Yesterday marked my first traditional hunt. Short on time, I could afford only an evening venture in some mountains West of me. I donned my drop front, gray, wool, trousers, a linen work shirt, moccasins, leg wraps, red wool flannel (much like Osborne Russell would have worn), hunting bag, bison horn of powder, knife, hawk, haversack, belt and a few other items including flint, steel and char cloth. To walk miles into the woods in this fashion, clutching my Late Lancaster Dickert Rifle, resulted in more than I had imagined it would. The closeness of the earth to my feet, feeling her every contour or imperfection, the silence of the wool and moccs as I traversed the slopes, awoke in me a different unfamiliar spirit of the hunt. Without modern accoutrements, I was more at mercy of these wilds, more reliant upon wit and skill. The lense through which I viewed my surroundings was that of a hunter in the early 19th and late 18th Century. I long to feel this again, to hunt as a Longrifle hunter. #hunt #hunter #stalk #tradition #flintlock
