Fish Like a GIRL

I write this column with a heavy heart. The fishing world has lost a true great — a kind and intelligent man who was beyond humble.

As most have heard, Greg Bohn and his wife Audrey were killed in a car accident earlier this month.

Of all the things we do as anglers and sportsmen, getting killed turning into your own driveway at the end of the day is just so senseless and wrong. And I am angry, as are many others. The power of anger can, and should, be changed into something else. What that is at this early stage is not so obvious, at least not to me with my own anger, but I know I will find something positive in which to channel it, something positive for the fishing industry. 

“That lightning gets any closer, we better head in,” is a phrase I am sure every angler has uttered at one time or another. Realistically, it could have already been too late by the time we say something like that. Anglers have been struck by lightning. We all know that, yet we all push the envelope, and tournament anglers even more so.

We have been known to take on water that cooler heads would turn away from. Big wind, big waves and big water have all been known to cause big problems for anglers.

The old “shotgun starts” of tournament days past were enough to curl the toes of a rational human being. Even tournament take-offs today are not for the faint of heart.

Spending time in the outdoors brings us close to many things that can do pretty drastic bodily harm. I am reminded of walking in to the Brule River once as a young adult and coming in between a mother bear and her two small cubs. 

Stupid on my part, and it certainly, through no fault of the bear’s, could have ended badly for me. I suppose we take on those risks as outdoorsmen and women. They come with the territory. We enjoy pitting ourselves against our quarry and the elements on any given day. We take those dangers as part of the game, as it were. But to lose one of the greats of our sports in such a senseless and, seemingly innocuous way, cuts a little sharper.  

Of course, there is a way forward, as there always is. The sport, however, is surely left with a large, hard-to-fill hole. Stories around campfires with cold libations will certainly abound throughout the rest of this summer and many more to come. 

Losing one of our own will draw us closer together, and that is the way of things. 

No lesson in life comes without payment and, at times, we pay dearly. My heart goes out to the Bohn family, to the women left without parents, children without grandparents, and so much more. 

I feel as though sportsmen (and when I say this, it is a generic term for both sportsmen and sportswomen) may be somewhat more pragmatic when it comes to certain things, and maybe that is not the best term. But I think we think about things differently. 

Perhaps we understand death on a different level. Those of us who harvest fish and game, in my belief, learn early on what a blessing life is and also how blessed we are that an animal sacrificed its life so that we may eat.

Though I am not at all equating the passing of a human being to that of a deer, bear, walleye or any other game species by any stretch, I feel as though, no matter how hard losing someone is, we find a way to see the blessing in that the person lived at all, the blessing in what they brought to our lives and how grateful we are that their light once shone onto us. And I feel we learn that through things such as looking into the eyes of a deer we harvested, for instance. Or when we walk up to a bear we have shot and see it still for its beauty, even as we start to process it into food.

Life and death being so entrenched in our lives, as we strive to feed our families or to know not only from where our food comes, but to know the animals that become our food in a deeper, more meaningful way, is a constant reminder that every life matters and has purpose.

Does it help us to assimilate life and death when it comes to human beings? I feel as though there is some truth to that. 

While we still have the initial feeling of being punched in the stomach by a massive, invisible fist, we seek out the stories, the memories, the laughs that came with a full life. The human brain does what it can to keep us from feeling the most intense agony of a loss for too long. It protects us from ourselves, I suppose, in some ways. 

Losing a friend and a mentor is hard. Losing a loved one is hard. But we shortly thereafter begin to focus on the blessings they brought to our lives.

I believe sportsmen are apt to focus on those blessings perhaps even more readily than others, as we see the delicate balance; we see life and death each time we hunt, fish or trap. And that gives us a deep understanding of the importance of a life and, in the case of taking game, we count ourselves as blessed, not only for the ability to take that animal, but also that the animal lived in the first place. So it is with humans. No matter how crushed we are by the end of the story, we look back on each chapter fondly, remembering each as if it were yesterday. In those memories, we are truly blessed. 

Still, as I write this, I am deeply saddened by this loss. I send prayers for the family and the hundreds of others who the Bohns touched over the years, that they may find some peace and can come to focus on all the good that has come from both Greg and Audrey walking along side us all on this planet. 

They will both be truly missed.

The only solace in all of this, if there is any, is that neither Greg or Audrey will ever have to live without the other. Small comfort, at best. But, I suppose, it would be the only perfect ending to a great love story.

Beckie Gaskill may be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].