Continuer after a LONG TIME....

Elk Horn woke up and stepped out of the wigwam into a cold frost filled morning. He had on the new leggins and his long sleeve elk hide shirt. His rabbit lined moccasins made way to the outside fire where his father was looking over his quiver full of freshly made arrows. He watched as his father felt the obsidian points that could kill a black bear in seconds. There were 10 arrows his father would carry in his birch bark quiver and Elk Horn would carry his 12 arrows in his wolf hide quiver. He looked at his bow in his hand made from hickory. The string made of milkweed. He knew if that arrow hit well that the bow had enough power to go completely through the buck he was after.
His father motioned towards the woods. Elk Horn threw a small bag that contained his bow drill set, jerky and sinew along with another bowstring, over his shoulder and headed in the direction his father was going quiet as a cougar.

Elk Horn stopped as his father did; up ahead was a boar black bear feeding along the hollow they were going through. If it was the end of the hunt and they were without meat they would kill the bear but it was just the beginning....

Elk Horn's Stalk

In the morning, Elk Horn thought, they would hunt the whitetail. Just a few miles south of where he sat there was a small group of them. They were in an area of thick brush and lush grasses. When he had been crossing through there, as he came back to the village with a long haul of firewood, he had seen a huge buck, horns as big as the elk they hunted in the north. His medicine was on that deer and if he managed to kill him with his small hickory bow, his medicine would grow stronger and in battle he would not die. He sat beside his father, who would lead the group. His father reached behind himself and pulled a large 'coonskin bag to his lap. From the bag he took out a pair of black leggins. "Elk Horn" was all he said and handed the walnut stained buckskin leggings to his youngest son. Elk Horn knew they were to be worn on his first deer hunt tomorrow. He laid them beside his bedroll and stared into the fire and looked up as the smoke seeped through the smoke hole at the top of the wigwam. Tomorrow was a big day for him, he had killed rabbits and even killed a turkey but tomorrow he would be tested because he was to take a mature and wiley whitetail. they would be gone a few days too, Elk Horn had never been away from the camp for more than a day. He laid back and dreamed of tomorrow's hunt.

Going Primitive

Recently my dad decided to go tradational in his bowhunting path. instead of shooting a compound he is now going to shoot a recurve and wooden arrows. he plans to hunt more primitively wearing a felt hat! lol and im glad to say i was the one responsible along with Mike "Hawk" Huston to get him into the old way Spirit.

continued from yesterday(Wild)

The trapper chuckled in fear and anger; he learned to control years ago, as he heard the arrows that could drop a buffalo, hit the pine he was behind. His right leg was sticking out from behind the tree by a few inches and if they hit the ankle he'd be done for.
he rammed the greased patch and lead ball down to the 90 grains of black powder, down the barrel. he filled his pan with powder and cocked the hammer. quick as a cougar would pounce on a deer he reached around the tree with the rifle and fired at the closest warrior. he was back behind the tree before he could see if he killed him.
he knew he did when he heard the body land to the ground, he was hit low though because he heard the warrior throw up and hack out a deep cough. the warrior wasn;t dead but he wouldn't be any trouble though. This time the old trapper would use the pistol. Off to his right was a pile of leaves and dead pine boughs. if he rolled into them he could shoot and land behind the aspen on the other side.
After countless hours of shooting back east he had became an excellent shot. he had practiced so he could survive for a long time in the great west.
Now would be the test of his survival and shooting. He checked the prime in the pan and shut the frizzen back over it, cocked the hammer and prepared for what he was to do.
He dove quick and rolled, he landed by the aspen took aim with the pistol on the warrior, that was down off his horse and fired. He caught the warrior high in the thigh. The blackfeet warrior fell to his knees, winced and charged the old man.
He hit him hard and they rolled into the pile of dead aspen leaves.
the trapper hit the warrior across the head with the pistol. Down he went, out cold.
the trapper stood up slowly after being smashed in the chest hard;loaded the pistol and finished the warrior off.
After living in the mountains for close to fifteen years he had become a savage himself. Sometimes he thought like an animal. He was uncivilized and he knew it, but he couldn't always control it.
He scalped the warriors and tied the bloody prizes to his belt and limped his way back to his camp and traps and knew that he had many more years in the high country before his life would be snuffed out. END, more stories later though

Just a short story

The "old" man waded the cold creek and made it to the bank. The water wetted his buckskin leggings up to mid-calf. As he hit the other side he was off again, running as fast as he could through the rockey terrain with the heavy Plains rifle in his right hand. the jagged land was hard on his moccasined feet, so he looked at the ground most of the time as he ran to avoid the large stones. he glanced behind himself and saw the 3 Blackfoot warriors over a hundred yards away, stirring up dust.
He had been setting his traps in the stream, it was an easy set because the weather was mild and he knew summer doin's were right around the corner. So wading the cold creek wasn't so bad, but he had just set the large steel foothold under the water when he heard the mule snort and heard the war hoop. As quick as his chilled body could move he ran.
Off to his right was a deep valley with loads of pines and aspen, he could get into them in minutes and hide and defend himself. Just 3 warriors he could handle with the rifle and pistol. He ran hard. His breath leaping from his chest. He starting seating under his wool shirt and coyote skin hat.
After a few hundred yards of sprinting he was in the trees. And they were thick, maybe thick enough to slow the horses and the warriors. A big pine appeard ahead and he dove behind it and caught his breath. He cocked the hammer on the flintlock and set the second trigger. he aimed the rifle at the opening he had come through and waited.
The warriors appeard and stopped, one was wearing nothing but a breech clout in the chilled air. The other had on a plain buckskin shirt that was bloody, they had only been hunting. He could see a large mule deer across the back of one of the warriors saddles. He picked the one holding the old fusee first and fired. Down he went, they saw the smoked and fired their small longbows at the pine tree that he was now safely behind. More later if anyone reads this...lol

Good Medicine Ground Hog

i managed to get a ground hog last night before dark...i have been after these guys for weeks...i have missed four times and to make a long story short i hit him and got him. the hide will be made into a side bag and the carcass i will eat some and give the rest to the coyotes and fox, i thanked the great spirit...

Bad Day, Bad Medicine

today i hunted ground hogs again...it was a good day, i had a couple fun stalks. I saw a young baby at 10 feet and i got to within 5 yards of some older smart ground hogs... but then on my last journey into the small woods i did something i dont like i do...i had to kill a suffering animal. I was walking in the grass when i heard something take off down by the creek, i look and there runs a small rabbit across the water up the other side. Then behind me i hear wings rustle and on the ground is a young baby bird. i sneak over and grab it and it cant fly. So i put it down to see if it can...nope. still cant, i pick it up and it starts curling its neck by its chest and it kinda starts convulsing...and its kicking a leg and twitching, so i put it down again and know what i have to do... now killing isnt fun to me, as i know some people think that it is to hunters, but i quickly put it out of its misery, thanked the great spirit for the death that shouldnt have been taken but i found the bird for a reason and that was to put it out of its misery... i laid it on the rocks in the creek for the 'coons or opposums to find and consume...it wasnt a great day, no big medicine having to kill a young suffering bird...a/ho