Time traveller: deer hunting 16th century style

The matchlock is one of the very earliest forms of firearms. Ignition is by a burning slow match (nitrated cord), which is clamped into the "serpentine. " If the gun is not immediately fired, the match must be readjusted from time to time as it is consumed.

The point to note here is in order to be ready to take a shot in the game fields, the gun must have a burning length of cord hanging from its lock. This is in stark contrast to the contrast wisdom that every hunter needs scent retarding clothing as well as a bottle of some form of "critter juice" to spray upon the soles of his boots lest he bring an unnatural scent into the woods. In addition, choosing to hunt in period-correct attire prevents the author from the using the camouflage clothing many of today's hunters consider essential.

None of this to say one type of hunting is superior to another. But in a world where we're often told we must have only the "latest and bestest" equipment to stand any chance of success, it's refreshing to hear of a hunter who restricts himself to primitive and often homemade equipment in an effort to make his hunting more personally satisfying.

--Ed.

Like many other historical reenactors I like to spend much of my time in the woods using clothing and tools like those of the people in the past. Hunting is one of the activities I choose to recreate in a similar manner to my forbears. In an effort to gain greater understanding of the past, the gun that has usually accompanied me to the woods t)r the last couple of years is a late 16th to early 17th century matchlock.

The matchlock I carry is one that would have been rather commonplace to the men who first came to the Americas from Europe and would have been used for protection as well as hunting. This matchlock would best be termed a caliver or light musket. It's one I rebuilt from a reproduction matchlock to better replicate those that first came to the Great Lakes area in the hands of French explorers in the first half of the 1600s.

The caliber of my gun is .62 (20 gauge) smoothbore and it's stocked in walnut. The load I've found to work best is a .590" lead ball patched with pillow ticking over 80 grains FFFg black powder. For small game I use approximately 1 1/2 ounces of shot in place of the round ball. With such loads I have taken all manner of game from ducks to deer. That being said I would like to share a story of one of my recent successful hunts.

Stepping Back In Time

On this particular evening I left my two hunting partners and a few minutes later found myself headed along the edge of the pines on the south end of the field. Dressed in my period kit and toting my matchlock, I start my trip back through time. The further along I walk, the more I imagine I'm moving backward in time. I keep trying to imagine what this spot would have looked like in 1633.

There would probably have been some huge trees mixed in with spots of undergrowth and more than likely some abandoned fields from one of the native village sites that have been found pretty close to where I now am. The only thing that keeps bringing me back to the present is the occasional glimpse of an old rested fence along the field edge.

Off to my right I catch a flicker of movement. Down in the hollow just north of me are three deer feeding along the field edge. I stand completely motionless waiting to see where they are headed. A bit off to the east I can hear a dull "thwack" sound as one of my hunting partners builds himself a little blind. The deer hear it too and are pretty interested.

Soon enough two of them get a bit spooked and walk off into the woods. The third doesn't stein to be worried and continues browsing. I start to sneak toward her and hope the wind doesn't shift much. She is slowly working towards the trees as she feeds. She's only about 50 yards away but she moves into the cover of the trees before I can get lined up for a shot.

I decide to continue down the way a bit to set up my evening stand under a bunch of grapevines hanging from an old dead elm. Just as I sit down the wind shifts and I hear the three deer run off through the woods out ahead of me. I decide it isn't likely much else will be through tonight and settle back against the elm, letting my mind wander.

When You Least Expect It

I think about everyone who has hunted here before me and how the land has changed yet stayed the same. It's easy to imagine a moose walking into the little depression just ahead of me, or to hear in my mind the howl of a distant wolf pack. Unfortunately, those animals no longer call this place home, but my mind continues to wander. I find myself thinking about what it would have felt like to be one of the few white men to have seen this place in those early days. I imagine how it would have felt to journey this far from the French posts along the St. Lawrence and to have come out even farther than the Huron missions set up by the Jesuits.

Just then I am brought back to my world with the feeling there is something very close to me. I can hear a deer moving along right behind me and now I can see its legs. The deer continues moving past the cluster of grapevines I'm hiding in and now I can see her clearly.

She's only about 20 feet away giving me a nice broadside view. I check the prime in my pan and readjust my match. Raising the gun and leveling it with a spot just behind her front shoulder, I start to squeeze up on the sear bar. I don't even notice the flash of the powder or the recoil of the gun, all I see is the deer do half a somersault in the air and then it is off and running,

Moving out of my grapevine cubby I see the doe heading off across the field. Pretty soon I lose sight of her but I know she'll be easy to find by the amount of blood she has left in her place.

A few minutes and about 120 yards from where she had been standing my hunting partners help me dress and haul her out of the woods. The single lead ball had entered just high of my point of aim, piercing one of her lungs and cutting a furrow along her liver before exiting the far side.

I now have plenty of meat, a hide to tan and sinew to sew it with. The matchlock has earned her forth notch and I have the memory of a great hunt again. Too bad there aren't any moose to be had here but maybe someday.

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COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group