First Rule of Muzzleloading: Reload Immediately

 

The first rule of muzzleloading hunting is to reload. Immediately. Now. It didn't use to be that way. It used to be the second rule of muzzleloading hunting.

The first rule used to be, "Keep your powder dry." Every mountain man knew it. Wet powder, no explosion; no bullet propelled. Indians, grizzly bears, win. Every time. People understood that back in the day and went to extreme measures to keep their powder dry.

The old rule of muzzleloading does not apply to the modern version of same. Modern, in-line, muzzle-loading rifles "hide" the powder and ignition system from all moisture, even torrential rains. Not long ago, I saw a fellow on TV selling a product, dunking his muzzleloading rifle, on purpose, into a small tank of water. He held it there for a good five minutes, then withdrew it and fired a bullseye with it, just to show he could.

It was a stunning demonstration to an old guy like me who cut his muzzleloading deer hunting teeth on an original percussion cap gun at least 150 years old. I killed a lot of deer with that gun. One year I noticed my eyes could no longer bring the front sight into focus with the rear "buckhorn" sight. Getting old is mostly a surprise, which can show up overnight.

I put the old gun up, but like the first time I met Pam in General Science 101, I haven't forgotten it. I still love the old gun, take it out of the safe and caress it now and then, but the new one has a telescopic sight much more conducive to what is now my obvious confrontation with mortality.   

I still use Pam all the time. What's a wife for, if not to use? My focus on her front and rear sights is still pretty clear.

I forgot the new first rule of muzzleloading the other day at daylight up on the Big Bend of the Arkansas River. A whole small herd of deer presented themselves in front of me less than five minutes after I had sat down against a huge, dead hackberry tree. I was still getting myself situated, fishing camo gloves out of my daypack, fishing out a water bottle for future use, and snugging my butt into the most comfortable position possible on my little ground seat.

I wasn't quite ready, it wasn't light enough to see clearly, when I saw the shadows of deer moving out in front of me about fifty yards, and moving towards me on a diagonal, left to right. Jeeminy Christmas. It was "ready or not." I got ready the best I could.

The lead deer of five, two fawns, another doe, and a five-point buck, was the biggest one. As I have said before, I am a meat hunter. The buck was the third largest meat package of the five, drawing him an automatic pass. Not that his youth wouldn't have made him an excellent meal. Some of us want more. Meat.

The lead doe fed on ground greenery within fifteen yards of my seat in the open on the ground. Don't move. Deer see movement as well as any prey species you have ever heard of, but their eyes do not have the resolution powers of the weakest-eyed human, let alone an eagle. Just don't move. Tilt the bill of you cap down to hide the glare of facial skin. Wear a camo mask (I do), just don't move. Wait for the animal to put its head down, or pass behind a tree, and then bring the gun to bear slowly and smoothly.

Bang!

The deer I shot crumpled in its own tracks. The other doe hip-hopped maybe ten yards backwards and then started easing back to where the other doe had fallen, her nose extended its farthest, sniffing the air for some sort of clue as to what had happened.

The two fawns, a few of their spots still faintly visible, never moved at all; only raised their tails, widened their eyes, pricked their ears. You could tell they had just learned something, but you couldn't tell what.

The buck walked up within five yards of me, close enough for me to see ticks on its hide; close enough for me to see the wetness in its eyes; close enough for me to see its breath forming in the cold air about its face; close enough for me to entertain the thought of trying to reach out and touch it. Really. That close.

They stood there, all of them, within seeming touching distance, staring at the spot where the doe went down. Then, slowly, as if not wanting to leave, they filed past me, through a wire gate lying on the ground where I had put it in the dark and walked on out into a field behind and eventual disappearance.

I really had wanted to shoot that other doe. She was legal, and bound to be delicious, but I had forgotten the new first rule of muzzleloading and not reloaded my rifle immediately. Well, they would have spotted the movement had I tried that, right?

I was all right with that. The visual memory experience of all those deer so close would be tucked away next to others, like the day Pam came in and sat down next to me in General Science. For no apparent reason.

Meat isn't all we're hunting for, right?

Copyright © 2013 Conrad M. Vollertsen