We're riding through the backwoods of the western Sierra Nevada mountains in my pal Steve's "new" '67 Mustang. The roads are less than perfect but the Mustang doesn't seem to mind. Even when we leave the pavement and slowly cruise over the hard-packed logging roads that criss-cross the area the 30+ year-old suspension takes each jostle in turn with only the occasional squeak as protest. Steve says he knows where we're going but I'm not so sure. He's been hanging out in this general area since he was a child so I trust him and sit back waiting for him to announce that we're there.
We leave our four bedroom, two bathroom, two story "cabin" in Snowshoe Springs and head southeast on Board's Crossing Road. We're going to cross over the North Fork of the Stanislaus River at the Sourgrass Bridge and then head up the other side of the canyon. Steve says he knows a logging road we'll take on the uphill side. We'll just follow it back into the woods until we find a place that feels right. Not too many folks go back that far he says. At least not when the deer are out of season.
The country is beautiful and ugly at the same time. Acres of clear-cut redwood stand in stark contrast to the tall growth and heavy underbrush of the third or fourth generation forest that makes up most of this area. We're on federal land leased to a large wood products company. The government lets them take basically whatever they want in return for planting miniature seedlings that the deer eat. And for keeping the bridge maintained and the roads passable. I guess they know what they're doing. Sometimes it doesn't seem like it though. My mind wanders back to what this country was like before us civilized folks started bending nature to our will. It must have been beautiful. It still is if you hold your hand over the clear-cut scars that checkerboard the area.
Today is a day of multiple firsts. Today I'll take my first shot through my first black powder rifle. My first shot through any black powder rifle for that matter. My new gun is a reproduction of a Pennsylvania rifle made by the Pedersoli Company of Italy. I think it's pretty sweet but then I'm not very objective when it comes to my stuff. It's a caplock in .45 caliber with a 41" browned octagonal barrel, walnut fullstock and brass patchbox. They call it their Dixie rifle. I'm not sure why but I'm beginning to think it's because the folks at Dixie Gun Works had a hand in designing it. And maybe because they sell so many of them. That's where I bought mine anyway. I'm happy with it. The stock is a very nice if featureless piece of walnut with brass buttplate, trigger guard, thimbles and nose cap the match the patchbox. The wood to metal fit is pretty nice and the brass is all very highly polished. I've already cleaned it about fifty times and put plenty of Wonder Lube all over the wood and metal.
I've been doing my homework to help prepare myself for the experience. I've sent email to everyone I ever knew who shoots black powder asking for tips. I've worn the ink off the pages of the Dixie catalog and ordered swaged lead round balls, pre-cut patches, bore and patch lube along with assorted cleaning brushes and jags to remove the fouling I hope to make.
My brand new canvas hunting pouch from Dixie Gun Works is loaded to overflowing with short starters, cappers, brass powder measure with built-in funnel, extra patches, extra lube, extra caps and my brand new hand-made bullet pouch that I copied from one I saw on one of the Mark Baker Longhunter tapes. I took my shooting bag outside this morning and rubbed it in the dirt to give it a little character. Oh, and to cut down on its blinding whiteness.
Hanging from the bag's strap is a flintlock pan brush and touchhole pick. I won't be using it on the caplock but it does look cool just hanging there. There's also a new antler-handled patch knife inside that I won't be using either. An Altoids tin is carrying about two tablespoonful of Wonder Lube and pillow ticking patches. We usually toss the tins in the fire to burn off the red and white paint and make them look a little more like antiques. There wasn't time before we took off this morning so mine looks like it just came off the candy rack at the checkout stand at Safeway. Next to it, in a pigskin pouch is an iron striker, a large flint chip and some tow; my fire-making supplies. I am ready for whatever we encounter in the wilds surrounding the North Fork of the Stanislaus River. Ready and able.
I have a new linen haversack from James Townsend and Sons that's holding a water bottle, some jerky, a sack of parched cord and a pack of Camels. I'll drape it over my right shoulder so it hangs at my left side. Steve said a haversack should always be put on over the hunting pouch and powder horn. That way we can throw it off and lighten our load if we are attacked by hostiles, leaving our shooting supplies and firestarting kits. Let's hope we don't have to run for our lives.
I have on a pair of denim overalls, a banded-collar chambric shirt, work boots and a fine wool felt fedora. I call the overalls my "Alvins" because they're what Gary Cooper wore in "Sgt. York." The outfit is calculated to present the casual observer with a character right out of the Valley of the Moon in Tennessee. I think carrying the caplock puts just the right finishing touch on the image.
Steve is similarly attired. Together we could be heading for the famous turkey shoot where Alvin C. York cuts dead center five times and wins the whole beef critter on the hoof. All that's missing is Ward Bond and Noah Beery, Jr.
Today I'll learn how to load and shoot round balls from a muzzleloading rifle. I've been reading everything I could find on the subject of loading and have a million concerns. Will I put too much powder in and blow myself to smithereens? Will I get the patched ball tamped down over the powder charge or leave an air space that will blow me to smithereens? Will I be able to work the Ted Cash capper or mishandle the percussion caps and blow myself to smithereens?
I've been shooting for more than twenty years. I've owned everything from pellet pistols to .44 Magnums, from BB guns to a Korean War vintage M1 Garrand. I've plinked in the woods and shot in 3 position military matches. But I've never dropped the hammer on a load of black powder nestled behind a soft lead round ball. I've rolled my own ammo and customized loads for both handguns and rifles. But I've never poured powder from a horn into a measure and then into the bore of a rifle. I've never shoved a patched ball down a muzzle and rammed it home to sit atop the oldest explosive known. I know what I'm supposed to do but will I do it right? And even if I do will I be able to hit what I'm aiming at?
Steve disturbs by reverie.
"We're here," he says. I look around and see clear cut on both sides of the road.
"Are you sure," I ask?
"Yep. This way we can see what we're shooting and more importantly what we're not shooting."
"Okay. You're the knight and I'm the squire on this trip."
We pile out of the car and start donning our acouterments. Shooting bag and powder horn go on the right side. Then the haversack goes on the left. Remember? Just in case we have to run from any Indians. Can't be too careful out here in the wilderness. I check my shooting bag to be sure I haven't forgotten anything. Then it's a check of the haversack for food and water. And the pack of Camels. Real frontier cigarettes. Finally we open the trunk and take out our carefully wrapped rifles. Steve has his .36 caliber flintlock Hatfield squirrel rifle in a sack he made out of a Hudson's Bay blanket. Very authentic. My Pedersoli is in a cloth gun case I got from Dixie. Very inexpensive. I shove my fedora down on my head and pull the Pedersoli out of its case.
Now I feel like we're really stepping back in time. Not too far. For me probably only to the turn of the century. But that's still quite a ways. It feels good. We lock the Mustang and head up into the clearcut on our right to scout the land.
We both know that we should have a look at the side of the clearing we'll be shooting towards. Neither of us wants to drop a stray cow in its tracks or put a round ball through some Sierra Clubber's dome tent. As we pick our way over the debris left by the loggers we keep an eye open for potential targets. Sticks, pine cones, even a bit of an old sign are just waiting for us to drill little round holes into them. There are plenty of things to shoot.
We get back to a place under some of the few trees left and take off our haversacks, hooking them over some low hanging branches. Then we stand our guns up against a stump and go back out into the field to set our targets. It's getting close now and I'm getting anxious. Not nervous but all of my questions are about to be answered. Not to mention will I have fun shooting this here rifle gun. And will I get some use out of all the cute gadgets I bought.
Walking back to where we stacked our rifles we pass a stump. It's cut at an angle and presenting its face to us. I decide then and there that this is where I will place the first round I fire from my new caplock. Yes, and I'll dig out the ball and keep it as a memento of this days shooting.
---to be continued---
(For the next installemnt of this article check out First Shots, Part Two.---Ed.)