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One good thing about a tight-knit group of friends is the fact that any one single person in the group can bring a new guy into the fold and it's a foregone conclusion that he'll be a good fit. After all, your good friends did choose you to hang out with, so you have to assume they have impeccable taste when it comes to making friends, right?

Unfortunately, it usually works in reverse when a friend of a friend of a friend becomes part of the mix. In other words, with each concentric ring that moves away from your center of friends, the more uncertainty you encounter. I'm not exactly sure why it shakes out that way, but it does.

Off the top of my head I can think of a perfect example. It was about 23 years ago when a guy, twice removed from our nucleus of friends, joined us for a weekend of trout fishing and camping in Elba, MN. Elba is a quaint little town nestled between the high bluffs of the Whitewater River Valley located in the southeastern corner of our state. It really is beautiful country down there.

Anyway, it was one of those friend of a friend of a friend deals and I don't think any of us, except the friend he came with, would be able to recall his real name. I think he attended Bemidji State but now I can't be sure. Doesn't matter. What I do remember is that he was quite emphatic that we call him by his self-imposed nickname, Remo. Yes, I'm referring to Remo, as in the 1985 movie, Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins. The critics panned the movie and it didn't do too well in theaters, but it did become something of a cult classic when issued on VHS and DVD. I don't want to gobble up valuable newspaper inches explaining the movie's plot and characters, but you might agree, particularly if you've seen the movie, that any guy that swaggers up to you and says, "Hey pal, call me Remo," might prove to be trouble. Well, he certainly didn't fail to deliver.

His adventure began when he decided to dump about a gallon of cheap domestic hops down his gullet and plow his crappy Cutlass Supreme into the back end of a 5,000-gallon stainless steel milk tanker parked on main street Elba. I don't care where you're from, that's never a good idea. In a sleepy little town like Elba, I have to believe the local sheriff and his band of deputies were positively giddy to get a call like that over the radio at one o'clock in the morning. I mean, Remo provided them with genuine, heavy-duty cop work. Needless to say, his adventure ended in the Winona County Jail and he was never seen or heard from again. Good riddance, we thought. Our goofy little ersatz Remo received some pretty bad reviews from his critics back at the campsite. In defense, our friend's friend - the guy we figured was most responsible for Remo's actions, besides Remo himself - could only shrug and say something lame like, "Jeez, I didn't know he was a drunken screw up. Who knew?"

I mention that story because our annual Whitewater River fishing group had a new guy, Craig, join us this past weekend. Unlike the oftentimes-dubious friend of a friend of a friend scenario, Craig is a first concentric ring friend. We knew before we even met him that we'd all get along just fine. It works out pretty slick that way because you get exposed to what I refer to as "insta-friends." This Craig fellow's a genuine trout angler; he's quick to laugh and has a wicked sense of humor. And best of all, he didn't run into town the first chance he got and lie on his back beneath a Hamm's spigot in Mauer Brothers Tavern.

Actually, he fit right into our group of middle-age boring guys that have long since kept our visits to Mauers on the brief side.

By the way, Mauers now operates a grill and serves outstanding burger baskets. For years and years the only choices Mauers offered were frozen pizzas and pickled pigs feet suspended in some weird liquid in big glass jars. Vinegar? Formaldehyde? When I first saw the bar owner fish out a few of those things for an old local buzzard, I was pretty sure I was going to die. Holy moley, the things have the hoofs on them and everything. Seriously though, if you do get down to Elba and find yourself in the historic Mauer Brothers Tavern, take some time and have a good look around. You'll see the state record turkey, record book bucks and countless other critters adorning the walls. There's even a huge stuffed rattlesnake and a story to go with it that's sure to keep you on high alert as you walk through the brush and sun-bleached rocks near the river.

So there you go. Some things to consider and think about. Remember to keep your friends close to the center and cast a wary eye on any shoestring "friends" that pop into fish camp. Oh, and be extra cautious of guys that come with their own handle. Speaking for our group, we don't need any more adventures in our fish camp, thank you very much.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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