Bill and Robidoo 

For a long time, I spent a week every spring hunting bears in Canada. Of course, pursuing bears was my primary goal, but one of the major attractions was the opportunity to spend some time with my bear guide, Bill Ritchie. 

Bill was raised in the Canadian wilderness. He started his career as a railroad man, but felt the pull of his Cree Indian roots, so he packed in his career on the rails and devoted his time to guiding. Along with his bear hunts, he had fall moose hunting, wolf hunting and fishing on a lake where he had built several cabins.

Part of Bill’s charm was that he’d been everywhere and done everything in his neck of the woods. He regaled his clients with tales of the north woods, never bragging, but exhibiting knowledge that only sixty years of living close to nature could provide. He interlaced his stories with his Cree Indian heritage, local lore and some admittedly tall tales. The Cree Indian mythology was always present in Bill’s life. Although an Anglican by baptism, Bill held dear the Cree trinity, Manitou, Witigoo and Robidoo. He could explain almost anything that happened during the hunt (or anywhere else, for that matter) by the actions of the three Cree gods.

Manitou is the god of all that is good and the source of all bounty. If the hunting was good, your family healthy it was the work of Manitou. Wise people make offerings to Manitou to ensure his largesse.

Witigoo is the god of evil. He’s the one who turns your canoe over in frigid waters and allows the bears to raid your winter larder just as the first serious snow sets in. He’s probably also the god who is responsible for the animal rights cult. If you want to avoid tragedy in your life, you pay tribute to Witigoo.

The third god, Robidoo was Bill’s personal favorite. Robidoo’s place in the universe was to create mischief. He’s the one who would turn your canoe over in warm weather while your friends are watching and is responsible for your missing an easy shot just after you’ve finished bragging about being a dead-eye. There’s no buying off Robidoo. No amount of offerings can spare one from his sophomoric humor.

Bill had a puckish nature, so he and Robidoo were kindred spirits. Bill knew how to make things fun, even for the person who was the butt of the joke.

My old friend Bill passed away during a moose hunt in 1986.

Let’s move forward a few years to the deer season of 1992. Those of you who remember such things will recall that on opening day. a cold, penetrating rain fell all day. I got up early and made the hundred-mile drive to my super-secret, never-fail deer stand. Determined to get my buck, I sat the whole day in that driving rain. I sat from dawn to dusk and saw nary a critter. As darkness set in, I made my way back to my car and made the long drive home in soaking wet duds. About half way home, the rain turned to sleet and glazed the roads. 

Now, I was cold, wet and hungry, and could only drive 35 miles per hour. What had started as a long day turned into an extremely long night, but I finally turned into my subdivision. Within three blocks of my home, I saw an obstacle in the road and skidded to a stop. I stared incredulously as a herd of nine does crossed in front of my car, in sight of my home. 

Instantly, I knew exactly what had happened. My old pal Bill and Robidoo were in the Happy Hunting Ground having a good laugh at my expense. Two of the best pranksters in the universe had conspired to show me the futility of pushing too hard. They were sharing a good laugh over a guy who had just spent a fair amount of money, an entire day and a lot of misery to fail, when I could have stayed home and succeeded. It was classic Bill and Robidoo.

As I watched those does, I could not help but think that Bill was telling me that he was all right and had gone into business with Robidoo. Though I miss my friend, I’m sure he’s right where he always wanted to be and was telling me so. Instead of a slightly mean prank, I looked at this scene as an early Christmas gift from Bill.

This will be the last time I get to speak with most of you until the New Year. I hope that your deer season is full of success and that you have a little fun along the way. I hope that you make time at Thanksgiving to reflect on how truly good life has been to you. I also hope that you get as nice a Christmas gift as Bill gave me those eight years ago.

We here at The Kentucky Sportsman spend a lot of time passing on information and editorializing about things that affect our sports. I believe that we all hunt, fish and enjoy the outdoors for the very reasons I enjoyed Bill and treasure his memory. In that vein, I’m glad to have had the opportunity to abandon the politics, news and clutter around our sports and talk with you about the things that are the very essence of our sport.