When Drew first arrived at the bushmoot he was over-enthusiastic, ready to rush gung-ho and ill-prepared into anything and seemed desperate to gain our approval with his stories about his exploits. I thought he'd calm down after a few days.
As it transpired, he never did calm down - he kept the energy and vitality of tigger throughout the years I knew him and this, combined with plenty of good-hearted teasing resulted in numerous mishaps, annoyances and entertaining stories. Remember the time he swiped Mad Dave's axe into the sand and accidentally destroyed the edge? Or the time he muddled up the Russian Spetsnaz with the Russian Spastics? Or the mock asians? (Moccasins) Or getting kicked in the jugulars? Or the black cloak and cloak pin?
The stories are timeless - I am sure we will tell them again and laugh again this August. But through all the bluff, clumsiness, laughter and insecurity what really shone through about Drew - to all who knew him - was his great heart. He would genuinely do anything to help if he could. He never wrote to us girls without telling us we are beautiful. He believed the best of everyone. He was loyal, loving and downright good. He never seemed to grow up much, yet he was a better man than many. My life was better for having met him and his journeying on has left a massive hole. There is some consolation in thinking that he is probably causing just as much laughter, trouble and fun where he has gone, but I shall miss him until we meet again.
My thoughts and prayers go to his mother, his family and all those who knew him and loved him. Our lives will always be richer because we knew him, but our hearts will always grieve for his passing.
Go in peace, brother in bushcraft.