This article appeared first in the November Issue of Muzzle Blasts Magazine in 1990 NMLRA Members can read this and every other article ever published. Sign up today

Sagebrush, Cornfields, and Black Powder

by Randy Smith

Kansas

A few of the customers at Coyote's Sporting Goods store in Garden City, Kansas cast some disapproving looks my way as I negotiated to trade my vintage double barreled shotgun for a new Thompson/Center New Eng­lander 12 gauge. Blackpowder rifles have gained some acceptance for deer hunting in western Kansas, but black­powder shotgunning is still in its infancy, Although twenty years old, my double barrel was in immacu1are condition and I managed a straight across trade. Some of the bystanders might have felt that I was on the worst end of the deal but, I left the store with the only new muzzle­loading shotgun on any dealer's racks in the city. I brushed off the disapproving looks and eagerly looked forward to setting out on my next blackpowder adven­ture. I had noticed the Thompson on the rack almost two weeks earlier and finally succumbed to the temptation. Owning two blackpowder rifles had only increased my desire to try a soot-burning scattergun.

The New Englander is not a fancy gun. Simple lines, black furniture, good quality walnut, and an exception­ally smooth percussion lock system come together to form an appealing shotgun. Although I would have pre­ferred a double barrel, school teacher budgets and avail­ability led me down the path of the Thompson/Center. I was impressed with the balance and simple grace of the little shotgun and reasoned that beginning with a single shot might be a safer proposition.

After reading Thompson/Center's excellent booklet on shooting blackpowder guns, I set off to the range to try some patterning. It didn't take long to settle on two load­ings that seemed quite effective at the thirty-to forty­yard range. For quail and other small game, I decided that an equal volume of #7 1/2 shot loaded in front of eighty grains of Pyrodex RS® would be very effective. Larger doses of powder with this shot size seemed to spread the pattern to an unacceptable level at the longer ranges. For wadding, I used Federal 1/2-inch thick 12 gauge cushion wads in front of shot and powder as well.

For a pheasant load, I determined that equal volumes of #6 shot and ninety grains of Pyrodex RS® would be a good choice. With onJy a modified bore cboke available on the gun the pattern gets pretty thin at the longer ranges, but it remained even and seemed more than ade­quate to bring down the larger and tougher birds. Black­powder is difficult to get in these parts so Pyrodex® seemed the logical choice for a propellant.

One of the first items that I realized T would need for up­ land hunting was some way to carry and dispense my shot. A chance encounter with an old 50¢ cow horn at a yard sale and about two hours of labor produced a functional, if not fancy, shot horn that seems to work quite well. Although I made several small mistakes making the piece, no one that I hunted with seemed to notice. I'm sure a more experienced buckskinner would fall off his log laughing at this pilgrim's efforts. Still, it is not an unattractive piece and proved quite functional in the field. I decided to use a small belt-mounted shooting bag to carry powder measure, extra caps, and wad­ding. The bag worked very well.

With my outfit put together, I eagerly awaited the Kansas pheasant season. Opening weekend of pheasant shooting in

the Garden City area is a major event on the city merchants' calendars. Hunters come from all over the country to have ago at our rinneck population. Motels, restaurats and mer­chants brace themselves for the onslaught and much appre­ciated business. Predictions of a small number of birds didn't seem to dampen prospects as shooters from as far away as California and Pennsylvania anived for opening day. Warm weather and heavy cover also threatened to limit the shooting.

As dawn broke warm and still on opening day, I picked up my nephew, Chris Seidel, at the local junior college and set out for pasture 113 of the State Buffalo Refuge just south of Garden City. Chris, a player for the nation­ally ranked Bronco Buster football team, would be using my old Marlin 12 gauge; his gun was still home gathering dust. Chris is accustomed to his uncle's excentricities con­cerning blackpowder and wasn't surprised to see me dragging out the muzzleloader. Nine hundred acres of sagebrush, sand.hills and ragweedsin pasture #3 proved a poor choice for opening the season. The weather was just too warm and the birds remained scat­tered. Although there were quite a few tracks, we were un­able to get any birds up and decided to change locations. Our second choice was along the Arkansas River east of town next to several circles of irrigated alfalfa. Cover was ex­tremely heavy in spots and proved a chore to negotiate. During my pre-season scouting, I had seen several pheasats in this area and was sure of some success. Well, we got up pheasants, about fifteen of them, all hens. Poor Chris practi­cally jumped out of his skin when he almost stepped on the first bird before she flushed. They were holding that tight in the heavy foliage. For nearly a quarter of a mile, we kept flushing birds. I finally commented to Chris that it was no wonder we were short of birds this season. It's difficult to make little pheasants with all girls and no boys. Christopher could only sigh in agreement.

After trying several farms, we finally received permis­sion to hunt some irrigated corn stalks northeast of town. I would advise anyone coming a long distance to hunt to hire a guide. Many farms are committed to previous promises to other hunters or have their land leased and it can prove difficult getting permission. Local farmers pro­tect their irrigated acres and hunting without permission can lead to quite a rear chewing or worse. We lucked out on the acres that we were finally able to hunt.

It was 10 o'clock and the temperature was in the high sixties when we arrived at our spot. Chris had been shed­ding clothes all morning and I had my sleeves rolled up when we reached the circle of corn stubs. Normally, when it gets that warm, birds run rather than flush. Not the best conditions for good pheasant hunting. However, this circle had two high ridges cut from the southwest corner of the field running parallel about fifty yards apart, that were co­vered with weeds on the slopes. It looked good and it was. With Chris on one side and me on the other, we walked the ridges of weeds. We hadn't gone forty yards before a large group of hens and a couple of cocks flushed. Chris missed his bird but the New Englander nailed mine with a crossing shot of about twenty-five yards. The bird went down nicely in clear view. Rather than rush up to the downed bird, I chose to reload my gun before taking another step. This was a move that proved invaluable throughout the weekend. It ta1ces me at least a minute to reload the gun, but while reloading, another cock poked his head out of the weeds, deciding whether to run or fly. I would have had that bird except that the spent percussion cap was stuck tight on the nipple.

By the time I dug out my pocket knife and pryed the cap loose, the bird had made his decision and was head­ing east just as fast as his wings could carry him. My first action upon returning to Garden City that day was stop at Coyote's for a fresh tin of Remington's.

We flushed another group of hens and one cock but there really wasn't a shot for either of us. Chris had football prac­tice that afternoon, and I took him back to Garden.

The wind came up that afternoon so I waited until things settled down a little that evening then went out for another try on my own. A circle of grain sorghum stalks proved un­productive until I noticed an isolated group of tall weeds that bordered the staks where a bar pit and abandoned oil drill­ing site bad been located. With no other tall cover near this location, the weeds looked promising. I crossed the area slowly and as I neared the end, I could hear the birds scuf­lfling to crowd under the weeds at the edge. l waked care­fully toward the sound. Holding tight as long as possible, the birds exploded from cover when I was within five yards of their location. I missed a shot at the only cock as he crossed over my left shoulder. I reloaded and my next step brought up a cock that had held his position during the whole pro­cess. I folded him as he quartered away.

I was surprised that both that morning and again that eve­ning holding my position and reloading immediately after a shot had proven so beneficial. The slow-loading characteris­tics of my muzzleloading single shot bad not really worked against me at all. I have hunted pheasants since I was big enough to carry a gun and the chance for a double is pretty unlikely. If these birds held that tightly under the conditions described, then this technique should work more effectively during cold weather. This is the one piece of advice that I would give a muzzleloader thinking of shotgunning.

As for my New Englander, I give the gun extremely high marks. Lightweight, easy-to-carry characteristics, and a fast, sure ignition system combine to make the gun a pleasure to shoot. The gun swings beautifully and shoots as straight as any shotgun that I have ever han­dled. The gun is accurate, well made and dependable. And, believe it or not, that slow-loading element of blackpowder bird shooting provides both challenge and adventure for the fellow who has maybe gotten a little bored with taking pheasants the easy way.