The sun was rising in the east, brightening up the live oak woodlot that I had seen many deer in over the last few years. I pulled my worn woodsmans frock tighter around me and was glad I decided to wear my wool weskit and wool stockings this day. It was cold winter morning in Texas, the frost was heavy on the grass and fallen leaves and a film of ice was evident on the depressions that held water from the snow on Christmas Eve.
As I walked towards the pond near the back of the woodlot, I stopped and listened, squirrels were chattering and I heard a hoot owl and my gaze turned to the big snag that the owl had called his home for a while now. Across the dry leaves I carefully walked along a cut that would bring me close to the convergence of three small deer trails that have been heavily used lately. As I walked, I heard some brush breaking and stopped and listened, looking in the direction that the sound had originated from. I found myself wishing I was near the small deadfall that I had made into a makeshift blind as I was sure the sound was coming from the deer trail that was just below that, but alas I had gotten up a bit late this morning. I carefully continued on my way, taking a couple steps, stopping and listening for a span of time before continuing with this pattern as I moved down the old road toward the pond. My fowler rested comfortably cradled in the crook of my arm, my powder horn and bag tucked high up under my right arm.
A small mist was rising off the pond to my left and I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turned my head to see a small yearly deer standing in the open next to the steep about 50 or 60 yds in front of me. Slowly, I brought the fowler up and cocked it - it seemed like an eternity to accomplish this simple and well practiced movement. I bought my fowler up and sighted down the barrel. Without thinking I held just above the right front shoulder at the top of the deer's back. I fired, the ka-boom report and hard shove of the fowler - reassured me that the 90 gr load was speeding the big 60 caliber ball on its way. I watched as the deer flinched and debris flew from near the deer, and disbelief as the deer ran up the hill with another and stood near the top of the pond bank.
I quickly poured powder and rammed a bare ball down the barrel as several unseen deer moved in front of me. I momentarily took my eyes off the deer as I put a overshot wad down the barrel and when I looked back up - both deer had moved off. I finished reloading and primed my fowler and went to see if I could find a blood trail - Nothing! :idunno:
The woods had grown silent as I moved in a small circle along the meadow and woodlot, hoping to find a blood trail. The leaves were disturbed but I found no blood, and the passing of the close to 8 other deer. As I expanded my circle outward, I saw several deer moving through the woods in front of me, but as I followed the trail through the blow downs and cedar it became very difficult to discern the tracks and I lost them near the creek.
I returned to my stables and kennel and got out one of the dogs, and was joined by my oldest child in the search. We returned to the pond where I last saw the deer and as I passed by a cut, there lay the deer not 20 yds from where I last saw him. The ball entered a bit farther back and evidently he was slightly quartered to me because the wound path angled forward with no exit wound and we were unable to recover the spent ball - the liver was destroyed.
This is the first deer, I have killed with a muzzleloader since the early 90s and the first with my fowler since I acquired it 2 yrs ago.
Now, to name the gun. :hmm:
Cheers :hatsoff:
Dan'l Hickham
