It was when I watched my drive fly barely 100 yards and splash into the water that I, not for the first time, wondered why I ever bothered to pick up a golf club.

Then, when I watched my playing partner Jim punch his drive not just over the water but safely in position to approach the distant green, the answer came to me: Even if I can’t play this difficult game well, I can still enjoy the good fortune of my friends – even if, sometimes, I do so through gritted teeth.

Of course, I always enjoy spending sunny September afternoons with Jim and my wife, Mary Pat, as we did just last week while playing a full 18 holes at the Chewelah Golf & Country Club.

The three of us do play – if that’s the right word – regularly. It’s hard for any of us to string two good shots together, much less hope for pars or even bogeys. But we don’t let that weakness in our game bother us.

Golf, for us anyway, is less about competition than it is about fellowship. And getting outside. And doing something that gives us at least a minimum amount of exercise – even if, at this age, we lean toward playing 9 holes and ride in carts.

And if, on occasion, we do play well, then so much the better.

We typically confine our golf outings to Indian Canyon Golf Course. Designed in 1930 by H. Chandler Egan, Indian Canyon may not be the hardest course in Spokane, but it is one of the most beautiful. And it does have at least a couple of challenging holes, even for those with actual skills.

Then, too, this part of the Inland Northwest boasts a number of good courses. If we don’t play Indian Canyon, we sometimes head for one of the other Spokane city courses: Downriver, Qualchan or Esmerelda.

Over the years, too, I’ve played – or, rather, struggled to play – Spokane County courses, too: Liberty Lake, MeadowWood and Latah Creek (formerly Hangman Valley). And the same holds true for several courses in Idaho: Coeur d’Alene Golf Club, The Highlands and Links Golf Club in Post Falls, and the majestic Circling Raven Golf Club (which is located near Worley and is operated by the Coeur d’Alene Tribe).

(I’ve never played the course at the Coeur d’Alene Resort for a number of reasons. Looks nice but it’s more than a bit out of my league … especially since you’re forced to be accompanied by a caddie. Who needs an added witness to humiliation?)

In recent years, Mary Pat and I have braved a few out-of-state courses, too. On a road trip through Alaska several years ago, we played Fairbanks’ North Star Golf Club (now the Midnight Sun Golf Course), which advertises itself as the northernmost golf course in the U.S. We finished up, by the way, at 11 p.m.

(That’s hardly the most foreign outing that Mary Pat has made. Once, during a teaching assignment in Qatar, she took lessons at a golf course in Doha. Because it was too hot during the day, she hit balls at night … under lights.)

Our out-of-state golf outings typically take us either to Hawaii or Palm Springs, Calif. In Palm Springs, we’ve tried out a few of the 130 or so of the area’s courses, many made famous by a legion of celebrities such as Bob Hope, Big Crosby and Dean Martin. We played Indian Canyons because, well, of its name. Tee times were easy to arrange at both the Mesquite Golf & Country Club (now closed) and Desert Dunes Golf Club, the latter being far harder than we expected – especially with the 30-mph gale winds that hit us.

In Hawaii, we’ve played on two different islands. On the Big Island, we played at the Kona Country Club, where the ocean views made even triple-bogeys bearable. But we had an even better time playing the Makalei Golf Club, which sits in the heights above Kailua-Kona (and at which you better bring extra balls. Just saying.)

But our favorite experience was on Molokai, at the 9-hole Ironwood Hills Golf Course. We hadn’t taken our clubs that time, but no worries. We were able to rent some equipment, which though well-worn made no real difference in our games. I had thought ahead enough to bring our own balls and tees.

OK, when we played a few years ago the holes were mismarked, forcing us to ride around (yes, in a cart), looking for Hole No. 3 until we realized that it didn’t exist – at least on the day we played it didn’t (turns out there were two holes No. 4). And the greens looked as if they’d been infested by tansy ragwort. Either that or they’d last seen water in the 20th century. Or perhaps both.

Anyway, it hardly mattered. Mary Pat managed to drop what must have been a 50-foot putt. And that made both our days.

Which is where this blog post began. Cheering for my playing partners is the best way I’ve found to wave off my many golfing disappointments.

As the late Payne Stewart is supposed to have said, “A bad attitude is worse than a bad swing.”

I’ve had my share of both.