Yesterday was opening morning for the Tenasi muzzleloader deer season. I was in my local ground blind before dawn. No wind. Clear sky. Temperature in the low to mid 60's.
At dawn came the birds. Two kinds of wrens, a little mouse-like "winter wren" hopped around on the brush and logs of my blind. Then a pair of our common Carolina wrens came along and did the same, searching for their breakfast of tiny insects. The ubiquitous sparrows were all about. A rustle in the leaves brought me up to high alert, but it proved to be only a squirrel.
At about 8:20am I heard the first shot of the season. It came from north of me and some distance away.
Another hour passed and then I saw movement through the underbrush about 100 yards off. I looked. Antlers! I watched as the buck silently ghosted through the underbrush, going from the north, heading south. There was no opportunity for a shot. The buck disappeared behind a wall of tall brush. It crossed London Creek there, and then I saw its antlers above the brush on the other side of the creek. It was walking along the creek bank, coming my way.
It stopped, stood still, and looked all around. A triple-trunked tree with a lot of saplings and vines around it blocked any shot I might make. I could see the buck, just couldn't get a clear shot. The deer stood there, looking around. It looked directly at me several times. Did it hear me? Did it smell me? Did it sense danger?
I had my rifle cocked and resting on the top log of my brush blind. I waited. After what seemed like an hour but was probably more like five minutes, the buck stepped forward. It began to climb the bluff, still passing through thick underbrush. I had my gunsights lined up on it, but the brush did not present a clear shot. Looking ahead, I saw a small opening through the underbrush. As the buck passed through the opening I touched the trigger.
My gunshot shattered the quiet of the morning. As the billowing cloud of white powder smoke dissipated, I saw the white tail of the buck as it ran up a ravine, going up the steep bluff.
I took my time reloading, then gathering my gear, I walked down to the creek. I was able to hop across the shallow creek on a jumble of sticks, but I still got my boots wet. I went to the spot the deer had been when I shot. I scanned the area carefully for any sign of a hit. No blood. No cut hair. Hmm. However, I could see the turned-up leaves on the forest floor where the buck had run. I followed that sign.
Near the top of the ravine, a few drops of blood. Further up, more blood. I topped the bluff and there lay the buck, stone dead. My shot had hit a bit further back than I like, but the round ball had still passed through both lungs and out the other side.
On dragging it out, I took off my boots and waded the creek barefoot with the buck in tow.
I made the rifle in the picture back in 1998. It is the 2nd muzzleloader that I built, and it is my favorite deer rifle. I think that I have probably taken more with it than I ever did with any of my modern rifles. .50 caliber. 42" octagon barrel. Weighs about 9 pounds. My hunting load is 70 grains of 3F under a patched .490 round ball.
I took this buck from about 55 - 60 yards.
At dawn came the birds. Two kinds of wrens, a little mouse-like "winter wren" hopped around on the brush and logs of my blind. Then a pair of our common Carolina wrens came along and did the same, searching for their breakfast of tiny insects. The ubiquitous sparrows were all about. A rustle in the leaves brought me up to high alert, but it proved to be only a squirrel.
At about 8:20am I heard the first shot of the season. It came from north of me and some distance away.
Another hour passed and then I saw movement through the underbrush about 100 yards off. I looked. Antlers! I watched as the buck silently ghosted through the underbrush, going from the north, heading south. There was no opportunity for a shot. The buck disappeared behind a wall of tall brush. It crossed London Creek there, and then I saw its antlers above the brush on the other side of the creek. It was walking along the creek bank, coming my way.
It stopped, stood still, and looked all around. A triple-trunked tree with a lot of saplings and vines around it blocked any shot I might make. I could see the buck, just couldn't get a clear shot. The deer stood there, looking around. It looked directly at me several times. Did it hear me? Did it smell me? Did it sense danger?
I had my rifle cocked and resting on the top log of my brush blind. I waited. After what seemed like an hour but was probably more like five minutes, the buck stepped forward. It began to climb the bluff, still passing through thick underbrush. I had my gunsights lined up on it, but the brush did not present a clear shot. Looking ahead, I saw a small opening through the underbrush. As the buck passed through the opening I touched the trigger.
My gunshot shattered the quiet of the morning. As the billowing cloud of white powder smoke dissipated, I saw the white tail of the buck as it ran up a ravine, going up the steep bluff.
I took my time reloading, then gathering my gear, I walked down to the creek. I was able to hop across the shallow creek on a jumble of sticks, but I still got my boots wet. I went to the spot the deer had been when I shot. I scanned the area carefully for any sign of a hit. No blood. No cut hair. Hmm. However, I could see the turned-up leaves on the forest floor where the buck had run. I followed that sign.
Near the top of the ravine, a few drops of blood. Further up, more blood. I topped the bluff and there lay the buck, stone dead. My shot had hit a bit further back than I like, but the round ball had still passed through both lungs and out the other side.
On dragging it out, I took off my boots and waded the creek barefoot with the buck in tow.
I made the rifle in the picture back in 1998. It is the 2nd muzzleloader that I built, and it is my favorite deer rifle. I think that I have probably taken more with it than I ever did with any of my modern rifles. .50 caliber. 42" octagon barrel. Weighs about 9 pounds. My hunting load is 70 grains of 3F under a patched .490 round ball.
I took this buck from about 55 - 60 yards.
