Category Archives: Muzzleloaders

What happened to the shot?

“I hunted a lot,” Jeff Wacker said. “It was late October, during archery deer season. Fall turkey season was on, too. Any chance I got I was hunting for deer, when I got up in the morning before work, and … Continue reading

Posted in Muzzleloaders, Safety, Turkey Hunts | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Northwest Gun was Useless

A green leaf fell from a dried nettle stalk. Seven leaves remained, drooping from a tawny stem adorned with brown globs of seeds. Some stalks held more leaves, others less. Counting staved off the damp November cold that Wednesday morning, … Continue reading

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Stacking Up More Coyotes

Well, I did what I said I wasn’t going to do; I killed a few more paper coyotes. For me, a big part of the fun, and sometimes aggravating frustration, of traditional black powder hunting is thinking through a problem … Continue reading

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Speak Up, Promote and Educate

A muffled yelp broke the silence. Light sprinkles pitter-patted. The leaves, the cedar boughs, the barren twigs overhead were all damp, yet that December morn, in the Year of our Lord, 1797, dawned pleasant and serene. A thick-branched autumn olive … Continue reading

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Resurrecting an Idea from the Past

“Old Turkey Feathers,” a flintlock Northwest gun, leaned against a cedar tree, an arm’s reach behind me. A bare patch on that tree, stripped away by an unknown buck, faced us. Three other rub trees lined the swamp’s edge to … Continue reading

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“…let me see your shot, please”

Four Sandhill cranes winged toward the River Raisin. A sparkly hoarfrost coated the short prairie grass, every barren twig and the magenta-colored cedar boughs. A crimson cardinal flitted across the clearing, then landed on one of the autumn olives that … Continue reading

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“…eight more yards”

Light snow fell, pushed about by an uncertain, swirling breeze. A button buck wandered downhill from the ridge, followed by a small doe. The scruffy doe looked straight at the toppled cedar tree, perked her ears and canted her head. … Continue reading

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The Answer is Not Simple

A fallen red oak blocked the trail. Spring’s broad, lush leaves hung curled, brown and brittle. After stepping over the trunk, worn-out elk moccasins continued through the shadows. Blue jays screamed high atop a far hill, but not for me. … Continue reading

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