Tag Archives: French Fusil de Chasse

In the direction whence he came…

Saturday, 17, December, 1763: Frozen oak leaves crunched. Spotty snowflakes whisk about.  Wool-lined moccasins tread light, slow and deliberate.  The still-hunt progressed into a blustery southwest wind that sliced to the bone.   Two years prior, a summer thunderstorm broke … Continue reading

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A Tad Late Tuesday…

Saturday, 23, April, 1763: “Gob-obl-obl-obl-obl-obl!” The tom sounded far off. Elk moccasins whispered down the east face of the ridge. Fall’s oak leaves flexed, but did not crackle. Two steps and a pause…two steps and a pause… The evening air … Continue reading

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Not Much Changes…

Muffled wing beats rumbled. A reddish-brown blur rose in the grey soup of morning vapor. The fowl dropped into a thick patch of sedge grass, thirty or so paces east of its night roost. Overnight dew drenched each slender, tawny … Continue reading

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“The Peaked Wigwam at Sunset”

“Snapshot Saturday”

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A Time to Reflect…

Friday, 23 December, 1763: Two fox squirrels chattered. Sandhill cranes chortled near the Riviere aux Raisins. A crimson cardinal twittered about as if deciding whether to stay or move on. A solitary Canada goose uttered intermittent “ke-honks” on its way … Continue reading

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So Many Times Before…

Monday, December 19, 1763: Half-frozen muck crackled. Here and there, pointed skunk cabbage sprouts poked through black humus. Slow and quiet, cowhide moccasins stepped on moss-covered roots and sedge grass clumps. Forty paces into the Riviere aux Raisins’ bottoms, Mi-ki-naak … Continue reading

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“A Few Moments Rest”

“Snapshot Saturday”

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What to do, what to do?

Saturday, 19 November, 1763: Two Sandhill cranes flew overhead. One chortled soft, the other trailed behind. The “caw, caw, caw, caw” of a lone crow, winging somewhere south, pierced the dense fog. A fox squirrel’s sharp bark hung heavy on … Continue reading

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