Tag Archives: French Fusil de Chasse

As Needy as Little Kids

Wet corn stubble perfumed still air. A full moon, white and mellow, high to the west, guided buffalo-hide moccasins through dawn’s first glimmer. The night prior, before the drizzle, forty-plus geese gathered on the cornfield’s eastern-most knob. They took flight … Continue reading

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What the Squirrel Woods Offers…

Two steps and a pause… Three huge red oak trees with short trunks and broad, spreading limbs stood on the next ridge west. Two steps and a pause… A host of tall, slender oaks, progeny of the three, populated the … Continue reading

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With Disgusted Relief…

Inquisitive fingers felt splintered openings. Msko-waagosh shook his head in amazement, the sulfurous stench of spent black powder still in his nostrils. Lead shot holes, shoulder-high on the returned white captive, peppered the barkless trunk of a dead red oak, … 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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Satisfying the Trader’s Cravings

Buffalo-hide moccasins crushed fresh snow. The footfalls laced in and out of the prairie grass at the edge of a small hardwood stand. An early fox squirrel left a remembrance of its jaunt between a hefty red oak and a … Continue reading

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Delivering a Woodland Message

Darkness afforded safe passage. Slow and steady, elk moccasins still-hunted along an earthen byway. Warm fog smelled drizzly wet. Silver orbs clung to thin prairie grass. Hunt-stained buckskin leggins dashed the dew from the slender, green blades. Some droplets spattered, … Continue reading

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A Two Hour Diversion of Sorts

Step by step, center-seamed moccasins paralleled the path. The hired post hunter left no trace. That December’s still-hunt dropped over the ridge crest, then followed the earthen doe trail. Twenty paces to the northwest the faint, crescent-shaped curve of the … Continue reading

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