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Here is an account of my first memory of hunting with a smokepole.
i had just finished my first kit gun with many descusting goofs. kit was an ol cva mountain rifle [ remember those?]. 50 cal and for all the stupids i did putting her together. she forgave me and returned such good accurate shooting that looking back i should still have her nestled in my hidden place, but alas she took a trip with another and i lost track of a great shooting [ however ugly] rifle.
living in colorado at the time, we lived on a small ranch that bordered a small stream in the back of an 80 acre field...mostly ground squirls and prairedogs. mixed in for good meassure were brush bundles that housed the BIGGEST jacks i ever saw.
as i purused the area i found a huge flat rock that i could sit on that overlooked the stream and several bundles of the tangled brush. at first i would sit there and burn pwoder and send balls into the bank yonder above the creek and imagine the bears and moose as well as all kinds of bad men that meant me harm....ahhh those were the days!!!
soon i would sit for long enough to let all critters big and small settle down and peek out of their hiding places. wowwwww thats when i spied the old jack that had to go.
this old jack stood 5 feet tall and prolly weighed in at a smooth 175 lbs. broken tooth that held a gap when he would sneer at me from his semi hidden spot some 5 or 6 hundred yards from my hiding spot. fear and spittle would drool from my open fearfull mouth when he would spy on me fron his special place that he knew was safe from all but a skilled mountain man such as myself , armed with such a weapon as the one i held in my sweaty palms.
i was not sure that my huge 50 ball would even budge him so i would spend days on end contemplating my shot and how much holdover i would need to bring this magical ball into his sneering toothless brainpan. if i held over on that red spot on the bank above that knarly head and down stream to that branch, as the afternoon breeze swept thru my canyon, i thought i may just bring that ball into battery to bring his rein of terror to an end.
the day arrived when i knew it would be him or me that left the battle field this day. i carfully held my palm just rite as i poured the powder into my hand to just the rite place. i then poured this perfect amount into the huge hole that death and destruction would rain from. then as i dug into my pocket of the ratty old jeans i wore i found the ball that was destined to end this terror of an old hare. out of my spitty , drooling jaw came a nasty and slimy peice of pilow case that i "borrowed" from the cabin, slap this hunk of cloth onto the muzzel and plop the ball of death rite into the middle so as to make the cloth settle a small amount into the yawning hole of this fantastic rifle.
yarding the brass tipped wiping stick from the thimbles that held it in place under the barrel, i ran the whole kit and cabootle down the yawning hole that was the barrel of this mighty fighting machine known as my mountain rifle.
after pounding the end of my wiping stick with the palm of my hand i settled on the thought that i was loaded with the ray of death that would be called upon to dispatch this terrorizing hare that had to go.
pulling my shirt pocket open i fished around for the lil nipple hugger that would start the firestorm that would ultimately send my missle downrange to do mighty destruction to my enemy.
as we stalked toward my rock, the thought occured to me that if i missed,,,the distance of those several hundred yards could be covered in a flash and i started to wonder if i would be able to reload in time if things went terribly wrong.
its these times that a man has to go for broke and just gamble on life itself as you go into the jaws of death and destruction itself.
my trusty mountai rifle was held in half cock so as to not have my destructive power go into a spiral that would do nobody harm ,,especially the dreaded jack that had so terrorized me on my safari's into all manner of places inside those 80 acres.
suddenly i knew that the showdown was at hand. i arrived at the huge stone that i would plant myself on to await his ultimate arrival that would spell the begining of the end for one of us.
as i set there i felt the sun settle on my back and smiled thinking smugly that i had the sun. if he were to peer my way , his eyes would be full of the burning light that would give me the upper hand.
i unscrewed the lid of my mason jar and swigged a small amount of water that would help my toung not turn black from thirst. i rescrewed the lid as i glanced casually down range towards the pile of brush that mr hare called his fort. wowww there were those greedy eyes and the snarl of a toothless grin that the critter always wore looking rite at me. i froze in place. the sweat rolled down my back and the drink of water i just had turned inside my stomack. time stood still as i glared back at my foe.
slowly i started to bring my weapon of destruction up and he made the fatal mistake of looking the other way. BINGO i screamed inside my swirling head. GOTCHA!!! as the smooth motion of my draw made its way to the final spot that would nestle my gun inside the crook of my shoulder,, i held the front trigger down as i pulled the huge hammer to full battery. as i felt it come clear back, i released the front trigger and she was full cocked without a sound.
now we went into slow motion as i slid my quivering finger inside the rear of the trigger guard and pulled the set trigger into place.
i pulled the sites down to nesstle the blade up front into the notch in the rear [ this before i understood the existance of a full buckhorn].
this grizzled old jack with the scars of battle shining in the sunshine didnt have a clue as to who he had run afoul of. my buckskins and mokersons blended me into the background of my mind as the sights settled on that nasty toothles head that had sewn so much mistrust and encouraged so many to move on in the past. all this was over now tho as i put my finger on the front trigger to end his rein of terror.
i remember my finger just touching the front trigger, then nothing but a shower of fire and smoke erupting from the muzzel of my fabulose mountain rifle. frusteration set in rite away as i tryed to peer thru the cloud of smoke to see the final destruction of my hated enemy.
as the smoke removed itself with the slight breeze, i finally enjoyed the ability to see thru it. all the while im spilling powder into my hand to shovel downbore with another slober patch and ball ready to slide downbore for a follow up if needed.
as i re nestled another cap on the lil nipple i glance down range toward where i had shot at old snagletooth.
a smile smoothed all the worrie and stress as i beheld the enemy of the state laying rite where he had stood. well now all that was left was treking those many hundreds of yards to retrieve my nemisis.
as i came clear of the last brush pile, there in his sorry ol hole lay my enemy.
well thats my tale and now that its out thar...so am i
i had just finished my first kit gun with many descusting goofs. kit was an ol cva mountain rifle [ remember those?]. 50 cal and for all the stupids i did putting her together. she forgave me and returned such good accurate shooting that looking back i should still have her nestled in my hidden place, but alas she took a trip with another and i lost track of a great shooting [ however ugly] rifle.
living in colorado at the time, we lived on a small ranch that bordered a small stream in the back of an 80 acre field...mostly ground squirls and prairedogs. mixed in for good meassure were brush bundles that housed the BIGGEST jacks i ever saw.
as i purused the area i found a huge flat rock that i could sit on that overlooked the stream and several bundles of the tangled brush. at first i would sit there and burn pwoder and send balls into the bank yonder above the creek and imagine the bears and moose as well as all kinds of bad men that meant me harm....ahhh those were the days!!!
soon i would sit for long enough to let all critters big and small settle down and peek out of their hiding places. wowwwww thats when i spied the old jack that had to go.
this old jack stood 5 feet tall and prolly weighed in at a smooth 175 lbs. broken tooth that held a gap when he would sneer at me from his semi hidden spot some 5 or 6 hundred yards from my hiding spot. fear and spittle would drool from my open fearfull mouth when he would spy on me fron his special place that he knew was safe from all but a skilled mountain man such as myself , armed with such a weapon as the one i held in my sweaty palms.
i was not sure that my huge 50 ball would even budge him so i would spend days on end contemplating my shot and how much holdover i would need to bring this magical ball into his sneering toothless brainpan. if i held over on that red spot on the bank above that knarly head and down stream to that branch, as the afternoon breeze swept thru my canyon, i thought i may just bring that ball into battery to bring his rein of terror to an end.
the day arrived when i knew it would be him or me that left the battle field this day. i carfully held my palm just rite as i poured the powder into my hand to just the rite place. i then poured this perfect amount into the huge hole that death and destruction would rain from. then as i dug into my pocket of the ratty old jeans i wore i found the ball that was destined to end this terror of an old hare. out of my spitty , drooling jaw came a nasty and slimy peice of pilow case that i "borrowed" from the cabin, slap this hunk of cloth onto the muzzel and plop the ball of death rite into the middle so as to make the cloth settle a small amount into the yawning hole of this fantastic rifle.
yarding the brass tipped wiping stick from the thimbles that held it in place under the barrel, i ran the whole kit and cabootle down the yawning hole that was the barrel of this mighty fighting machine known as my mountain rifle.
after pounding the end of my wiping stick with the palm of my hand i settled on the thought that i was loaded with the ray of death that would be called upon to dispatch this terrorizing hare that had to go.
pulling my shirt pocket open i fished around for the lil nipple hugger that would start the firestorm that would ultimately send my missle downrange to do mighty destruction to my enemy.
as we stalked toward my rock, the thought occured to me that if i missed,,,the distance of those several hundred yards could be covered in a flash and i started to wonder if i would be able to reload in time if things went terribly wrong.
its these times that a man has to go for broke and just gamble on life itself as you go into the jaws of death and destruction itself.
my trusty mountai rifle was held in half cock so as to not have my destructive power go into a spiral that would do nobody harm ,,especially the dreaded jack that had so terrorized me on my safari's into all manner of places inside those 80 acres.
suddenly i knew that the showdown was at hand. i arrived at the huge stone that i would plant myself on to await his ultimate arrival that would spell the begining of the end for one of us.
as i set there i felt the sun settle on my back and smiled thinking smugly that i had the sun. if he were to peer my way , his eyes would be full of the burning light that would give me the upper hand.
i unscrewed the lid of my mason jar and swigged a small amount of water that would help my toung not turn black from thirst. i rescrewed the lid as i glanced casually down range towards the pile of brush that mr hare called his fort. wowww there were those greedy eyes and the snarl of a toothless grin that the critter always wore looking rite at me. i froze in place. the sweat rolled down my back and the drink of water i just had turned inside my stomack. time stood still as i glared back at my foe.
slowly i started to bring my weapon of destruction up and he made the fatal mistake of looking the other way. BINGO i screamed inside my swirling head. GOTCHA!!! as the smooth motion of my draw made its way to the final spot that would nestle my gun inside the crook of my shoulder,, i held the front trigger down as i pulled the huge hammer to full battery. as i felt it come clear back, i released the front trigger and she was full cocked without a sound.
now we went into slow motion as i slid my quivering finger inside the rear of the trigger guard and pulled the set trigger into place.
i pulled the sites down to nesstle the blade up front into the notch in the rear [ this before i understood the existance of a full buckhorn].
this grizzled old jack with the scars of battle shining in the sunshine didnt have a clue as to who he had run afoul of. my buckskins and mokersons blended me into the background of my mind as the sights settled on that nasty toothles head that had sewn so much mistrust and encouraged so many to move on in the past. all this was over now tho as i put my finger on the front trigger to end his rein of terror.
i remember my finger just touching the front trigger, then nothing but a shower of fire and smoke erupting from the muzzel of my fabulose mountain rifle. frusteration set in rite away as i tryed to peer thru the cloud of smoke to see the final destruction of my hated enemy.
as the smoke removed itself with the slight breeze, i finally enjoyed the ability to see thru it. all the while im spilling powder into my hand to shovel downbore with another slober patch and ball ready to slide downbore for a follow up if needed.
as i re nestled another cap on the lil nipple i glance down range toward where i had shot at old snagletooth.
a smile smoothed all the worrie and stress as i beheld the enemy of the state laying rite where he had stood. well now all that was left was treking those many hundreds of yards to retrieve my nemisis.
as i came clear of the last brush pile, there in his sorry ol hole lay my enemy.
well thats my tale and now that its out thar...so am i
