Picking outdoors partner should come naturally

The majority of my fishing and hunting trips are made solo. That’s not because I’m a hermit.

To the contrary, some of the trips I take by myself are the result of my schedule not meshing well with those of my favorite companions.

Going it alone does have its somewhat selfish charms. The outdoors’ version of the Lone Ranger can go when and where he or she desires and then do whatever however he or she desires.

Sometimes best of all, turning off the alarm clock and going back to sleep is all it takes to cancel a planned trip.

There are times when having a partner close by would be worth its weight in cashews. The time, I was using a chain saw to cut out a shooting lane by myself.

An overhead limb fell and struck me on the top of the head. By a sheer act of will, I stayed conscious just long enough to throw the chain saw as far away as possible. I was more or less back to normal in a half hour, but I would have welcomed a partner’s help to get back to the truck.

Outdoor triumphs ring a trifle hollow when nobody’s there to witness them. I’m glad that Mike Jenkins was with me when I killed my biggest buck. I’m sure he feels the same way about me being there to share the excitement of his first buck.

Then there was the time when a college chum had the dubious pleasure of watching me kill a 12-dove limit with a dozen shots.

So how do find an outdoors partner? I’ve been blessed with a lifetime of wonderful outdoor partners.

In no case was our mutual compatibility based on either my or the partner’s individual outdoor skill level. The only commonality I can fathom is that all we had to do was, as Buck Owens sang, “act naturally.”

Jenkins, who has been mentioned in my writing many times since we met back in the mid-1990s, is a textbook example.

We met when Mike was playing the role of Tevya in a Liberty Center production of “Fiddler on the Roof,” and my daughter was playing the role of his eldest daughter.

We immediately discovered a mutual passion for orneriness, which we exercised by having me introduce (African American) Mike to people as my (blonde) daughter’s father.

By what was logical extension, we decided to try fishing and hunting together, despite the fact that Mike had done little fishing sincechildhood and had almost no experience hunting.

Extending that first invitation was among the smarter things I’ve ever done. Mike and I long ago left the mentor-student phase behind and are now a solid team.

Another of my all-time favorite outdoor partners is Joan Hunter, the female half of a couple with whom Amber and I are close friends.

Joan’s husband, Al, somehow avoided being bitten by the fishing bug, and  except for our week in Canada, Amber always seems to be too busy to go fishing.

That leaves just Joan and I to sacrifice our time and energy to put fresh fish on both the Hunter and Scott tables.

Some of our friends have expressed surprise that Al and Amber would allow Joan and I to go fishing unchaperoned, but, as Amber puts it, “If they’ve got fishing tackle with them, we know fishing is all they’ll be doing.”

I hope those two examples demonstrate that I define an outdoors partner as being someone I fish or hunt with as many days as possible throughout the year.

I can spend an occasional day on the water or in the field with about any friend or stranger, but these people are companions not partners.

I should point out that acting naturally together indoors is not a guarantee that two people will make good outdoors partners.

I know a number of people whose company I thoroughly enjoy where the concrete grows, but I’d be hesitant to invite them to join me outdoors.

A lack of safety is the only thing that will keep me from inviting someone to join me outdoors a second time.

That feeling stems from an incident while I was in college when our group invited another student to join us on a quail hunt.

He sent a load of shot past my head so close to my ear that the noise it made sounded just like the sound used in the movies to depict incoming artillery. I can still feel the blast of hot air on my cheek.

I once had a job where I got paid to risk being shot at. I’m not about to do it for free.