segner05
32 Cal.
By the end of September, every weekend in November had filled up with things that could not be avoided. By the middle of November, half of December was full as well. I was pretty down knowing that half of the deer season would be over by the time I'd get a chance to hunt. As the weekends ticked by, I routinely (yet nicely) let my better half know that I would be spending no less than three weekends away at the ranch. There was never an argument, so it was to be.
About a week and a half before Christmas, it was made known to me that I was to begin my holiday vacation the Thursday before Christmas and return to work on the 2nd of January. The week before I had bagged three deer with a modern rifle so I made up my mind that the next deer would be taken with my flintlock.
I drove the hour and a half to our place in central Texas Wednesday night. Thursday morning arrived and found me sitting in my youngest brother's treestand overlooking a feeder the distance of about 20 yards. In my lap sat my .45 cal flintlock rifle loaded with 75 grains of FFFg black powder, a .015 inch thick pillow ticking patch lubed with our own Stumpy's Moose Snot, and a .445 cast round ball from a batch I made up a few weeks earlier. It was a cool morning near 40 degrees with a slight north breeze still left over from the cold front that blew in two days before. That morning proved enjoyable, yet uneventful. All that mother nature disposed to me were three squirrels and a small button buck. Thinking back on it, they must have each died ten times over as I would practice placing the sights on the vitals and envision the shot. This was my very first flintlock hunt and I wanted to be comfortable from every angle. The morning moved on, as did the animals.
I arrived back at the tree stand mid-afternoon to see what I may be graced with. It had warmed up considerably, probably into the high sixties. The only difference was that the wind had shifted to the south. I sat there in my seat for nearly two hours before the woods came alive. First it was the birds, then the three resident squirrels. Seven or eight minutes before the feeder went off, the same little button buck walked across from my right to left thirty or so yards behind the feeder and I lost him in the trees. Feeling confident he would show up after the feeder went off, I continued to look for movement and listen for anything that may be coming in. Shortly after the feeder went off, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see the button buck had circled behind me and was stopped in the trail I had used to get into the stand. He stood there for over twenty minutes sniffing the ground then lifting his nose in the air to try to catch more scent. I knew he had my scent, but I'm guessing there wasn't enough to identify me. As I was observing the little guy trying to figure out just what it was he was smelling, I heard a rustling of leaves to the right of the feeder. To my surprise, it was the perfect deer for a first flintlock deer. It was a three-pointer with a slick antler on one side and a fork on the other. Just as he walked into my view, the young button buck behind me decided that there was indeed no danger and happily bounded up to the feeder to eat. I slowly lifted the rifle and cocked the hammer on the way up to my shoulder. From there everything went into slow motion. It took a few more steps for the three-pointer to become broadside to me at 15 yards. I settled the front sight tight in behind the shoulder and I can distinctly remember raising the sight a bit higher to take the angle of the shot into account as well as the increased thumping of my heart. Oh my!!! This is really happening!! I squeezed the trigger as he took his last step and lowered his head to get a bite of corn. The flintlock fired without hesitation and through the smoke i saw the deer drop in his tracks. He kicked and threw his head around as I instinctively reached in my shot bag for a pre-loaded tube of powder and my ball-board. I reloaded and primed, but it was not needed. He had expired. The ball entered higher than I expected, clipping the spine and top of the lungs. I slowly gathered my composure, dumped the prime, and climbed down the ladder to meet my quarry. I knelt down next to him and thanked him and the Lord for this opportunity.
About a week and a half before Christmas, it was made known to me that I was to begin my holiday vacation the Thursday before Christmas and return to work on the 2nd of January. The week before I had bagged three deer with a modern rifle so I made up my mind that the next deer would be taken with my flintlock.
I drove the hour and a half to our place in central Texas Wednesday night. Thursday morning arrived and found me sitting in my youngest brother's treestand overlooking a feeder the distance of about 20 yards. In my lap sat my .45 cal flintlock rifle loaded with 75 grains of FFFg black powder, a .015 inch thick pillow ticking patch lubed with our own Stumpy's Moose Snot, and a .445 cast round ball from a batch I made up a few weeks earlier. It was a cool morning near 40 degrees with a slight north breeze still left over from the cold front that blew in two days before. That morning proved enjoyable, yet uneventful. All that mother nature disposed to me were three squirrels and a small button buck. Thinking back on it, they must have each died ten times over as I would practice placing the sights on the vitals and envision the shot. This was my very first flintlock hunt and I wanted to be comfortable from every angle. The morning moved on, as did the animals.
I arrived back at the tree stand mid-afternoon to see what I may be graced with. It had warmed up considerably, probably into the high sixties. The only difference was that the wind had shifted to the south. I sat there in my seat for nearly two hours before the woods came alive. First it was the birds, then the three resident squirrels. Seven or eight minutes before the feeder went off, the same little button buck walked across from my right to left thirty or so yards behind the feeder and I lost him in the trees. Feeling confident he would show up after the feeder went off, I continued to look for movement and listen for anything that may be coming in. Shortly after the feeder went off, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see the button buck had circled behind me and was stopped in the trail I had used to get into the stand. He stood there for over twenty minutes sniffing the ground then lifting his nose in the air to try to catch more scent. I knew he had my scent, but I'm guessing there wasn't enough to identify me. As I was observing the little guy trying to figure out just what it was he was smelling, I heard a rustling of leaves to the right of the feeder. To my surprise, it was the perfect deer for a first flintlock deer. It was a three-pointer with a slick antler on one side and a fork on the other. Just as he walked into my view, the young button buck behind me decided that there was indeed no danger and happily bounded up to the feeder to eat. I slowly lifted the rifle and cocked the hammer on the way up to my shoulder. From there everything went into slow motion. It took a few more steps for the three-pointer to become broadside to me at 15 yards. I settled the front sight tight in behind the shoulder and I can distinctly remember raising the sight a bit higher to take the angle of the shot into account as well as the increased thumping of my heart. Oh my!!! This is really happening!! I squeezed the trigger as he took his last step and lowered his head to get a bite of corn. The flintlock fired without hesitation and through the smoke i saw the deer drop in his tracks. He kicked and threw his head around as I instinctively reached in my shot bag for a pre-loaded tube of powder and my ball-board. I reloaded and primed, but it was not needed. He had expired. The ball entered higher than I expected, clipping the spine and top of the lungs. I slowly gathered my composure, dumped the prime, and climbed down the ladder to meet my quarry. I knelt down next to him and thanked him and the Lord for this opportunity.
