In December, your map plays it back.
Ball Mark is a golf passport drawn on a real map. Every round presses a numbered seal onto the place you played it. And at the end of the year, the whole map becomes one continuous flight.
Play. Stamp. Watch the map become yours.
It starts with a few honest lines.
Course, date, who you played with, one photo. Then the memory, written while the day is still warm. It locks five minutes after saving, like ink drying. There is no edit button, and that is the point.
Locks five minutes after saving
Every course gets its seal.
The № is chronological: your fifth course is № 05 forever. The crown carries the name, the keel the country, and the little glyph reads the ground, links, desert, alpine. File an old round later and the app says so out loud: later stamps moved up. Honesty beats tidy numbers.
Tiers are editorial · Never sold
Your presence draws the map.
Played courses are painted in from their real fairways, bunkers and greens, inked with a hand's wobble. Three stamps in a state and it shades in. Everything else stays politely empty, waiting.
Real ground · Drawn only where you have been
Then December arrives.
Every round you logged becomes one continuous flight. Each arrival dwells for two seconds with its card, the camera chases the duck across the crossings, and the tip of the line is always Waddles. Saved to your camera roll, sized for the group chat that needs to see it.
One take · Your whole yearThis is Waddles. He makes the trips.
A duck, mostly. Drawn by a friend of the studio, employed as your caddie. He stands at your newest stamp and holds the flag. And when you log a course far from home, he does not teleport. He travels.
Clubs out the top, no hurry. Neighboring courses are a walk.
A duck who cannot swim without a duck floatie. We asked. No comment.
Aviator cap with horn holes. In autumn, geese fly the long legs with him.
He dresses for where you have been.
Outfits follow the place and the season. You do not get a say.
Kept, not posted.
Tap any seal and the course page opens: the stamp, the photos, and every round you have filed there. It is a drawer, not a feed.
One photo per round, so make it count. Pro keeps four.
Every round lines up with its date and score, and the weather writes itself in. A 14 mph wind gets remembered.
Those honest lines come back exactly as you left them. Locked, slightly embarrassing, yours.
№ 11 means eleventh course of your life. Nobody can buy a lower number.
Nothing on this map is decoration. Everything is evidence.
The map starts empty and stays honest. Its furniture has to be earned, and most people will never see all of it.
Three seaside stamps on one coast raise a tower offshore, beams and all.
Cross hemispheres and the dashed line appears, with a sun that remembers the date.
Stamp a round on your birthday and a single candle stands on the № chop.
The hundredth course prints in gold ink, whatever its tier.
Ten rounds at one course wear its seal to a shine, the ring a thumb has rubbed.
Season openers, 36 hole days, geese that join autumn flights, and a duck who falls asleep if you stop playing for a month.
There are sea monsters drawn for the deep water. They have not passed review yet. The duck has standards.
30 DAYS WITHOUT A ROUND · HE WAITS
Available on iOS. Free to start.
Free is the whole passport: unlimited stamps, one photo a round. Pro keeps four photos. TestFlight beta soon.