Several years ago, while Garrett Freel and I were in college enjoying our Christmas break.  We decided to meet for a morning paddle on the Little Pee Dee, and of course, jump-shoot some wood ducks along the way.
I had my grandfather’s old wooden Carolina Boat, which is painted black instead of camouflage so that it would match the dark water. This boat sits low in the water and glides slowly around bends, making it easy to spook ducks off guard.
This was in January and even though the sun was out, the temperature was still in the 40’s.
Garrett and I alternated between shooting and paddling, swapping seats when one person downs a duck.
We crossed many logs and fallen trees along the way and made our best effort not to have to step out of the boat to do so. Most accidents we have seem to occur while pulling the boat over a tree.
One tree in particular lay from one side of the bank to the other with only enough room for the canoe to slide beneath it. I opted for us to cross over the tree, and to slide the boat under us, and take our seats on the down river side.
Garrett stepped onto the tree and started breaking some limbs, as I slid the boat forward and climbed out. I pivoted on my hands and knees to slide the boat the rest of the way and heard a KA-PLOOSH! It was a horrible sound. Garrett, not even looking said sarcastically, “I hope that wasn’t my shotgun.” I turned silently and glanced over the boat. The paddles were there; my gun was there; two dead ducks were there; and the life jackets too, but Garrett’s browning automatic was on the bottom of the river.
Garrett turned around and asked, “So what are we going to do about this?”
Hoping he would tell me not to worry about it, I suggested that I swim down to find it.
To my dismay, Garrett agreed with my idea. I stripped down so that I could put on dry clothes when I finished, and Garrett worked his way across the tree trunk towards the bank to get a fire started.
I slowly lowered myself into the river and the cold rushing water took my breath away. I had a hard time letting go of the tree and couldn’t feel the bottom, so I knew I would have to dive down.
With a gulp of air, I kicked my feet off of a branch and had my hands in the sandy river bottom in no time. I patted the sand in different places but the shock of the cold water brought me to the surface too quickly. I used the branches to hold myself in place while under water.
Confidence was running low but on my fourth dive, I felt the unmistakable cold smooth barrel of a shotgun, almost buried in the sand. I adhered my grip to the barrel and swam to the surface.
Seeing the gun in my hands was a huge relief. Garrett took the gun and helped me out the river. I warmed up and got dressed while Garrett washed the sand from the gun.
After a good laugh, Garrett was back in the shooting seat. I eased the boat around a bend, and we were greeted by a flock of wood duck scrambling for the air.
Garrett acted quickly and shot one of the duck down. The best feeling of the day was finding the barrel of the shotgun. The second best feeling was to see that it still worked.
It’s just another day on the river.