I took off from work yesterday (10/27/17) and headed for the woods to try out the new early-Lancaster rifle I’d just finished the night before. The weather was forecast to be cool and partly cloudy with a bit of a breeze. There was a good-sized creek draining into Taylorsville Lake that I’ve meant to explore for several years and made the decision to finally do so.
Actually, I’d only gotten the rifle ready to shoot that morning. The hickory ramrod I’d originally ordered from TOTW came in perfectly straight grained except for a section right in the middle where the grain ran completely out from one side to the other in 9-3/4 inches! I suppose it will make good dowel pins, but there’s no way I would try using that on a rifle. I ordered a replacement of their ramin wood and received it the night before. While straight grained, it was ovate in cross section and wouldn’t fit my thimbles, so I was up at 2:00am scraping, sanding, and cutting a jag on one end of it.
The eastern sky was beginning to grey when I arrived at the bridge, enough so that I had sufficient light to kit up without overlooking anything. I slipped into the woods and began the process of casting off the worries, concerns, and trivialities of settlement living. After only a few minutes cruising through the woods, I was out of earshot of the bridge and the slipping backward in time began in earnest. Stopping to load the rifle and check over my gear yet again, the sounds of the forest washed over me. The world felt right for a change.
It was easy to see this forest had been timbered in the recent past. The trees were generally quite small and similar in size. The state of our once-magnificent forests makes me sad. I’ll always wonder how this place looked before white man penetrated it and began the endless, greedy consumption that has left the state covered in these saplings. One of the great hopes I carry on any of these scouts is that I’ll stumble across one of the old giants that, for whatever reason, avoided the axe.
[/url]IMG_20171027_075925847 by ghostdncr, on Flickr[/img]
[/url]IMG_20171027_080000641 by ghostdncr, on Flickr[/img]
This puffball mushroom stood out quite dramatically among the forest litter.
[/url]IMG_20171015_103742169 by ghostdncr, on Flickr[/img]
Deer trails cut to and fro throughout this area. They had chopped this creek bank into mud from all the use!
[/url]IMG_20171027_080311085 by ghostdncr, on Flickr[/img]
Finally making my way down to the creek, I paused to listen to the water babbling over this riffle.
[/url]IMG_20171027_081902204 by ghostdncr, on Flickr[/img]
(continued below)
Actually, I’d only gotten the rifle ready to shoot that morning. The hickory ramrod I’d originally ordered from TOTW came in perfectly straight grained except for a section right in the middle where the grain ran completely out from one side to the other in 9-3/4 inches! I suppose it will make good dowel pins, but there’s no way I would try using that on a rifle. I ordered a replacement of their ramin wood and received it the night before. While straight grained, it was ovate in cross section and wouldn’t fit my thimbles, so I was up at 2:00am scraping, sanding, and cutting a jag on one end of it.
The eastern sky was beginning to grey when I arrived at the bridge, enough so that I had sufficient light to kit up without overlooking anything. I slipped into the woods and began the process of casting off the worries, concerns, and trivialities of settlement living. After only a few minutes cruising through the woods, I was out of earshot of the bridge and the slipping backward in time began in earnest. Stopping to load the rifle and check over my gear yet again, the sounds of the forest washed over me. The world felt right for a change.
It was easy to see this forest had been timbered in the recent past. The trees were generally quite small and similar in size. The state of our once-magnificent forests makes me sad. I’ll always wonder how this place looked before white man penetrated it and began the endless, greedy consumption that has left the state covered in these saplings. One of the great hopes I carry on any of these scouts is that I’ll stumble across one of the old giants that, for whatever reason, avoided the axe.
This puffball mushroom stood out quite dramatically among the forest litter.
Deer trails cut to and fro throughout this area. They had chopped this creek bank into mud from all the use!
Finally making my way down to the creek, I paused to listen to the water babbling over this riffle.
(continued below)
