A Preparation Not For War

Tonight, for the first time since forming my own powder horn from a Montana Bison, I filled it with powder in preparation for tomorrows winter woods walk.

The fine black granules tumbled from the can or Swiss FF powder, through a small brass funnel and into the tapered spout of mine horn, slowly filling the dark void with the explosive carried on the hip of many a man before me. With the horn full, I replaced the Rosewood stopper snug. For the first time, the horn had a heft to it, a weight not familiar to me in handling this particular horn, having sat for so long empty and without purpose.

With the horn full, I took from a box, sheets of pillow ticking I had acquired over the year. Pure cotton ticking, in half yard sheets, tightly woven, I now needed to cut them into 1 1/2" strips, so as to ease my loading tomorrow. There were 3 thicknesses I had, 0.012", 0.015", 0.018". After measuring and cutting the strips, I opened a jar of rendered bear fat, "bear grease" that was cooked down last winter by the club of muzzleloaders I shoot with, and sits in my freezer annoying my wife. With the grease now soft, and thawed, I run it through my hands and pull the strips of cotton ticking through, rubbing the grease into the patch material.

My mind wanders. For centuries, and in particular, during trying times here in America, men sat in evenings of winter such as this, cutting strips of cotton for patch, filling horns with powder, and preparing their mind and spirit for impending conflict.

Here I sit in peace, filling my ball pouch with lead, my horn with powder, preparing to shoot, and practice a lost skill, a dying past time. There was a time where this preparation equated survival, where this act rendered a nation free from tyranny. How many men sat in candle light cutting patches, their minds wracked with the imagery of horrors to ensue? How many quivered while checking their shooting bag, ensuring they had ball, powder and prime?

Tonight I prepared not for war, but for a jovial fellowship centered around the tradition of the hunt, the scout, the fights of the past.

There is an indescribable calm that comes with the methodical loading ritual of these fine firearms... ....a meditative, zen like state is achieved when interacting with these finely fashioned pieces of steel and wood. ... Traditional muzzleloading is a vacation from the norm a reprieve from modern chaos." -Denny Ducet