Czech poet and former political activist František Klišík, one of the main protagonists in documentary “Better Go Mad in the Wild,” died on Sunday, hours after the film won the Grand Prix at Karlovy Vary Film Festival. He was 62 years old.

Klišík, who lost his right arm in a sawmill accident, was found dead in a pond in the Czech village of Ohrobec at 8.30 a.m. CET on Sunday. He had reportedly been visiting a friend in the village, and had been celebrating the film’s success. The pond is located near the village pub.

“There were no signs of foul play,” said police spokesperson Michaela Richterová, according to Prague Morning website, adding that the exact cause of death will be determined by an autopsy.

The documentary, directed by Miro Remo, follows the life of František and his twin brother Ondřej, who have spent decades living off the grid in the Šumava region. The brothers had attended the film’s world premiere in Karlovy Vary on Thursday.

The film is based on a book by Aleš Palán, who confirmed Klišík’s death. Palán said: “What happened on the night of July 12-13 in the village of Ohrobec is still under investigation. I can only be glad that František managed to briefly but very intensely enjoy the success of Mira Remo’s documentary.”

In a statement, Remo addressed František Klišík in absentia, and described his reaction to his death:

“The news of your death hit me in the car; my phone was still buzzing with joy. We were returning home in a celebratory mood, and our whole family was enjoying the sweet feeling of victory. Our two children were in the back, and my wife Veronika and I held hands, crying with happiness – the past few years had been very difficult.

“In the car, I look at the display, Aleš Palán is calling, and with his humble voice, he tells us all that you are dead…

“Since then, there’s been chaos within me, laughter through tears, tears through laughter – you would have liked that. Miles of highway toward the rest stop. I stopped, in tears, in the parking lot, got out of the car with my phone, and walked up a grassy hill, on which stood a giant, dilapidated, oversized bench, as if for a real giant.

“The sky was blue, cloudless, the landscape sleepless… a gentle breeze played in the grass. I double-checked if it were really true; it was. Looking at my wife, I simply spread my arms, just like when we won, Franto, but differently now. Since then, many of your poems echo in my head:

” ‘Life is a momentary illusion, a cry into silence, a foolish effort, a cup forced upon you, a sip of delicious taste, a prerequisite for death, which then is our certainty, a prerequisite for life.’

“This one is even in the film, connected with an image of fire, transitioning into an image of a starry sky, then a cut to your pensive face. Behind you, Ondřej and the dog are sleeping. Ondřej gets up from his bed and sits next to you. And you say: ‘It’s raining, it’s raining into our souls…and it won’t stop and it won’t stop…’ – you suspected it, my friend.”