Deer Hunting with a Cap-and-Ball Revolving Black Powder Carbine
When a Buck Ain't a Buck
When the second deer stepped out, I tensed, because I just knew it would be the randy buck that had been hot on the doe's trail before. Alas, it was not! This deer was apparently her offspring, noticeably smaller now that it, too, stepped out onto the trail where I could see it fully. With little hesitation, it spotted mama down the trail and followed her.
Before disappointment could take hold, I heard yet another deer traveling through the brush, following the same route the other two had taken.
It soon reached the trail and paused, and there was my buck. I grunted to get his attention and possibly bring him closer and he looked my way, but I could tell he was ready to follow the doe away from me. He stood broadside in the trail and this was going to be my only chance.
Finding a Hole
I straightened, seeking and finding a hole through the slick-dark, shiny-green leaves of a magnolia tree between me and my prey. With my right elbow high, I propped it against the trunk of the oak in which I was perched. I steadied the sights on the buck's side, and fired the little carbine.
Immediately, the buck was on the run. He crossed the trail and plunged into the woods beyond. Startled by my own inhumanly-fast automatic response, I found that I had promptly re-cocked the six-shooter and was swinging the gun with the deer as it ran. I fired, with no visible effect. Then he was gone.
Adrenaline Aftermath
The diminutive gun in my hands, already re-cocked against the possibility of getting another shot, I strained to see where the buck had gone.
Within seconds, I heard crashing in the leaves and brush, not far away. "He's down," I told myself, "He's down and dying." Still I craned my neck, seeking movement amongst the scrub oaks and saplings. I trembled, I panted.
Then I spotted motion! The deer was struggling in the brush, and even as I raised the gun he stood, facing towards me, a narrow target. I fired and was rewarded with a thick cloud of white smoke from the black powder, which maddeningly obscured my view. I watched intently as the smoke drifted and dissipated, in reality fairly quickly though it seemed like forever at the time.
How'd I do That?
I peered across the trail, searching for the buck. I didn't have to wait long. With his body lying on the ground and hidden by brush, he was raising his head, again and again, apparently trying to get up. With alacrity and skill that again astounded me, and which elude me at less intense moments, I raised the little gun, timed the shot to coincide with the raising of the deer's head, and fired.
This time, there was no subsequent movement across the trail. All was still, with the exception of another slow-drifting cloud of aromatic white smoke, my thundering heart, and my quaking limbs. My post-kill attack of the shakes was, as usual, deliciously unrelenting.
After a few minutes of observation, I safed my gun and ratcheted my stand down the tree. I shakily crossed the trail and stepped into the woods beyond, and very shortly was admiring my buck. A nice young spike, this deer would be fine table fare.
Shot Placement
I found that my first shot had been true, as I'd felt it was when I'd fired. It had been a touch too far back for my liking, but a killing lung shot nonetheless. I had apparently missed when I fired as he ran. My third shot, taken as the deer stood up, had grazed its shoulder, stripping a path through his hair but otherwise producing no effect. My final bullet had been perfectly placed, connecting with the neck at the base of the skull as the buck had raised its head.
Thanking God for his infinite grace, I dragged the buck to my truck and loaded it. Cranked the Chevy, backed it out, and headed towards the area where Dad had gone to hunt. Drove along with a wonderful, warm feeling of great accomplishment. Turned off the pavement onto the dirt road leading to Dad's spot, and met him as he was driving out.
Powerful Words
As we climbed out of our trucks at the same time, he knew by the grin on my face that I had gotten a buck. As we walked around to the back of my truck to admire the deer, I said, "I carbined him."
"You did?" was his reply. He sounded mildly surprised. I answered with a smiling nod.
Dad shook my hand, gave me a hug. He said, "I'm proud of you, son. You done good."
If there is any feeling better than what I felt upon hearing those words from that man, I don't know what it might be. I think I floated back to camp that day.
- Russ Chastain
When the second deer stepped out, I tensed, because I just knew it would be the randy buck that had been hot on the doe's trail before. Alas, it was not! This deer was apparently her offspring, noticeably smaller now that it, too, stepped out onto the trail where I could see it fully. With little hesitation, it spotted mama down the trail and followed her.
Before disappointment could take hold, I heard yet another deer traveling through the brush, following the same route the other two had taken.
It soon reached the trail and paused, and there was my buck. I grunted to get his attention and possibly bring him closer and he looked my way, but I could tell he was ready to follow the doe away from me. He stood broadside in the trail and this was going to be my only chance.
Finding a Hole
I straightened, seeking and finding a hole through the slick-dark, shiny-green leaves of a magnolia tree between me and my prey. With my right elbow high, I propped it against the trunk of the oak in which I was perched. I steadied the sights on the buck's side, and fired the little carbine.
Immediately, the buck was on the run. He crossed the trail and plunged into the woods beyond. Startled by my own inhumanly-fast automatic response, I found that I had promptly re-cocked the six-shooter and was swinging the gun with the deer as it ran. I fired, with no visible effect. Then he was gone.
Adrenaline Aftermath
The diminutive gun in my hands, already re-cocked against the possibility of getting another shot, I strained to see where the buck had gone.
Within seconds, I heard crashing in the leaves and brush, not far away. "He's down," I told myself, "He's down and dying." Still I craned my neck, seeking movement amongst the scrub oaks and saplings. I trembled, I panted.
Then I spotted motion! The deer was struggling in the brush, and even as I raised the gun he stood, facing towards me, a narrow target. I fired and was rewarded with a thick cloud of white smoke from the black powder, which maddeningly obscured my view. I watched intently as the smoke drifted and dissipated, in reality fairly quickly though it seemed like forever at the time.
How'd I do That?
I peered across the trail, searching for the buck. I didn't have to wait long. With his body lying on the ground and hidden by brush, he was raising his head, again and again, apparently trying to get up. With alacrity and skill that again astounded me, and which elude me at less intense moments, I raised the little gun, timed the shot to coincide with the raising of the deer's head, and fired.
This time, there was no subsequent movement across the trail. All was still, with the exception of another slow-drifting cloud of aromatic white smoke, my thundering heart, and my quaking limbs. My post-kill attack of the shakes was, as usual, deliciously unrelenting.
After a few minutes of observation, I safed my gun and ratcheted my stand down the tree. I shakily crossed the trail and stepped into the woods beyond, and very shortly was admiring my buck. A nice young spike, this deer would be fine table fare.
Shot Placement
I found that my first shot had been true, as I'd felt it was when I'd fired. It had been a touch too far back for my liking, but a killing lung shot nonetheless. I had apparently missed when I fired as he ran. My third shot, taken as the deer stood up, had grazed its shoulder, stripping a path through his hair but otherwise producing no effect. My final bullet had been perfectly placed, connecting with the neck at the base of the skull as the buck had raised its head.
Thanking God for his infinite grace, I dragged the buck to my truck and loaded it. Cranked the Chevy, backed it out, and headed towards the area where Dad had gone to hunt. Drove along with a wonderful, warm feeling of great accomplishment. Turned off the pavement onto the dirt road leading to Dad's spot, and met him as he was driving out.
Powerful Words
As we climbed out of our trucks at the same time, he knew by the grin on my face that I had gotten a buck. As we walked around to the back of my truck to admire the deer, I said, "I carbined him."
"You did?" was his reply. He sounded mildly surprised. I answered with a smiling nod.
Dad shook my hand, gave me a hug. He said, "I'm proud of you, son. You done good."
If there is any feeling better than what I felt upon hearing those words from that man, I don't know what it might be. I think I floated back to camp that day.
- Russ Chastain
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