Category Archives: Muzzleloaders

Geese are my only hope…

Yellow maple leaves fluttered earthward. Elk moccasins hustled along a churned up doe trail. The hasty stalk skirted a small knoll, then crossed two wagon ruts. Tree-to-tree the hired post hunter wove his way through a half dozen black oaks, … Continue reading

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Maybe there…

“Urrr—ggoooo! Urrr—ggoooo!” Sandhill cranes sounded a warning, before first light, in the plowed plot behind the Waterman homestead. Damp elk moccasins whisked along the doe trail. A light drizzle pitter-patted. Tree-by-tree, footfall-by-footfall the earthen byway snaked through the young hardwoods. … Continue reading

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Searching for the Golden Orb

Two wood ducks whistled, but remained unseen. The hired hunter crouched down as he tucked the bag of duck shot into the deerskin shot pouch that hung on his right side. Light rain drizzled through a humid fog. The air … Continue reading

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A Gobbler Dubbed “Black Bart”

Skin stung; eyes watered. The cedar bough bobbed in arrogance, celebrating its humble victory. Trail-worn elk moccasins staggered, then slowed. Thick clouds, coupled with night’s unforgiving abyss, shrouded the moon and stars. The glade demanded a heavy toll on that … Continue reading

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Chasing the Makings of Squirrel Stew

Black granules tumbled. The tarnished brass measure filled. Two taps against the Northwest gun’s inner bore freed stragglers, more habit than need. Two palm-sized maple leaves, yellowed and dry, rolled to the size of a death sphere, squeaked as the … Continue reading

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“Good to go for the next 150 years…”

“Looks like someone is collecting leaves,” Bob Rubbo said as he picked up the walnut-sized chunk of limestone that anchored the green maple leaves to the loading bench. The top two leaves tumbled along the weathered plank, pushed by a … Continue reading

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“The Mortimer Double”

“Snapshot Saturday”

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“they purchased me a new gun…”

14th November, 1763: Fog shrouded a crimson cardinal’s “whit, whit, tsu, tsu, tsu, tsu.” Now and again a brown oak leaf drifted through the mist. The oaks still held a fair number of their leaves. Crows initiated their first melee … Continue reading

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