
Hughes says his business got off to a slow start this year because of cold temperatures. Each year he tries to build his clientele in what he describes as a competitive market, but challenges loom on the horizon for entrepreneurs such as Hughes.
He says a product has emerged that turns golf balls black after they have been submerged in water for two days. That effectively drops their value, and would cut into his business.
Nonetheless, Hughes, the father of three grown children, is upbeat about his work, doesn’t seem terribly worried about the future of the business and puts family ahead of his job.
“Everything is a gamble,” he says. “If you did this for the money you’d be a fool. Watch out when we have grandkids. My priorities will all change.”