Moments before plopping into my chair and penning this piece, I read and then reread Bob Robb’s Backcountry column, “A Hard Conversation,” in the November/December 2018 issue. Then I flipped through an old photo album that contained images of a Texas turkey trip Bob and I shared. I hadn’t written a single word and I was already a mess.
I rose from the computer, closed the photo album and went to grab my third cup of morning caffeine. Entering the kitchen, I glanced at the fridge and there it was, a photo of Bob with his arm around me at a year’s past trade show. Tears welled in the bottom of my eyes and when I blinked, droplets of salt leaked down my face.
No, Bob didn’t die, but this issue was his last as a full-time member of our staff. For me, that’s a huge blow. You see, Bob Robb wasn’t just my longtime boss — someone who shot me a few reminder emails each week and dialed me up when I’d done something wrong. He was so much more than that. Bob Robb was an incredible leader and day-to-day mentor. Day or night, I could call Bob with any problem I was having, hit him up for advice and end the conversation feeling instantly better. The cool thing is it wasn’t just work advice. Mostly, in fact, it was life advice.
Did he, in his own words “tune me up” from time to time? He sure as heck did. However, it was never in a demeaning or negative way. Bob would break me down and then build me right back up. I remember many a phone call that, halfway through, I was ready to throw in the white towel. By the end, however, I would start feeling more like Superman ready to go out and kill Lex Luthor. Man, I loved him for that.
On more than one occasion, Bob visited my family and me at our home in La Junta, Colorado, and what a treat those times were for the Bauserman clan. Bob would take us out to dinner, laugh with the kids, and my oldest boy, Hunter, well, he would get Bob’s wisdom on how to be a champion on and off the football field.
Most of those trips were very work related — bows needed to be tested, broadheads needed to be fired and future issues needed to be planned — but somehow, someway, Bob always made the trip something more. It was a joy and an honor just to spend that time with him.
November, for both of us, was always a hectic month. Whitetails needed to be hunted across the country, but looming deadlines simply didn’t go away. We would chat for hours at a time — he would be traveling to Canada and I’d be burning up the blacktop to Kansas. Our conversations were mostly about northwest winds, effective rut tactics and the like, but, of course, work had to be discussed. Most of the time, those conversations would end like this:
“Young man, stay focused and poised. This time of year is what we live for baby. We gotta be out beatin’ the bushes. I know you have plenty on your plate, so why don’t you, when you get to camp, pass along to me what’s most overwhelming and I will handle it. You need to kill a big deer.”
That’s right, Bob always, especially when it came to hunting, put my hunts and my needs before his own. Maybe that’s because he’s killed more Pope & Young whitetails than I will likely ever see. Maybe it’s because he’s killed brown bears in Alaska, Cape buffalo in Africa and monster bull elk in Arizona. But I don’t think that’s all; I think Bob’s heart is bigger than the moon, and this legendary man and legendary outdoorsman knows, as Emilio Estevez so eloquently put it in the box office hit Young Guns, the true definition of the word “pals.”
Some reading this may say, “Dang, dude, he didn’t die. You can still talk to him, seek his counsel and do things with him.” I would say you’re probably right, and I will. However, Bob and his wife, Cheryl, are taking well-deserved vacations and he is spending a lot of time on the golf course. It just won’t be the same without him being one call away, and I just wanted to take a moment and let him and all of you know how much Bob Robb means to me. I love you my friend!
