Bob Baustian

BOB PASSED AWAY on June 15, 2006, at the age of 56. After the funeral, old pals reminisced over the times they’d spent with Bob. Many in Ed’s generation gathered as well.

Then, in the days, weeks, and months that followed, we all returned to our normal lives. Life sets a relentless pace, and we all get consumed in our own paths.

Even at that, Ed stopped by now and then to chat with me, mostly about what deer we were seeing as the September 15 opener loomed close. He was going to hunt with his father’s 45-pound Damon Howatt Hunter bow. I knew his father was impressed with his son’s accuracy, but I had not actually shot with Ed in years and knew all too well that making the switch from wheels to stick can be a tough hurdle the first year. I just advised Ed to keep his shots close and not be tempted to take shots beyond his comfort zone.

Just outside of town, Ed had a couple of hunting spots he could monitor regularly while maximizing time with his wife, Neleigh, and their son, Caleb. Fortuitously, Caleb was born early enough that Bob got to know and spend time with him.

As the season drew near, I focused on my own preparations and took a day off work for the season opener. The weather on September 15 turned out to be muggy and windy with a thunderstorm abbreviating the morning hunt. I saw just two does, and the afternoon was a repeat as a massive storm moved in just before quitting time. I’d seen three small bucks and six antlerless deer, and then, as the early raindrops began to fall, I crawled down and hustled back to my rig.

That night an incredible 5.8 inches of rain fell, and as the storm grew intense, the phone rang. It was Ed. “Are you going to be home?” he said. “I have something to show you.”

Unbelievably, just as the weather moved in, Ed had scored his first traditional kill, a beautiful young buck. The typical 4x5 frame had bladed points and a couple of stickers, features rarely seen on 11⁄2-year-old deer. Ed had taken the buck at close range from one of his father’s old wooden ladder stands -- the ones Ed had helped build years before.

I was impressed. Switching from compound to recurve often entails more trials than trophies, but Ed had met his first challenge and passed with flying colors. The shot was perfect, the trail short, and he’d done it on opening day. Dad would have been proud.

THAT FANTASTIC EVENING alone would be a heartwarming story, but Ed wasn’t done. Exactly one month later, on October 15, he took his second shot of the season and killed another buck, one that would net more than 130 Pope and Young inches.

Once again, Ed had made a perfect shot with the Damon Howatt recurve, pushing a Cabela’s Laser Pro broadhead through both lungs and creating another easy-to-decipher trail. And once again, he had scored from the same weathered old ladder stand that had supported his father so often.

I’m not superstitious, but I do notice things that seem to be more than pure coincidence. Somehow, I think Ed’s storybook season was not just the result of hard work (which was a factor) but was also pretty heavy with mojo, good vibes, or whatever label you want to apply to a situation that seems destined.