Articles
A LADY BUCKSKINNER’S PERSPECTIVE
by Annette Dashofy
Even if you don’t shoot at rendezvous, th
ere
are other areas where you can shine…
From the time my husband began courting me, too many years ago to count,
he has made every effort to involve me in his passion for muzzleloaders.
But we concluded very early that for the protection of all concerned,
I should probably not handle the firearms, so camping became my entry
into my husband’s hobby.
Our first rendezvous was the NMLRA Eastern at Blossburg, Pennsylvania
in 1983. My memories are somewhat vague and incoherent. I think I’ve
blocked most it out as a form of self-preservation. I’ve read that
trauma victims do that. I do recall that we were ill prepared for the
chill and damp of north central Pennsylvania in the fall. We arrived
at the camp without a tent. We had one ordered, a one-pole lean-pi, so
our first mission was to locate the merchant who was to bring it to the
Eastern. Luck was with us. We found him, and he had our new lodge. The
pole we had cut and carried with us turned out a bit short, but we made
do. Beyond that, most of what I remember of that first camp was chattering
teeth and frozen toes. I know I didn’t fit the model of appropriate
attire for the period. I was cold and wet, and piled on every article
of clothing I had brought with me, both under and over my elk skin dress.
Mostly people in camp avoided me as I sat shivering and grumpy as close
to the fire as safety allowed. I also remember the pounding of Indian
drums on the hill above our camp. Or was that the throbbing in my head?
Years passed. My attire and skills and our camp evolved. We moved into
an eighteen-foot tipi. I survived many storms in that lodge.
One thing at which I’ve become quite proficient is fire starting.
I can actually build a fire on a water puddle. It’s true. This
is just one of the many skills you pick up after a few years as a buckskinner’s
wife.
My expertise at making fire on water was honed to perfection back in
1993 when my husband and I and a couple of muzzleloading friends were
camped at the Old Northwest Territory Rendezvous near Springfield, Ohio.
The sun smiled down on us from a brilliant blue sky one morning, so we
decided to leave the smoke flaps of our tipi open as we headed out, baskets
on arm, money in pouch, to do some shopping. I bought a blue and white
speckled graniteware canister set I had long coveted for my kitchen back
home.
Someone pointed out that it looked like rain, so I headed back toward
camp while my husband and friends continued shopping. I broke into a
jog when it became clear I wasn’t going to make it before the rain
hit. My graniteware canisters clinked and clanked inside the canvas bag.
I had gotten halfway back to camp when the clouds split open and dumped
a deluge, including many drops the size of quarters, and I got soaked.
We had left the smoke flaps open and everything we owned was going to
be waterlogged. Also, I was starved.
Once back at camp, I dumped my hard-earned purchases inside the lodge
and proceeded to close the gap in the top of the tipi. Then I slipped
inside with thoughts of lunch, only to find the
fire pit filled to the brim with water. (In that part of Ohio the ground was so saturated, the
water in fact came up into the pit rather than down through the smoke
flaps.) The growling of my stomach and the knowledge that the men would
soon be returning with expectations of lunch gave me the inventive
incentive.
I found a fairly flat plank among our stock of firewood, placed it on
top of the fire pit puddle, and started our fire on the plank. By the
time the rain shower had passed and the men returned, only slightly wet,
lunch was ready, and the fire toasted our damp bodies to perfection.
We had just finished our lunch when the fire finally burned through the
plank and the entire thing collapsed into the water with a puff and a
hiss of steam.
I know my husband and his buddies have their share of fun and adventure
building and shooting their muzzleloaders, but let me say on behalf of
the non-shooting wives of muzzleloaders everywhere that I have found
that there are many opportunities for amusement and
education at rendezvous.
This article originally appeared in Muzzle Blasts, the membership
magazine of the National Muzzle Loading Rifle Association
(P.O. Box 67, Friendship, IN 47021; 812-667-5131; www.nmlra.org.)