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Murphy’s Law here were days when everything that could go wrong did. One outing brought Murphy’s Law into full fruition. I remember it all too well. It was the proverbial frosty morning late in the duck season. The Maybanks had invited me to stop by the old house on Jehossee Island on the Edisto River to have breakfast after my morning patrol. I asked my younger daughter, Sarah, then barely a teenager, to come along on the patrol that morning, after which we would join the Maybanks. On numerous occasions I had enjoyed the culinary talents of their cook, John Brown, whose breakfasts were the stuff of memory. Mr. Brown was a man of many talents. In addition to owning his own contracting business in Charleston, he was the Maybank family factotum, serving variously as automobile driver, boat operator, children’s nurse, and cook extraordinaire. During the duck season I kept my ancient johnboat almost permanently attached to the patrol car. I had not seen the floorboard or the seat in the back of the car for months. I had gear for every possible contingency and temperature range. The pile also included a considerable array of duckhunting disguises, including camouflage outfits, decoys, and duck calls. My strategy was to look like a duck hunter so I could sit in my boat and observe nearby blinds without arousing suspicion. I would even occasionally shoot at a passing duck. Every now and then I would actually hit one, adding to the realism of my subterfuge. I woke Sarah hours before sunrise and headed for the Jehossee landing on Dahoo Creek. In the roughly forty-five minute trip from Charleston to T Murphy’s Law 17 the landing, I regaled Sarah with various scenarios of what we were likely to encounter. Every time I took people on the duck patrol, I was careful to let them know what to expect in advance, since once we launched and got into position, there could be no talking. I was busy running my mouth as we turned off the main dirt road on Grove Plantation, heading down to the landing. It was one of those pitchblack nights when one could see only what was directly in front of the headlights . My attention, normally devoted to negotiating the narrow road in the darkness, was distracted by my conversation with Sarah, and somehow I missed the small road that turned off to the right and ran along a fence line down to the landing. I noticed this lapse when the road I was on became narrower and narrower, almost disappearing in a dense grove of planted pine trees. At that point there was absolutely no place to turn around, especially with the trailer attached. Backing up was out of the question because of the limited visibility and the fact that there was a fairly deep ditch on one side. I got out of the car, detached the trailer, and began pushing it around to get it off the center of the road headed in the opposite direction. At that point I noticed one of the trailer tires had gone flat, adding greatly to the difficulty of moving it. After completing that maneuver, I then began the tedious and lengthy task of turning the car completely around on the narrow road without getting it in the ditch. With the car finally turned around, I drove just past the trailer and refastened it to the ball hitch. By the time we got to the landing the tire had come completely off the rim, a problem I figured I would attend to after the duck patrol. Sarah, being learned in the tales told by Uncle Remus, acted like ole Brer Fox (“lay low and ain’t say nuttin”). I turned around in the small parking lot and backed the boat down to the ramp. I got out, shined a light down toward the water, and saw that it was a little lower than half tide and going out. I stowed some gear in the boat and then slowly backed down the ramp, careful of the sheer drop-off at the end of the concrete ramp. Despite my attention the tireless wheel rim ran off the end. The trailer dropped suddenly to one side, and the water came poring in over the transom of the boat. I continued backing to level the boat, and then the other wheel fell over the edge. I had to get in...

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