Patience, Precision, and Powder
Patience, Precision, and Powder
Muzzleloaders have a special place in my heart. My first gun was an Iowa-made .45 caliber Knight Rifle. I loved that thing so much, from loading the powder and sabot down the barrel, to thoroughly cleaning and caring for my gun, it was fun for the teenage version of myself. With my muzzleloader, I was taught to take careful aim and squeeze the trigger. I shot it a lot, I cleaned it a lot, and I hunted with it, well, a lot.
One of my most exciting hunts was with my muzzleloader during Iowa’s (previous) shotgun season. I was in high school and had just started hunting by myself a few years prior. I’d been tagging along with my dad and uncles since I was about 8, and now that I was 15, I had learned a lot, shot a few deer, and wanted to hunt on my own.
At 15, I didn’t really know a lot about scouting for deer, but I had been seeing some pretty decent bucks on my parents’ place. I was just learning about the rut and bowhunting, and watching big deer got me really excited. At that time, just about everything was a “big buck,” and I had so much excitement watching deer, looking for them, finding out where they liked to be, and how they moved through the timber.
One of the best parts about hunting with your dad is that he’s going to let you have first pick of the stands. So, I picked out my favorite stand, got up well before sunrise, had breakfast with my dad, and walked back prepared to sit all day. I had a backpack packed, a thermos full of soup, and big dreams for my buck tag.
Even though my dad had let me tag along with him for several seasons, I think I was expecting to see a parade of deer by my stand as soon as daylight began to lighten the sky. Well, that didn’t happen. I don’t remember if I had or hadn’t seen any deer by noon, but I remember wanting to shoot a buck and fill my tag so badly. I wish I could say that is the impatience of a young hunter, but every year, I have that hope and dream of seeing big deer coming my way.
That first Saturday in December was somewhat warm. Around 2 in the afternoon, I heard the unmistakable sound of a “boom” echo through the ditches. From the direction, I knew it was my dad shooting. My dad was, and still is, an excellent shot. He usually gets what he shoots at, and I have that pride when I shoot, too. I wanted, and still want to be considered a good marksman. With my muzzleloader, my dad stressed that I have to be sure of my shot. I only have one shot, so it needs to be a good, comfortable, and ethical shot.
I turned in my single-person ladder stand and faced the North. If he did shoot at a buck and didn’t get him down, there is a good chance that buck would be headed my way, sneaking through the ditch headed for the cover and safety of the cedars. I waited a few minutes, and just started to let my guard down when the rustling of leaves let me know there were deer headed my way. A smaller doe followed by a larger one trotted down the worn cattle path, through the leaves, and about 40 yards past my stand.
I watched them go by, and the noise from another deer caught my attention. I turned back to the North where the does came from, and saw a flash of antlers. A buck was trotting down the path behind the does. To me, he looked HUGE, and I instantly knew that I wanted him.
I shouldered my muzzleloader and quickly got my face lined up to look through my scope. The brown body of the buck filled my scope as I followed along, and I used my thumb to slide the safety forward to fire. I made a soft grunting noise to stop him in his tracks. He was in my scope, my finger found the trigger with the crosshairs tucked tightly behind his shoulder. I squeezed the trigger. The muzzleloader made a loud “boom” echoing through the air as the recoil came back into my shoulder. My nostrils filled with the sulfur smell of burned gunpowder. Even though I was using low-smoke powder, a cloud of smoke from the end of my barrel rolled out and filled my vision. When it cleared, the buck was gone.
The buck stopped behind an evergreen tree, and now I couldn’t see him at all. I hoped I hit him, and was praying for a clean kill at this time.
Shortly after the shot, I saw the blaze orange of my dad’s hat and vest heading towards me. He met me at the bottom of my ladderstand.
“Did you get him?” He asked.
“I don’t know. The last I saw, he was behind an evergreen and then disappeared after I shot”.
Together, we walked towards the evergreen until I saw the unmistakable white of a deer’s belly. I ran up to him and marveled at his rack. He was a nine-pointer with a 22-inch inside spread. To me, this was a giant deer that I only dreamed of getting. After a hug and a high-five, my dad said, “Good! And I got an even bigger one” with a big smile on his face.
He did! It was a nine-point buck, too, but had nice, tall tine height.
We field dressed both deer and got to work processing them, and then went to help my cousins and uncles fill their tags. For me, that was one of the most memorable first shotgun seasons ever. I was with my dad, on his ground, and I shot a giant buck with my favorite gun, my Knight muzzleloader.
By Jessica Graham
December 2025
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