Traditions Nitrofire Muzzleloader Rifle

I was alone at the edge of the big woods. The temperature was just above freezing, slowly rotting the layer of snow blanketing the ground as a warm front had brought drizzle to the Midwest. The clash of warm air against cold, wet earth set the perfect stage for fog. As I settled against a tree to watch a remote field, visibility began to lower like a great gray theater curtain.

There was just the slightest hint of wind, the breeze a physical presence carrying the pervading dampness down into your bones.

An hour of indeterminate waiting later I noticed a fat doe slowly feeding down the edge of the field. She appeared like an apparition from the increasing gloom, slowly moving down the rows of corn stubble while pawing the snow in search of greenery underneath. It was a perfect setup.

I was just inside the tree line and she was completely unaware of my presence. After waiting for her to feed within range, I carefully, slo-o-owly cocked the hammer on my traditional Hawken muzzleloader, winching at the loud click of the sear engaging. I then sat up in my shooting position waiting for the final outcome. She continued pawing, oblivious.

A few moments later, I gently brushed the set trigger and the hammer fell. The #10 brass percussion cap popped but there was no expected kick or blossom of smoke and fire. As I began to furtively drop the gun from my cheek to re-cap and try again, there was an unexpected “booooom” as acrid smoked filled the air. I had experienced my first “hang-fire,” likely due to the cloying dampness.

After reloading, I dejectedly walked into the field just to make sure I hadn’t somehow accidentally hit the doe. Following her tracks a bit, it was obvious she had suffered no worse than a fright. Resigned to another day with no venison, I began the long, slow, soggy stalk back to my truck.

During this trek two decades ago, I finally decided a modern in-line muzzleloader was my next purchase.