Haunted by a Cartridge

It’s 30F. Light is just coming up so I can see the far barns. They keep blowing in and out of view as the snow squalls are beginning to build.

It’s the last day of late Kentucky Muzzleloader Season. I still have a tag, but the freezer is quite full, and I haven’t seen a buck worth taking in two months. Still, I wanted to come out and enjoy things as best I could. The laptop and I are out in back, somewhat sheltered. I ran a 50 foot cable out so I’d have Internet.

Most guys don’t talk about dreams. However, I have to. As a shaman I have picked – [There was a shot. Somebody had their trip in the snow pay off… Ooops there was a second shot. Somebody must be using one of those sem-auto muzzleloaders.] Now where was I? Oh yes, as a shaman, I’ve picked a vocation that deals specifically in dreams. So please bear with me—it’s just my job.

I am haunted by few things. There’s Mister Natural, the big old Tom that struts out by the second barn. There’s now Silent Bob, his sidekick, who joined him last year-

. . .

[Change of venue—the laptop started freezing up and shorting out, so I retreated back into the house. I think the experiment would have worked if the snow had not been so wet.]

Ah yes, my haunts. There are the turkeys. There are the big bucks that I occasionally see over by Big Oak Creek—the ones that stay just out of bow range. I dream of one massive rack that I saw over Thanskgiving last year. There are a couple of old girlfriends ( but that’s another story entirely) But this is the first time I’ve been haunted by a cartridge.

I had the dream again last night. I’m standing around, shooting the bull with some nameless faceless hunting buddies. I’m grousing about how the 30-30 hasn’t been cutting the mustard, and somebody hands me a rifle and says: “Try this out.”

As I remember, the rifle is a stainless lever action. The target is about 75 yards out. He hands me a round, and it’s a big straight-wall case with a bullet that looks like a 44 or 45 caliber. I give it a try, and the round gives me a decent thump—about the same as my ’06. I immediately fall in love with it. I ask what it is and I wake up.

I’ve been bothered by this all week. It’s too big to be a 44 Magnum, but I can’t be sure. It’s got very moderate recoil. It’s a bang-dead deer killer though, at least according to the dream. I’ve been researching it all week. The candidates are heavy duty 44 Magnum, a 444 Marlin, a 45-70. I don’t know. Maybe there’s something else out there. In my dream, I’m looking for good deer rifle—a 150 yard gun at most.

At one point, a couple of years ago, I dreamed of a 30-30 lever. (see Ode to a 30-30) . I found one in short order, and I’ve spent the last couple of years putzing with a load that will do an adequate job on our deer. So far 4 deer have come to harm with this rifle. Two required three shots to put them down. Two have walked off like nothing happened. I’ve changed bullets; I’ve changed the powder. I’ve chronographed. I’ve stood in the backyard with my rifle and whispered “I want to believe! I want to believe!” (see Polar Express--you’ll understand.) Nothing seems to be working.

Maybe I should just be happy with my current battery, several ought-sixes, a nice Savage 99 in 308, 12 Gauge slug guns, and respectable 54 caliber sidelock smokepole. I’ll keep the 30-30 as the family Yute rifle, and just move on. Still, I’m a shaman, and shaman need spiritual quests to maintain their relevance.

Feel free to pitch in here. Someone out there, you, my legions of faceless hunting buddies, may have an idea what it is I’m seeking.