The Blog Where Horror Dwells: R.I.P. Rob "Robgso" Isenhour

After being diagnosed with lung cancer only a few short weeks ago, my good friend and regular geocaching companion, Rob "Robgso" Isenhour, passed away just before dawn this morning.

Rob and I literally have spent almost every Sunday geocaching together since sometime in 2011 (and on occasions for at least a couple of years before that). In geocaching circles, he and I became known as the "Old Farts" even when neither of us were all that old. For that reason, I always referred to him as "Old Rob" in my geocaching logs and whenever I've written about him on this blog. He had nine years on me, but until recent days, I always figured that if I were doing as physically well as he when I reached his age, I'd be doing damned well indeed. Even prior to our acquaintance, the locals called him the original "Trail Dawg." The man did love trail hiking — and especially trail geocaching. For all the years that we cached together, we certainly went after plenty of park & grabs and other such urban hides, but his true love was getting out there in the woods.

Once Rob retired — not all that many years ago, it seems — he became one of those devoted "first-to-find" hounds. Whenever a new geocache published in our area, there was a better than average chance that he'd be the one to head right out to it and grab the first-to-find honors (however dubious said honors might actually be).

For our regular Sunday outings, Rob and I, along with several other cachers, such as Cupdaisy (a.k.a. Debbie), Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Fishdownthestairs (a.k.a. Natalie), and RNLee (a.k.a. Robbin), adopted the semi-official title Team No Dead Weight, or — in my book — "The No-Dead-Weight Irreglars" (since, if there ever were a bunch of irregulars, that would be us). Sometimes, if it were just Rob and I on the hunt, we'd dub ourselves "Two Old Farts" (or "three" if Diefenbaker joined us). Rob and I frequently tried to convince friends Natalie and Debbie to join in the glory of Team Old Fart ("C'mon, y'all qualify!") but they'd have none of it. So sad for them!

I am reminded that Rob was on occasion also known as "Bloody Rob." This was because Rob was an expert at injuring himself while out in the woods, and he bled profusely. He had no fear of brier patches, I can tell you! His motto was "No blood, no fun," so you knew if he was covered in red stuff, he was a having a good old time.

When it came to hiding caches, Rob was a master of meanness. He created a considerable number of brilliant woodland camouflage containers, oftentimes hiding them in... ahem... briers... so that you, too, as a cache hunter, could shed some red. And you could just hear him laughing about it.

Rob with Bentley, his favorite trail dawg

I suspect Rob was the dog person to end all dog persons. He's owned a passel of them over the years (and is survived by two). Whenever we were out hiking and encountered someone walking their dog(s), we'd have to stop so Rob could pet some heads. Oftentimes we'd have to wait on Rob for quite a spell because he sure wasn't gonna miss out on petting dog heads. And while he might not have been as much a cat person, he sure loved our guys, particularly Chester (may he rest in peace) and Frazier. Back when Chester was alive, every Sunday morning, Rob would bring Egg McMuffins over so that Chester could eat the cheese out of them (Chester loved him some cheese). On occasion, when Brugger and I went out of town, Rob would come by the house to feed and pet the cats, and they sure did love him for it.

On occasion, despite being a Trail Dawg, Rob would get confused, direction-wise. We always figured it was best not to let Rob navigate because we never knew where he might lead us (when he did, it was never good). He blamed this on a series of concussions he suffered in his youth. So, these days, whenever I steer myself (or anyone else) wrong, I blame it on Rob's concussions. It seems only proper.

A while back — just a few months, really — it was clear that things weren't quite right with Rob, physically. He had stents put in his heart several weeks ago, and at first, it seemed like that started him back on a positive path. But then things took an unexpected turnabout, and the next thing we know, Rob has lung cancer and very little time remaining. The speed with which it claimed him still staggers all of us who knew and loved him.

I know that Rob's wife, Dianna, and the rest of his family will go through a tough time, but I do pray they will find comfort in Rob's memories. It's clear that he possessed plenty of love and basic wonderfulness to go around.

I suspect that Old Rob is out there somewhere, blazing a new trail. I hope there are nice geocaches out that way, and when the rest of us follow him, he will send us their coordinates, or at least some useful hints.

Godspeed, my old friend.