The icy November winds cut through their winter clothing while horizontal snow bit at their exposed skin. This was all just a part of hunting during a nor’easter.

With a countdown, 3…2…1, the pair launched their duck boat into the whitecap topped swells of the bay and pushed off from shore to pursue their quarry.

Motoring out past the relative safety of the cove, violent wind-swept waves crashed over the bow of the little boat quickly filling the cockpit with frigid water.

This was the last time the two men were seen until they washed up on shore days later.