Accident opens eyes to summer hazards
After near-drowning, Hobart man warns others of dangers
Nick Bokun felt his body lock up.
Last Sunday, May 24, he swam just 15 feet away from the rocky shoreline at Cane Creek Falls, a waterfall inside Fall Creek Falls State Park. His family celebrated the Memorial Day weekend there, one of Tennessee’s largest state parks. Everything was idyllic during the getaway vacation until Bokun made the decision to swim through the waterfall to the other side.
The initially invigorating water temperature, in the mid-40s, was colder than Bokun anticipated. It led to hypothermia. His 56-yearold body stopped functioning. He
couldn’t move his limbs. His heart rate dropped.
His mind panicked. He screamed for help while trying to stay afloat.
“I don’t think I’m gonna make it!” he yelled to his son and son-in-law.
That state park encompasses nearly 30,000 acres sprawled across the eastern top of the rugged Cumberland Plateau. Cane Creek Falls has served as the scenic backdrop for several Hollywood movies. Featuring picturesque cascades, gorges, waterfalls, and streams, the park beckons adventurers who enjoy nature at its finest.
Bokun, of Hobart, couldn’t resist jumping into the water and “living the experience,” as he told his family. He nearly died trying to do it.
“I can’t stay afloat!” he yelled out.
His son, Nicholas Bokun, and his son-in-law, David Baron, swam to his rescue.
“We got you,” his son told him.
“We won’t let anything happen to you,” his son-inlaw told him.
As cliché as it sounds to anyone who hasn’t had a near-death experience, Bokun’s life flashed through his mind, he said. He thought about his wife, Elise, his children, his granddaughter, and even his unborn grandchildren he hopes to enjoy someday. Faces of close friends and family members also flashed by. All in a matter of seconds.
“In that moment, as I yelled out, I felt a peaceful calm come over me,” Bokun recalled.
His son and son-in-law grabbed his taut body and pulled it toward land. Bokun kicked his legs and moved his hands as best he could. His daughter-inlaw, Grace Bokun, swam out to help.
When they reached the shallow rocks, Bokun began to catch his breath. He suffered a painful cramp in the middle of his back. His arms still couldn’t move very well. His heart rate began to stabilize. His son gave him sips of water to hydrate his body.
His family repeatedly asked him, “How are you?”
“I’m just glad to be alive,” Bokun replied.
He managed to put on his shoes. His son had to tie them. They walked back to shore together.
In a moment that will not ever be forgotten or dismissed, Bokun began reflecting on what just happened to him. The cold water. The panic. The terror. The flash of memories. The odd yet peaceful calm.
“It was the scariest thing, but …” Bokun told me after his family returned from Tennessee.
But … the experience has somehow changed him. Almost immediately. Without a doubt, profoundly, though he’s not quite sure how. Not yet. He’s still processing it.
That day, Bokun returned to the family’s rented home near Spencer, Tennessee, joining his wife, his daughter, Alissa Baron, and other family members. Bokun never once thought about the dangers of hypothermia while swimming under a waterfall, especially in springtime in Tennessee.
“I never thought of any of that before jumping into the water,” Bokun said.
With summer weather here, people will be jumping into the potentially dangerous waters of Lake Michigan more often than in previous years, I predict. Most public swimming pools will be closed due to COVID-19 concerns and other entertainment options such as fairs and festivals are getting canceled for the summer season.
Also factor in that some budget-restricted municipalities, such as Michigan City, are not hiring lifeguards this year. Water levels are higher, beaches are thinner and more people will be converging at beaches for outdoor recreation. (Read my previous column on Indiana Dunes State Park beach last weekend as an example.)
My other prediction: There will be more drownings than usual in our nearest Great Lake. This possibility has been a public health danger for many years, as anyone knows who keeps track of these deaths and near deaths.
According to the Great Lakes Surf Rescue Project, there have already been at least five Great Lakes drownings this year, with three of them in Lake Michigan. Keep in mind that summer is still three weeks away, officially.
Since 2010, the organization has tracked 843 Great Lakes drownings, with 97 in 2019 and a record 117 in 2018. Drownings in Lake Michigan are a statistical surety.
Dave Benjamin, executive director of the Great Lakes Surf Rescue Project, told me that the Portage Lakefront and Riverwalk is a hazard for potential drownings.
“The water erosion and debris is out of control. No one should go swimming there,” he said.
It hasn’t stopped visitors from swimming there this spring. And it won’t stop them as summer emerges. The water beckons visitors like a dip under a waterfall.
I’ve written too many columns on drowning deaths in Lake Michigan. Bokun has read too many stories about people who’ve drowned in that lake without the stereotypical image of flailing arms and desperate screams. Many of those victims simply go under and don’t come up.
“They say when you drown there’s no pain because when you yell there’s no one there to hear you,” Bokun said.
Last Sunday, his family heard him. And they rescued him. It’s not as common as you may think.
“Thank God for my kids,” Bokun said.
“I’m so grateful he wasn’t alone at the time,” his wife, Elise, told me. “I couldn’t imagine life without him.”