Attn: Gadget Hunters - How to follow tradition.
During the recently past Muzzleloader season, I was skillful enough to take a nice buck. Here's the way it happened; Woke up before dawn, just out of habit (early to bed, early to rise, blah-blah-blah). Walked out to the front room so as not to wake the wife and baby girl. Tripped over either Rufus or Bosco (my 2 dogs) couldn't tell which, it was dark. Added some logs to the woodstove, dressed by firelight. I sleep in a red wool/cotton longhandled unionsuit (complete with trapdoor). Added wool socks, wool shirt , heavy cotton farmer over-alls, plain leather work boots, a really heavy wool sweater, and wool hat. Stuck wool gloves in my pockets. Belted on my knife.
Reached up above the stone hearth and took down "Elizabeth" (don't ask & don't tell the wife!) from her pegs, along with my leather possibles bag. She's an 1861 Civil War rifled musket.
Stepped out onto the porch into the cold crisp air. A million-and-one stars shown down from above (the good Lord must smile on traditional hunters?). My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Loaded "Beth" via my brass Civil War Peace flask, with real black powder and a 5-hundred-and-something grain Minnie-Ball, but didn't cap her yet. Started walking. About a quarter-mile beyond the end of the driveway, down our gravel lane, I turned right into the woods, as the sky started to turn gray in the East. Slowed down to my normal still-hunting pace. Fumbled around in my possibles bag for a musket-cap and pulled on those knit-wool gloves.
After about an hour of still-hunting down thru the holler and up toward the ridge, I heard, and then spotted, a big fork-horn sneakin' up the other side of the holler. It might'a been a small 6-point? (hard sayin' - not knowin', HA-HA), I don't carry binoculars. Sat down & raised my musket. But, even at only about 75 yards, the thick brush and the buck's movements prevented me from getting a good killing shot, so I held my fire, until he was out of sight and hearing. Darn! Maybe he heard or saw me first? I need to slow down even more and keep workin' on my still-huntin' technique!
After a couple of more hours? (hard sayin' - not knowin', HA-HA, I don't carry a time-piece), of silently moving thru the forest, listening to the birds and other critters, watching every flicking leaf for excrutiatingly long periods of time, I catch the faint sound of hoof-steps. I very slooooowly kneel down behind a big tree and raise my musket. Here he comes! A big, fat, spike! Not spike(S). Just one. One narley old spike on only one side! He's walkin', lookin' around & sniffin'. Step, look, sniff, step, sniff, look, sniff, step, stop, eat an acorn, sniff, look, sniff. Good thing I paid attention to the wind! When he steps behind a really big tree, I cock the hammer, simultaneously holding the trigger, in order to prevent the tell-tale "click". Of course, he stops behind that big tree, for a long, long, long time!!! (How do they always do that???) Finally he steps out from behind that big tree, but there's another bush covering his neck & chest area, and he's looking right at me from about 25 yards away. I shift my aim to his spine, about mid-way back. Front sight, squeeze, front sight, squeeze, front sight, KA-BOOM !!! He kinda slowly rolls over and kicks. Maybe it just seemed like slow motion? I'm pretty pumped!!! what with all the white smoke swirling around. I stand up (staying behind my big tree) and reload. By the time I'm loaded, he's stopped kicking. I approach, slow & ready, but he's dead. I de-cap & get out my knife. Now the work begins. But first, a brief prayer of thanx.
It takes until after noon to drag him back to the house. Man, I gotta work-out more! I hang him in the shed, then go inside to eat a really big lunch. The wife is happy for me, but still doesn't want me to pick up the baby with bloody hands! After lunch, back to the shed. I want to get the hide off before he really stiffins up.
Over the next 2 days, I butchered him, a quarter at a time, on my workbench and the kitchen countertop. I haven't had any real training, just followed the big muscle groups and used a hand-grinder for the sausage. Bosco & Rufus eat like kings on the scraps & bones! The hide was salted and given to a local merchant for tanning.
The End.
My point is this: nothing in the above story was out of the ordinary for either the 19th or the 21st Century. You don't have to go live in a cave or teepee. Everything I used, can be (could have been) found in a local hardware (general) store or mail order catalog. It's all just as functional as it was back in the good ole days. But, I did, intentionally, try to keep things simple, during my hunt and it's preparation. I did, intentionally, leave out all obviously high-tech gadgets. And I did accept the fact that I might have to pass-up some shots on game that could probably be made easily with a scoped, modern rifle.