Twenty years ago my pal Bud and I participated in the muzzle loading hunt on Cumberland Island.
Cumberland Island is off the Ga. coast. Very beautiful, huge oak trees and Spanish moss, it is not developed. It is owned by the Federal Govt and one private landowner. The island is 10 miles long, it looks like it did in 1492.
It is a great place to go camping.
The island has deer and wild hogs. Both species are overrunning the island, no predators, no cars to kill some beasts. You have to take a 45 minute ferry ride to get to the island.
Two weeks a year Federal Game and Fish operates hunts. Muzzleloading or pistol only. Regular campers are prohibited, makes it safer, plus they tend to be the Granola and Tofu crowd. Only hunters allowed. You have to apply, and hope the computer will draw you.
I figured a place this inaccessable would draw the elite muzzleloader hunters. I had a Mountain rifle that I had built from a kit. I figured there would be lots of guys there wearing buckskins, and shooting homemade flintlocks. It turned out I was wrong.
The night before the first hunt, a guy from the next camp site came over and was admiring my rifle. He said, "You seem to really know your stuff. Would you help me sight in my rifle? I bought this Hawken at Wal Mart 3 days ago and havn't had the chance to shoot it yet."
I suppressed the need to vomit, and begged off of this school session.
I had a bad feeling. Things were about to get worse.
The next morning, to my surprise I didn't see any game. At breakfast, one guy, not the Wal Mart Hawken guy from the night before, was asked what all the shooting was. He said that he had fired 9 times but he must have missed because they all ran off. I looked, he had a muzzleloader, not a pistol. I guess he never heard of tracking a wounded deer. Then too, someone this dumb, he may have missed all 9 times.
I went to ask the Ranger the ferry schedule. He said there would be a ferry in one hour. That gave me time to pack my gear and get the hell off of Cumberland Island. I passed on three more days of hunting, which I had already paid for.
This was just before in lines were invented, but I am sure that today the Cumberland hunters sit around the camp fire the night before the hunt, cutting blister packs off of their new Wal Mart inlines.