BONAIRE -- The odds of an amateur golfer making a hole-in-one on a par-3 hole are 125,000 to 1.

Defying gravity, overcoming the elements and mastering the precision of knocking a 1.62-ounce golf ball into a 4.25-inch golf hole from 405 feet away is not an easy feat.

I imagine the odds go up considerably when the golfer happens to be an 86-year-old man who needs glasses to see, hearing aids to hear (when he can wear them) and a set of false teeth to bite into a cheeseburger after his round.

I’m sure they increase even more for a gentleman who returned to the game in 2005 after a 32-year layoff. And plays with 50-cent golf balls he bought at Kmart because they’re a lot less expensive to hook into the woods.

Those odds get steeper for someone who has had both his bladder and prostate removed because of cancer and wears an ostomy pouch attached to his abdomen to perform certain bodily functions.

Meet Cal Logan, a man who doesn’t feel the necessity to make a fashion statement on the golf course. There are no fancy golf britches in his wardrobe. He is just as content in a pair of his favorite coveralls, a comfortable blend of polyester and cotton out on the links.

Cal is a 21-handicapper who can shoot his age almost half the time he tees it up. He’ll be 87 in June, so his longevity is closing in on 15-over par.

He was born in 1924, the same summer Bobby Jones won his first of five U.S. Amateur titles. He is a self-professed “old goat” who last year played in a tournament called the Octogenarian Open (age 80 and over) in Atlantic Beach, Fla.

A week ago, he created a bit of a buzz when he became the oldest golfer to record a hole-in-one at Waterford Golf Club in Bonaire, which opened 20 years ago in 1991.

“I got so excited my feet just about went out from under me,’’ he said. “I couldn’t believe it. It took a while to soak in. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to everybody.’’

But it couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow.

“We were as happy for him as he was for himself,’’ said Jim Horer, who is president of the Waterford Men’s Golf Association and was playing in the same group last Wednesday afternoon with Cal, Keith Powell and Al Perry.

It was anything but a routine shot on a ho-hum hole. No. 17 at Waterford is arguably the most challenging par-3 on the course.

Cal had to knock those 432 white dimples from 135 yards across a lake onto a green fronted by two bunkers.

He didn’t see it drop into the hole from his vantage point on the senior tees. It was somewhat of a blind shot, not that his 86-year-old eyesight could stretch that far anyway. He just knew that it felt good when it left the end of his 6-iron, and physics did the rest.

Cal did catch a little grief about the low-compression ball he used, a brand stamped with a “Wicked Long” logo he purchased at a discount department store.

“I bought a pack of 18 because I figured I could hit ’em in the water for 50 cents apiece,’’ he said. “But I saw where they’re made in China, so I’m going to quit buying them.’’

Golf has been wonderful therapy for Cal since he lost his wife of 57 years, Bobbie Logan, in April 2004. A son died the following year.

Cal grew up dirt poor in southeast Mississippi during the Depression. He has had so many life experiences and hung his hat so many places a family member once told him that most folks would “have to live 500 years” to fit in everything he has done. He is in the process of recording his life story using a tape recorder.

He served in the Navy in the Pacific Theater during World War II and later enlisted in the Air Force. He took up golf while stationed in Albany and played for 14 years before his clubs started gathering rust in 1972.

He spent several years in Montana, where you can’t exactly play golf in February. He also was stationed in Saudi Arabia, where there are very few golf courses but one giant sand trap.

After a 32-year layoff, he started back and now plays “just about every day the sun is shining.’’ He hopes his story -- almost 30 years as a cancer survivor -- and his not-so-geriatric spirit might inspire others.

He had to wait 86 years to tell the world what it feels like to make a hole-in-one. Better late than never.

Reach Gris at 744-4275 or gris@macon.com.