A Southern Gentleman

BOB GOOCH

By CHRIS McCOTTER
Readers of this column will want to mark March 9, 2006, as the day a man named Robert Miletus Gooch passed from this world of physical limitations to one of untold reward and renewal. At the age of 86, Bob, albeit stubbornly, put up his hunting boots for the final time. The most senior of Virginia's outdoor writers and certainly the most prolific now exists as a memory to those of us that knew him.

And what a magnificent memory Bob is to so many of us. If you have read Virginia Afield for the 30-plus years Bob penned it, you have been on countless fishing and hunting trips with the man. Perhaps you have never met him, however through the combination of 26 simple letters arranged into an infinite number of words, you came to know Mr. Gooch and his love for exploring the outdoors. I hope you did, because this true son and gentleman of Virginia, was a great one.

At his funeral at Beaver Dam Baptist Church near his home in Troy (Fluvanna County) there were so many folks Bob had touched it was standing room only. Even the balcony was full. Readers of his column, magazine articles and books, members of the congregation he worshipped with, a Marine detail, fellow outdoor writers that either had Bob as a mentor or inspiration were all present to honor a man I don't believe we'll see the likes of again.

I have known my mentor since 1993. It was my first year of guiding on Lake Anna, and I was working part time at a county newspaper. I had read Bob's work and learned he lived nearby. I really wanted to meet him. I understood how critical it was to have outdoor writers help to market guides, and I also knew that if we had a bad day, Bob would have very little to write about.

On a sultry late July day, I arranged to take Bob bass fishing on Lake Anna with much anticipation. I didn't have to wait long to realize it was a good match. Bob hooked and landed a largemouth nearly eight pounds as we fished a brushpile some 22' below the surface. I still remember he wore a red flats hat and a blue collared shirt with jeans on that hot day. Bob was 74 then and he was still full of pep and inquisitiveness. He told me this was the largest bass he had ever caught. He also told many people of his experience through his writings, and I was quickly on my way as a reputable guide.

From that day on, Bob and I had many adventures. From fly-fishing for bluegills and shellcrackers on Anna (his favorite fishing pastime) to dove, quail and pheasant hunts, I had the great pleasure along the way of observing a man that set a fine example in all he did.

He didn't cut a wide swath like some larger than life figures. No, Bob was a quiet leader. Dignity, faithfulness and honor are words that come to mind when I try to sum up his personality.

What struck me most about Bob was his ability to be so kind to others that might be seen by some as competitors. Was he just a well-bred Virginia gentleman? Or did his years as a Marine, businessman or adventurer give him enough experience and wisdom to know how to act in said situations. I think it was a combination of both that lead to a true state of grace for Bob.

It is rare you find someone with this quality. It is rarer still to attain it yourself. I'm still trying. Whenever I have a sticky situation I ask myself, "What would Bob Gooch do?"

I was fortunate to have been able to visit with Bob recently. It was at Martha Jefferson in Charlottesville one evening a couple of weeks ago. I was on the way back from a show in Fishersville and felt it was time. I knocked on the door of his sixth floor room heard him say, "Come in."

I forced my feet to continue forward and there was my mentor, in a hospital bed, on oxygen with the regulation gown. Even with these physical fetters, I soon realized Bob's mind was fine, though his heart was tired, and my trepidations quickly turned, as always, to attentive fascination.

We chatted about Bob's grandchildren (exemplary to say the least), about fishing and about then Bob's condition. As the oxygen hissed quietly, ever the optimist, Bob told me he was fine, even as he struggled to catch his breath. I never heard the man utter a self-pitying word in the 13 years I knew him.

During our times together, I asked a lot of questions and did a lot of listening to his responses. One time on the way home from a fishing trip, I asked what he thought the secret to happiness in life was. To me, he embodied that goal. Was it that money gave security and therefore happiness? Did your relationship with a life partner (Bob is survived by his wife, Virginia of 62 years) make the difference? Or was it something else he had learned over the years?

He was sitting next to me in his white Toyota pickup truck as I drove and he remained silent, I guess, from the weight of the question. His response came in carefully measured sentences.

"Well, I can't speak for any one else, but I think balance in your life helps keep you happy."

He then detailed how relationships, church, work, pastimes and civic duties were important.

The morning Bob died I was in Canaan Valley, West Virginia. I knew because when my wife, daughter, son and I were getting back into our Jeep to head home, a red winged blackbird cut loose with that signature "Con-ka-reee" chorus that makes me feel so happy to alive. We all stopped and looked across Route 32 at the bird sitting on a reed and singing in the sun. It was the first I had heard this year.

It has been my experience when someone I know dies that often a simple but insistent bird gives me some kind of sign that his or her soul has been freed of earthly ties, soaring away to a place we can only hope to imagine.
When I arrived home, the call came from Bob's daughter he had passed.

I think I speak for many of us when I say, "Go, Bob, to a place beyond, where your spirit can continue it's journey, and thank you for your fine example during the time you were among us."

Until next time, remember to cherish, protect and conserve the outdoors while sharing it with others.