Being avid duck hunters in southeast Tennessee throughout the 1980s, we never passed an opportunity to hunt during weather events, as it is wind and rain and snow that drive the ducks to safe shelter where we located our blinds.

It was at 4 AM on a freezing January morning that we found ourselves motoring up Richland Creek near Dayton, Tennessee. The creek flows into the Tennessee River, and from there we would travel to our blind in a sheltered cove above the Hiwassee Refuge.

The problem was that none of us had bothered to check the forecast. We just knew there was snow and sleet in the air, and that would make for a good duck hunt.

There were three of us in the 16-foot aluminum Jon boat along with bags of decoys numbering 120 and my 80-pound labrador “Kate” riding on the bow. The man farthest in the front always manned the million-candlepower spotlight so we could find our way.

Everything was going well, and the mood was convivial. We were all wearing state-of-the-art insulated waders, parkas, gloves, and hats and were toasty warm.

I was already looking forward to getting to the blind and pouring the first cup of coffee out of my thermos. A client had given me a pound of Kona coffee at Christmas, and I wanted to share it with my friends, as it was not available in our area at the time. I had stowed the thermos in the floor of the boat right behind where I straddled the rear thwart to operate the tiller handle on the outboard motor.

When we entered the Tennessee River, the first wave that hit us nearly capsized the boat. The waves were being driven by near-gale-force winds, which we had been protected from by the hills that rise above Richland Creek.

Remembering my days paddling whitewater on class 4 rivers in the Southeast, I steered the bow of the boat directly into the wind and waves and thus began the routine of powering up the wave face, sliding into the trough and then powering up the next wave, all the while desperately avoiding stuffing the bow under a wave that would surely swamp us. Turning back was impossible, as turning sideways to these waves would capsize us.

My destination now was a protected cove, long before we would reach our blind but a place to ride the storm out. The problem was becoming fog and wind-driven spray. The spotlight was blinding me in reflection. I had my friend shut it off and within seconds we hit a wave in the center and shipped water over the bow. The wave impact knocked “Kate” to the middle of the boat. We turned the spotlight back on and moved closer to the shoreline and kept the light trained there for navigation.

Soon I felt something bumping me in the leg. I looked down to see my thermos floating in over a foot of water. One more mistake and we were going in the river on a 28-degree black night — no matches or lighter, cellphones hadn’t been invented, and I had one very weak swimmer aboard. No matter. Hypothermia would kill us anyway.

I had unstrapped my wader suspenders so as to shed them quickly if we went in and instructed everyone else to do the same. Waders full of water will take you under even with life vests.

With the weight of the water in the boat, the outboard was now struggling to make it up the next wave face. We were all covered in ice from the spray. I figured we had about three more waves to go and that would be it.

Suddenly from the bow came, “There it is!” I followed the light and steered the boat into the safety of the cove. Once out of the wind and waves, we assessed the situation. We had less than 2" of freeboard left, so we all started bailing with whatever we could find. We were all shivering from the cold, as the water had found its way through our clothing. After giving thanks for deliverance, I suggested we might go ahead and eat our lunch and open the thermos of coffee and try to warm up a bit.

Sometimes people who survive near disaster become very talkative and sometimes they withdraw. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground. This group became talkative to the point that I had to wonder what a dose of caffeine would produce.

This storm nearly killed us because we didn’t plan adequately. Some of life’s storms, which visit us all, don’t seem to care much whether we plan or not. They just roll over us!

The important thing to remember is miracles do happen. Persevere and there will be a protected cove ahead.

It would be 2 PM that day before the wind died down enough to venture home. We ate our lunch and told the old stories. Dogs being immune to the notion of mortality, “Kate” made her way back for a treat. The ducks would be safe today.

That was the best cup of coffee of my life.