The Man That Was
Forrest L. Wood
“ BUT
MOST
OF ALL,
WHEN I
THINK
ABOUT
FORREST,
I THINK
ABOUT
NINA.”
Forrest received a lot of credit for his accomplishments over the years, but he never accomplished
anything alone. His wife, Nina, was by his side in everything he did.
But most of all, when I think
about Forrest, I think about Nina.
Forrest and Nina were inseparable.
They were so compatible, and I
learned so much about life from
their relationship.
When Forrest was hunting with
the boys, he’d always talk about
Nina. He would notice things in
Texas that were not common in
Arkansas, and he would always want
to go take a picture of them to take
home to Nina. It was so important to
him to go get a photo of that green
jay, for instance, so that Nina could
see it. It wasn’t about killing a deer. It
was about experiencing the moment
and having an appreciation for all of
the aspects of the outdoors. Then, it
was about bringing some of them
home for her.
There’s a hill up there in the
Ozarks, a spot high on Forrest’s ranch
where he and Nina would take a
horse-drawn buggy up to picnic. I
don’t know how long they’d been
doing that, but I know they’d proba-
bly been enjoying views like that
since they met in the late 1940s. Not
long ago, I asked Forrest to show me
that spot; he’d talked about it often
while we were hunting.
He agreed.
28
One day, the three of us went up
to his hill overlooking the White
River. The view was just as he’d said.
It was one of those awe-inspiring
panoramas that stretches on forever.
In the valley below, you could just
make out the silver sliver of river
snaking its way through the trees. In
the distance, you could see another
beautiful hill almost untouched by
human hands.
“This is really spectacular,” I told
Forrest. “About the only thing that
could mess you up is if someone
bought that land on the other hill and
started to build on it.”
To which he replied very
humbly, “Thank you, Hank. It’s
been a blessing to us. You don’t
have to worry about that, though.
That hill is ours, too.”
I like to think that Forrest proba-
bly purchased that land for Nina. It
was another one of his gifts to other
people. That slice, that hill, that
view—are all hers.
There will never be another
Forrest Wood. My great friend was a
joy to know. It was my privilege to
grow with he and Nina, to experience
so much of the country and environ-
ment that they will both be forever
connected to. In the sport of bass
fishing, few people will ever equal the
impact that Forrest and Nina have
had. Few people will ever be able to
fill his or her boots.
Forrest was there in the early
days of professional bass fishing. He
was sitting at the table with Ray
Scott, often providing the backing to
turn a visionary’s dreams into reality.
As the sport grew, Forrest walked
alongside it.
He helped lead the push into
youth fishing, often driving overnight
to and from Flippin, just to meet and
speak to children at fishing events.
He helped foster the evolution of the
sport by lending his name to FLW,
and he always glowed, red-faced, as I
introduced him to present the Forrest
Wood Cup for more than two
decades.
In a way, Forrest Wood will always
be associated with the color red – red
for Ranger, red for FLW and red for
the blushing face that he’d shake at
me whenever he walked off of that
stage. Forrest never did like the spot-
light, but he sure did love to shine a
light for the rest of the world.
Maybe Dale Earnhardt said it best:
“Mr. Wood sure is a cool guy. He’s
everything you said he was and more.”
Yes, Dale, he was.
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