Tag Archives: trade gun

The Wisdom of Our Ancestors

Rain pounded the roof. A thunder clap ended a sound sleep. Outside, big, silver orbs fell earthward, looking like ten thousand spears piercing dawn’s gray abyss. Water splashed everywhere, ending all hopes of covering the wooden crate and canvas-bound bales. … Continue reading

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“Denny’s Been Baptized…”

A bawl-mouthed Walker bayed. Crisy’s distinctive “awoo, awoo, awoo, awoo…” spurred a sense of urgency, tugging my buffalo-hide moccasins due south from the wagon trail. The light, fluffy overnight snow poofed with each footfall; the under layer crunched. A stiff … Continue reading

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The Jake Died Thrice

“Jay!” The blue jay cried out but once. The alarm seemed halfhearted and without authority. After a pause, my elk moccasins whispered along the familiar trail. The blue jay watched. The empty Northwest gun hung heavy in my right hand. … Continue reading

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A Magnificent Memory

A gray nose poked from the deep green grass. A cunning eye, attentive ears and a sleek, lean body burst from the left. The Jeep’s brake pads gripped the rotors firm, but not hard enough to squeal tires. A second … Continue reading

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An Alternate Choice

Light rain spit. The sky appeared thick, gray and ominous. The air smelled sticky and humid. My bare shoulders and upper arms felt sweaty and damp as I tugged at the heel of my left buckskin moccasin, one of a … Continue reading

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Exhausting All Possibilities

The search resumed at dawn. Frost-tipped cedar boughs dotted the steep hillside. Night’s cold, clear sky turned azure, and in a short while, yellow streaks of sunlight crept over the little valley. On that crisp November morn, I made no … Continue reading

Posted in Deer Hunts, Skills | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Mind if I Look?

“Do you mind if I take a look?” a traditional woodsman asked, lifting the leather strap of my shot pouch from “Old Turkey Feathers’” muzzle as it rested against a white oak tree. “I’d like to see what you carry.” … Continue reading

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“What if” Cogitations

Deer flies swarmed. Mosquitoes the size of hickory nuts lit on the back of my left hand. I could not swat without tucking the Northwest gun under my armpit, and I presumed the little beasties knew that. That morning, in … Continue reading

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