A late summer thunderstorm is raging outside my home, taking away some options, but also allowing my mind time to wander. Today it wandered back about 25 years in time to a public-land hunt in Mississippi. It was a hunt I’ll likely always remember, not so much for the adventure as much as for the lessons I learned that day.
I was hunting a set of woods that lie between bean fields on the west, and a large flood control lake to the east. This strip of woods formed a funnel between the lake and the agricultural fields. I’d hung my climbing stand in an oak flat, just to the south of a long thicket that ran east/west from some tight woods, through a more open stand of timber, and then on toward the lake 150 yards away. I was in a fairly open bit of timber with good shooting lanes in almost every direction. I hung the stand so the big thicket was to my right. This would let me watch that as the primary target. From my perch I could also view the edge of another thicket that ran roughly north/south about 100 yards to my front left. These thickets looked like the perfect place to ambush a buck that might come cruising through looking for a bedded doe. The ground here was flat as a pancake, and from a height of 15 feet I could see a surprising amount of real estate.
On that early December day, I sat in the dark, wet woods of north Mississippi with my .50 caliber muzzle loader, waiting on a buck. There was no place else I’d rather be.
Muzzle loader season is always fun. They call it “Primitive Weapon” season, but nowadays there’s nothing “primitive” about it. One of my favorite things about the muzzle loader is that after you pull the trigger you get a momentary lapse between the “pop” of the primer going off, and the “BOOM” of the main powder charge igniting. When you touch it off, you get a thunderous “pop-BOOM”, then a giant cloud of white smoke rockets from your muzzle, obscuring the target area for several seconds after you shoot.
The anticipation rises as you wait for that smoke to clear so you can see if you’ve got a deer laying there, or if it’s on the run and you’ll need to track it. Since a follow-up shot isn’t just a bolt-throw away, his type of hunting takes a little more planning. My standard equipment load is to bring a seven pocket waist-pouch with three extra loads for my black powder gun. I use the plastic tubes that are partitioned into two compartments to hold my extra loads. I put three black powder pellets in one side (150 grains), and a bullet and primer in the other. The cap on the powder end is smooth, and I always put the bullet/primer combo in the end that has three braille-type dots on the cap. This ensures I can reload without ever having to look down at my gear. The reloads are always kept in the same pocket on my pouch so I never have to hunt for them. I keep spare primers in a separate pouch just in case I need those. I hang the whole rig from the rest on the front of my climbing stand so I can reach it with little movement, and no need to look at it. Once I get set up, I have everything I might need within arms reach.
I recall that this particular day wasn’t very cold. Everyone else was home watching football games, but it was a beautiful day to be in the woods. A rain front had moved through the day before and given me the advantage of a damp, quiet forest floor upon which to travel. It was all blue skies and sunshine with temps in the upper 40’s.
As per my usual tactics, I arrived at my stand in time to be set up, in the tree, all gear in it’s appropriate place and still have thirty minutes of darkness left. The sun came up and it was a fairly quiet morning. I saw a few grey squirrels, a couple of fox squirrels, and an assortment of birds. Despite having great visibility and being in a wonderful looking travel corridor, I saw no deer. It was a nice sit though, with no leaves upon the trees I had a brilliant blue sky hanging above me, and the suns rays would warm me all day long.
Just before noon that changed. I saw a flash of movement to my front-left about 100 yards out. Something was on the edge of the north/south thicket. It didn’t take long to figure out what it was. A decent buck popped out without a care in the world an began working a scrape that I hadn’t seen before. He acted like he owned the place. He came out, and positioned himself so he was facing the thicket he’d just exited; nose down, and pawing intermittently at the ground as he freshened up a scrape.
I was surprised because despite some earlier scouting I had no clue there was a scrape over there. To see him jump out and begin working it feverishly was pretty cool. He was almost broadside to me at that point, giving me a perfect, unobstructed look at his vitals. If ever there were a slam dunk in the hunting world, this was it. I always sit with the forend of my rifle on the padded rest in front of me; I keep the rifle butt in my lap with my right hand always on the pistol grip. This minimizes the amount of movement I need to do if a deer shows up. At this point I quietly slid the rifle forward, and lowered my cheek to the stock. The cold black plastic of the stock met my cheek with a familiar embrace. My left hand grabbed the rifle rest and served to both stabilize my upper body, and acted as a stop against which I could brace the forend.
My right eye slid into position and I got the familiar, brightly magnified view of a 3-9x scope. Centered in that view was a tasty whitetail buck that would make a mighty fine end to this hunt. There was no time to waste; I believe in taking the first good shot you get, and this was a dandy. I had a rock solid rest, perfect light, no obstacles, and a distracted, stationary target.
I pushed the safety to the “off” position, found the trigger with the pad of my right index finger and began the squeeze. In a moment, 150 grains of black powder would ensure that my 50 caliber muzzle loader would absolutely shatter the tranquility of this patch of woods. This oak tree would belch forth a huge white cloud that would fill the air, and when it cleared I’d see the brown coat of that whitetail buck lying gently upon the forest floor. I could hardly wait for this vision to play out.
The trigger performed flawlessly with a crisp break at around 6 pounds of pressure. The firing pin lurched forward, smashed the back of the primer and “pop”. It sounded like a 22 rimfire had gone off rather than the might 50 cal. I got no recoil, no smoke. My body remained absolutely motionless as my brain screamed “MISFIRE!!!! That bucks head rocketed up from the scrape as he searched for the source of the noise.
I held my crosshairs on his lungs in case this was a hang fire. I maintained steady breathing, and prayed. No boom ever came. To my astonishment, that buck put his head right back down in the scrape!
I breathed an uneasy sigh of relief, then executed my remedial action plan. I had extra primers in the top pocket of the pouch that hung underneath my rifle. I eased my hand to the appropriate pocket (they are always in the same place for this very reason). I deftly maneuvered to open the pocket and fish out a primer without looking. I kept my eyes on that buck the entire time. I slowly opened the bolt on my inline muzzle loader, and used my index finger to “flip” the used primer and plastic primer-sleeve out of the bolt. That used primer assembly tumbled to the metal base of my tree stand with a surprisingly loud “TINK!” before continuing it’s journey to the soft forest floor below.
Again the bucks head shot upward, scanning the woods for the source of the noise. I just KNEW this deer was gone. It was an absolute miracle that he’d stuck around after I shot a #209 primer at him from 100 yards, but now he was already alerted and I’d made another unnatural noise. Again he put his nose back in the scrape. I shook my head and thought “Such is the power of the opposite sex.”
With my heart beating 1,000 times per minute I got the primer seated, closed the bolt, and got back on target. For the second time in two minutes, I acquired my sight picture, eased the trigger and “pop-BOOOOOM”. The gun barked violently, rocked back into my shoulder, spewed white smoke from my perch 15 feet up in the oak tree, and shattered the library-like silence of these tranquil woods.
When the smoke cleared, a nice whitetail buck lay on the damp earth with his nose still in the scrape. That day was a powerful lesson to me about the rut. A rutting buck will put up with a surprising amount of shenanigans if he’s on the scent of a hot doe. It was also a powerful lesson in weapon cleaning and storage. The misfire was the result of my storing the weapon in an upright position. The thin coat of oil I’d used to swab the barrel previously, had slowly run down under the force of gravity, pooling at the bottom and clogging the flash hole in the breech.
When my primer went off the first time, no fire could transit the breach to get to the main powder charge because the hole was choked with gun oil. It doesn’t take much for this to happen; the breach hole isn’t a large opening. The lesson I learned was to ALWAYS blow a primer through the empty rifle prior to loading it. This will clear out any oil that has flowed into the breach hole. I do this by pushing a patch all the way down with my ramrod, then firing a primer. The oil blows out into the patch and I’m good to go. I’ve never had the misfire issue when using that technique.
The final lesson of the day came while gutting that deer. When I pulled his lungs I found the most perfectly circular hole I’ve ever seen in a critter. That copper slug expanded and made a perfectly round hole all the way through his lungs; it was almost a work of art. The summer sausage I made from that buck was definitely a work of art. Now I count the days until I can take to the woods with the smoke-pole.
I was hunting a set of woods that lie between bean fields on the west, and a large flood control lake to the east. This strip of woods formed a funnel between the lake and the agricultural fields. I’d hung my climbing stand in an oak flat, just to the south of a long thicket that ran east/west from some tight woods, through a more open stand of timber, and then on toward the lake 150 yards away. I was in a fairly open bit of timber with good shooting lanes in almost every direction. I hung the stand so the big thicket was to my right. This would let me watch that as the primary target. From my perch I could also view the edge of another thicket that ran roughly north/south about 100 yards to my front left. These thickets looked like the perfect place to ambush a buck that might come cruising through looking for a bedded doe. The ground here was flat as a pancake, and from a height of 15 feet I could see a surprising amount of real estate.
On that early December day, I sat in the dark, wet woods of north Mississippi with my .50 caliber muzzle loader, waiting on a buck. There was no place else I’d rather be.
Muzzle loader season is always fun. They call it “Primitive Weapon” season, but nowadays there’s nothing “primitive” about it. One of my favorite things about the muzzle loader is that after you pull the trigger you get a momentary lapse between the “pop” of the primer going off, and the “BOOM” of the main powder charge igniting. When you touch it off, you get a thunderous “pop-BOOM”, then a giant cloud of white smoke rockets from your muzzle, obscuring the target area for several seconds after you shoot.
The anticipation rises as you wait for that smoke to clear so you can see if you’ve got a deer laying there, or if it’s on the run and you’ll need to track it. Since a follow-up shot isn’t just a bolt-throw away, his type of hunting takes a little more planning. My standard equipment load is to bring a seven pocket waist-pouch with three extra loads for my black powder gun. I use the plastic tubes that are partitioned into two compartments to hold my extra loads. I put three black powder pellets in one side (150 grains), and a bullet and primer in the other. The cap on the powder end is smooth, and I always put the bullet/primer combo in the end that has three braille-type dots on the cap. This ensures I can reload without ever having to look down at my gear. The reloads are always kept in the same pocket on my pouch so I never have to hunt for them. I keep spare primers in a separate pouch just in case I need those. I hang the whole rig from the rest on the front of my climbing stand so I can reach it with little movement, and no need to look at it. Once I get set up, I have everything I might need within arms reach.
I recall that this particular day wasn’t very cold. Everyone else was home watching football games, but it was a beautiful day to be in the woods. A rain front had moved through the day before and given me the advantage of a damp, quiet forest floor upon which to travel. It was all blue skies and sunshine with temps in the upper 40’s.
As per my usual tactics, I arrived at my stand in time to be set up, in the tree, all gear in it’s appropriate place and still have thirty minutes of darkness left. The sun came up and it was a fairly quiet morning. I saw a few grey squirrels, a couple of fox squirrels, and an assortment of birds. Despite having great visibility and being in a wonderful looking travel corridor, I saw no deer. It was a nice sit though, with no leaves upon the trees I had a brilliant blue sky hanging above me, and the suns rays would warm me all day long.
Just before noon that changed. I saw a flash of movement to my front-left about 100 yards out. Something was on the edge of the north/south thicket. It didn’t take long to figure out what it was. A decent buck popped out without a care in the world an began working a scrape that I hadn’t seen before. He acted like he owned the place. He came out, and positioned himself so he was facing the thicket he’d just exited; nose down, and pawing intermittently at the ground as he freshened up a scrape.
I was surprised because despite some earlier scouting I had no clue there was a scrape over there. To see him jump out and begin working it feverishly was pretty cool. He was almost broadside to me at that point, giving me a perfect, unobstructed look at his vitals. If ever there were a slam dunk in the hunting world, this was it. I always sit with the forend of my rifle on the padded rest in front of me; I keep the rifle butt in my lap with my right hand always on the pistol grip. This minimizes the amount of movement I need to do if a deer shows up. At this point I quietly slid the rifle forward, and lowered my cheek to the stock. The cold black plastic of the stock met my cheek with a familiar embrace. My left hand grabbed the rifle rest and served to both stabilize my upper body, and acted as a stop against which I could brace the forend.
My right eye slid into position and I got the familiar, brightly magnified view of a 3-9x scope. Centered in that view was a tasty whitetail buck that would make a mighty fine end to this hunt. There was no time to waste; I believe in taking the first good shot you get, and this was a dandy. I had a rock solid rest, perfect light, no obstacles, and a distracted, stationary target.
I pushed the safety to the “off” position, found the trigger with the pad of my right index finger and began the squeeze. In a moment, 150 grains of black powder would ensure that my 50 caliber muzzle loader would absolutely shatter the tranquility of this patch of woods. This oak tree would belch forth a huge white cloud that would fill the air, and when it cleared I’d see the brown coat of that whitetail buck lying gently upon the forest floor. I could hardly wait for this vision to play out.
The trigger performed flawlessly with a crisp break at around 6 pounds of pressure. The firing pin lurched forward, smashed the back of the primer and “pop”. It sounded like a 22 rimfire had gone off rather than the might 50 cal. I got no recoil, no smoke. My body remained absolutely motionless as my brain screamed “MISFIRE!!!! That bucks head rocketed up from the scrape as he searched for the source of the noise.
I held my crosshairs on his lungs in case this was a hang fire. I maintained steady breathing, and prayed. No boom ever came. To my astonishment, that buck put his head right back down in the scrape!
I breathed an uneasy sigh of relief, then executed my remedial action plan. I had extra primers in the top pocket of the pouch that hung underneath my rifle. I eased my hand to the appropriate pocket (they are always in the same place for this very reason). I deftly maneuvered to open the pocket and fish out a primer without looking. I kept my eyes on that buck the entire time. I slowly opened the bolt on my inline muzzle loader, and used my index finger to “flip” the used primer and plastic primer-sleeve out of the bolt. That used primer assembly tumbled to the metal base of my tree stand with a surprisingly loud “TINK!” before continuing it’s journey to the soft forest floor below.
Again the bucks head shot upward, scanning the woods for the source of the noise. I just KNEW this deer was gone. It was an absolute miracle that he’d stuck around after I shot a #209 primer at him from 100 yards, but now he was already alerted and I’d made another unnatural noise. Again he put his nose back in the scrape. I shook my head and thought “Such is the power of the opposite sex.”
With my heart beating 1,000 times per minute I got the primer seated, closed the bolt, and got back on target. For the second time in two minutes, I acquired my sight picture, eased the trigger and “pop-BOOOOOM”. The gun barked violently, rocked back into my shoulder, spewed white smoke from my perch 15 feet up in the oak tree, and shattered the library-like silence of these tranquil woods.
When the smoke cleared, a nice whitetail buck lay on the damp earth with his nose still in the scrape. That day was a powerful lesson to me about the rut. A rutting buck will put up with a surprising amount of shenanigans if he’s on the scent of a hot doe. It was also a powerful lesson in weapon cleaning and storage. The misfire was the result of my storing the weapon in an upright position. The thin coat of oil I’d used to swab the barrel previously, had slowly run down under the force of gravity, pooling at the bottom and clogging the flash hole in the breech.
When my primer went off the first time, no fire could transit the breach to get to the main powder charge because the hole was choked with gun oil. It doesn’t take much for this to happen; the breach hole isn’t a large opening. The lesson I learned was to ALWAYS blow a primer through the empty rifle prior to loading it. This will clear out any oil that has flowed into the breach hole. I do this by pushing a patch all the way down with my ramrod, then firing a primer. The oil blows out into the patch and I’m good to go. I’ve never had the misfire issue when using that technique.
The final lesson of the day came while gutting that deer. When I pulled his lungs I found the most perfectly circular hole I’ve ever seen in a critter. That copper slug expanded and made a perfectly round hole all the way through his lungs; it was almost a work of art. The summer sausage I made from that buck was definitely a work of art. Now I count the days until I can take to the woods with the smoke-pole.