His cheeky wit.
One week before I was meeting Bob and Theresa in California for a paddling road trip, I stepped off an uneven curb and heard a pop. Sprained ankle. Determined to go I made it to a clinic, got what supplies and support I could, and headed south a few days later. I met Bob and Theresa at the river, and stepped out of the car to hear Bob’s rolling chuckle as he pointed and exclaimed, “Well, it looks like you got a cane before I did!” No sympathy. But he did help me stow the cane in my kayak, which I needed to bring for the scouts.
His patient teaching.
In my first summer raft guiding for Bob I had ripped 3 rafts in a few weeks. On the same corner. Paralyzed in shame I thought I just wasn’t cut out for the job. After helping to camperize Bob’s bus on a slow river day, he quietly grabbed a sheet of plywood and started to draw. “You don’t learn this way, do you? Being thrown down the river?”. I replied “Not really, no. I don’t understand the angles and what to call on that corner.” We drew the entire river, every corner and every rock. We talked about angles, calls, ferries, and eddies. Two hours later I joined him and Theresa for dinner, and the work day turned into a long visit as they often did. That was the end of my raft ripping. Bob was a teacher in his heart. He had this ability to watch people and read them – to figure out what they needed in order to learn and what he could do for them as a teacher. And he made the time to do the teaching, and invite you in after for a beer or for dinner. He made us all feel important and part of a deep community with roots spanning decades and generations of guides.
His consistent encouragement.
In my sixth summer of raft guiding, I moved to BC for a new river and a new company. A month in, I was having one of those weeks where the river kicks your ass, and my spirits were low. Just then Bob reached out to ask how things were going. I told him it wasn’t a great week. I was feeling the added pressure of being the only woman at the company, a dynamic I wasn’t used to, and was really missing home. In response, Bob sent me a picture of himself in the middle of the Tat, with his raft wrapped around a rock. “Last week I wrapped my raft. I thought it would be fun, but it took us an hour to unpin the boat. People were not happy. I’ve been rafting for 40 years, I own the company, and I still feel that pressure. You will always feel like you have to prove yourself. That feeling will never go away. Be happy with yourself. And have fun on the river.” Even if Bob experienced the same moments of doubt that we all can fall into, he managed to transform this into self-assured action. He saw the way he intended to live his life, and he stuck to it fiercely.
