Saturday May 10th, I hit the woods at 5:15am hardly enough light to navigate the obstacle course of downed trees, puddles, ponds, and creeks. My boots are no longer waterproof after miles of wear and tear but they still crave the feeling of the forest floor. They are out of their normal fall environment but they will take any excuse to be out there, even if its a marshy wet spring. The wind is blowing and my inexperience with gobblers pulls me back to bed. My faint hope lies in the fact that just yesterday I watched a full strut tom working a couple of hens on the side of the road as the truck passed them, not a quarter of a mile from where I intend to settle down. Its funny how they slowly slide to the side of the road barely getting out of the way for a truck but catch site of a human walking 300 yards away and they make a mad dash for their burrows never to be seen again. Okay, Okay, turkeys don't have burrows. Two doves taking off of the ground startle me and take me back to the fall where dozens of grouse have given me the same adrenaline rush surprise. With my confidence minimal for turkeys, I stop to admire the sounds of the experience. A whip-or-will not 20 yards away trills out his tune, he too is a ghost of the woods, often heard, rarely seen. The myriad of other birds and frogs make a constant white noise, only there to those who care to listen. It's going to be a nice sunrise, and hell I ain't working. I settle down underneath a white pine in a slightly reclined position, I become part of the landscape. Not 15 minutes into my sit I have a grosbeak land on my knee, two hops, and off he goes into the darkness. I smile at the experience. Ill never understand why more people don't pull themselves out of bed to do things like this, sometimes I don't even know why I hesitate. I watch the world come alive and visible around me. Some time goes by and I am alerted to the sound of a distant gobble. I carefully pick out the direction between wind gusts. I am a relatively aggressive hunter, I always have been, I make a move to cut distance. I find myself on the edge of public and private land, those "No Hunting No Trespassing" signs that tell me I must be patient. I hit the call, the gobbler responds, and so it goes until I can no longer hear him. I figure he is locked down on hens right from their night time roost. Still a win in my book. I make my way down the nearest creek bed, enjoying the morning and anything nature is willing to offer me as thought provoking. Deer trails, tracks, storm damage, erosion from springs floods, a couple of raccoons making their way back to a safe hiding place for the daylight hours, two deer that bound away without identifying the potential trouble. I always take mental notes on the landscape, anything might be a clue I can use to later be successful. The creek ends and I mosey back to the road. Heading back towards the truck I am stopped in my tracks to see turkeys 200 yards down the road. They probably saw me before I saw them as I was distracted by an occasional dead snake, crawler or snail still stuck out on the road. Before I had time to analyze the situation the turkeys were off for those burrows....er I mean wherever they go. It bummed me to find the drag marks of feathers where the birds stood, a sure sign of a male. That feeling doubled as I realized they were about 75 yards from where I had sat earlier. That aggressive hunter in me will frequently question "What if I would have just stayed patient?" I made myself feel a little better by telling myself the gobbler was probably locked down on hens and that I probably wouldn't have stood a chance at pulling him away with my sub par calling skills. I knew where I wanted to be the next morning, maybe they would come by again and I could get lucky, at very least maybe the private land was the coveted roosting spot. The roost, the best chance of patterning a turkey. During the afternoon Mom, Dad and I helped 108 morel mushrooms find their way from field to frying pan. I ignored the night hunt and instead chased crappies on the lake, one of the issues of being an all around outdoorsman.
Sunday May 11th, I find myself set up underneath an old hemlock a stones throw away from private land. The wind was nearly nonexistent which lent my ears the ease of hearing farther. From the minute I sat down I had gobblers, and in multiple directions. My private land birds started in their normal area and worked their way towards me before heading north and away. To the far east another gobbler that I estimate was also on private land. I hear an odd taping noise close by and turn around to see a young porcupine making his way across a log towards the family of hemlocks that I was sitting under. At 10 yards he decides he doesn't like the noise of me shuffling for this and that and heads off the way he comes from. Feeling slightly more optimistic I listen the occasional distant gobbler knowing there is an outside chance one of these studs is looking for love. If I had to guess what my calling sounded like to them it would be a prude female with a touch of asthmatic bron****is. Im just kidding, I am no pro at calling but I can hit enough of a note to turn a head. I hear a truck come down the road, miles of country road and state land and they park in a direct line from me to the road. They jump out, slam the door, hit a crow call and listen for startled gobbles. Sure enough they pick up on my private land birds. They make a mad dash through the woods. By this time I have stood up to give up my hiding, they flank me at 50 yards for 180 degrees. I remain visible yet they do not see me. They are seduced by the distant gobbler, ironic considering that is just what they are trying to do to him. I decide not to compete in a calling contest and decide God is telling me to be on my way. I walk along the creek and make my way back to the four wheeler. Before I can make it to my quad a resonating gobble stops me. My private land bird to the east. I say what the heck and make my move, close some distance and pile up where I hope he might stick his head. I call, he gobbles, I wait he gobbles, I call, he gobbles. He works his way to about 150 yards and hangs up only to be heard 250, then 400 yards away. I sit tight as he slips away and then throw the hat in again. Before I can make my way back I am again alerted to 3 hens making a mad dash perpindicular to me up ahead at 75 yards. I rush to get closer hoping an unknowing gobbler is close behind. I wait, and wait, and wait. I write off any gobbler following the hens, relax, and think. Unaware of my own movement, I caught site of the tom about the time he saw me. It was too late, I was made, he hustled off in the opposite direction. Again I kick myself thinking "What if I would have just stayed patient?" I rebuttal, "Stay patient?! If you would have stayed patient before you could be having a calling shouting match with other hunters. You think those gobblers don't like your calling now? How about you let them listen to a couple of 'hens' arguing back and forth about God or turkey knows what. At least you saw birds, at least you saw a tom, at least you have almost had opportunities." I sit down on a stump and enjoy the morning sun that has now started to infiltrate to the forest floor. I call sending out a prayer that the tom who made me before might be stupid enough and love sick to come back by the same spot where he had been spooked. It didn't happen. Before very long, a gobbler lights up from the private property. He sounds love struck, I work him, I seduce, he comes my way. I get a visual and he comes charging in ready to find his prize. He gets to 75 yards and hangs up, sitting still, a couple of gobbles and he had enough. He took off charging back in the direction he had come from. Did he leave love to find love and decide against it? Never a good idea buddy, go on back to your hens. Ghost hens are just that, ghosts, those toms that go chasing ghost hens end up on the dinner table. He couldn't see the girl calling him, so he stopped knocking at her door.
Well it's time to quit again Scott, you have won, it has been a successful morning because you experienced it and you called a bird in, something you have never been able to do before. I sling my gun over my shoulder and start walking it in, I made it about 40 yards before I heard a gobble. Where are these birds coming from? I know it, they come out of those burrows! I dive into the nearest brush that offers me good cover. I think it was 3 back flips, a cartwheel and a barrel roll, or at least that is what went through my head. I call, he comes closer. He shuts up at about 200 yards, I think he heads back to a secret harem that all the gobblers have stashed away in private property. I see a car pull down the road and hesitate as it nears where I sit. I think to myself there is no way that car has spotted me. Even if they were looking for me that would have been an accomplishment. The car proceeds away, and the gobbler has vanished as well. I again end up making my way out to the road, but before I can take that last step that breaks the tree line I am stopped in my tracks at the site of the gobbler standing in the road. Has he made me? No, 2 cartwheels and a front flip this time. But in reality I snuck slowly down the hill and out of the line of site of the bird. Lets hit the call, "eer eer eer eeer?" "GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!" Big boy wants to play with the ghost hen! The pattern plays out over the next 5 minutes and the bird hardly moves. I know I shouldn't but I peak every once in a while to make sure he is still coming. There in the sunlight of the road is the Tom, the gobbler, the stud, in full strut. Wings tips dragging, tail fanned. I admire him like a scene from T.V. or by some award winning photographer's picture who claims to have spent weeks hiding in a blind for just that one perfect shot. As if to do me one better, he gobbles, steam rushes from his mouth in the cool morning air. Is this for real? Im drawn back to the task at hand, call, he takes a few steps, I wait, call, few more steps. He turns towards private land, I must stop him, I purr on the call. He turns towards me again, he has to check it out. He comes closer, 45, 30, 25 yards. BOOM! The bird drops, I never heard the gun go off or felt the kick. An overwhelming sense of accomplishment comes over me. I just experienced a text book picture perfect turkey hunt. I came, I called, I busted that thunder chicken! I had run over to retrieve my bird, I am not sure if I dropped the gun, laid it down or took it with me. I took the bird, laid it across a near by log making sure it was in the sun. I spent the next 5 minutes just admiring the beauty of the bird. Thinking about what I had just witnessed, and accomplished taking my first turkey. I just sat and admired God's artwork. So many different colors reflected in the sunlight in perfects patterns, and that blue and red head covered in wart like peduncles such a paradox of beauty and hideousness. Every aspect and color pattern serving a specific evolutionary benefit. My thoughts drifted to the gift of meat this bird will give my family and friends. I looked forward to sharing the story with family and friends. Although they will never see and experience the same exact thing I did I like to try and paint the story in the vivid detail that I lived it. A glorious bird with an amazing story. For you turkey guys the beard went 9.75" and the spurs 1+".
Sunday May 11th, I find myself set up underneath an old hemlock a stones throw away from private land. The wind was nearly nonexistent which lent my ears the ease of hearing farther. From the minute I sat down I had gobblers, and in multiple directions. My private land birds started in their normal area and worked their way towards me before heading north and away. To the far east another gobbler that I estimate was also on private land. I hear an odd taping noise close by and turn around to see a young porcupine making his way across a log towards the family of hemlocks that I was sitting under. At 10 yards he decides he doesn't like the noise of me shuffling for this and that and heads off the way he comes from. Feeling slightly more optimistic I listen the occasional distant gobbler knowing there is an outside chance one of these studs is looking for love. If I had to guess what my calling sounded like to them it would be a prude female with a touch of asthmatic bron****is. Im just kidding, I am no pro at calling but I can hit enough of a note to turn a head. I hear a truck come down the road, miles of country road and state land and they park in a direct line from me to the road. They jump out, slam the door, hit a crow call and listen for startled gobbles. Sure enough they pick up on my private land birds. They make a mad dash through the woods. By this time I have stood up to give up my hiding, they flank me at 50 yards for 180 degrees. I remain visible yet they do not see me. They are seduced by the distant gobbler, ironic considering that is just what they are trying to do to him. I decide not to compete in a calling contest and decide God is telling me to be on my way. I walk along the creek and make my way back to the four wheeler. Before I can make it to my quad a resonating gobble stops me. My private land bird to the east. I say what the heck and make my move, close some distance and pile up where I hope he might stick his head. I call, he gobbles, I wait he gobbles, I call, he gobbles. He works his way to about 150 yards and hangs up only to be heard 250, then 400 yards away. I sit tight as he slips away and then throw the hat in again. Before I can make my way back I am again alerted to 3 hens making a mad dash perpindicular to me up ahead at 75 yards. I rush to get closer hoping an unknowing gobbler is close behind. I wait, and wait, and wait. I write off any gobbler following the hens, relax, and think. Unaware of my own movement, I caught site of the tom about the time he saw me. It was too late, I was made, he hustled off in the opposite direction. Again I kick myself thinking "What if I would have just stayed patient?" I rebuttal, "Stay patient?! If you would have stayed patient before you could be having a calling shouting match with other hunters. You think those gobblers don't like your calling now? How about you let them listen to a couple of 'hens' arguing back and forth about God or turkey knows what. At least you saw birds, at least you saw a tom, at least you have almost had opportunities." I sit down on a stump and enjoy the morning sun that has now started to infiltrate to the forest floor. I call sending out a prayer that the tom who made me before might be stupid enough and love sick to come back by the same spot where he had been spooked. It didn't happen. Before very long, a gobbler lights up from the private property. He sounds love struck, I work him, I seduce, he comes my way. I get a visual and he comes charging in ready to find his prize. He gets to 75 yards and hangs up, sitting still, a couple of gobbles and he had enough. He took off charging back in the direction he had come from. Did he leave love to find love and decide against it? Never a good idea buddy, go on back to your hens. Ghost hens are just that, ghosts, those toms that go chasing ghost hens end up on the dinner table. He couldn't see the girl calling him, so he stopped knocking at her door.
Well it's time to quit again Scott, you have won, it has been a successful morning because you experienced it and you called a bird in, something you have never been able to do before. I sling my gun over my shoulder and start walking it in, I made it about 40 yards before I heard a gobble. Where are these birds coming from? I know it, they come out of those burrows! I dive into the nearest brush that offers me good cover. I think it was 3 back flips, a cartwheel and a barrel roll, or at least that is what went through my head. I call, he comes closer. He shuts up at about 200 yards, I think he heads back to a secret harem that all the gobblers have stashed away in private property. I see a car pull down the road and hesitate as it nears where I sit. I think to myself there is no way that car has spotted me. Even if they were looking for me that would have been an accomplishment. The car proceeds away, and the gobbler has vanished as well. I again end up making my way out to the road, but before I can take that last step that breaks the tree line I am stopped in my tracks at the site of the gobbler standing in the road. Has he made me? No, 2 cartwheels and a front flip this time. But in reality I snuck slowly down the hill and out of the line of site of the bird. Lets hit the call, "eer eer eer eeer?" "GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!" Big boy wants to play with the ghost hen! The pattern plays out over the next 5 minutes and the bird hardly moves. I know I shouldn't but I peak every once in a while to make sure he is still coming. There in the sunlight of the road is the Tom, the gobbler, the stud, in full strut. Wings tips dragging, tail fanned. I admire him like a scene from T.V. or by some award winning photographer's picture who claims to have spent weeks hiding in a blind for just that one perfect shot. As if to do me one better, he gobbles, steam rushes from his mouth in the cool morning air. Is this for real? Im drawn back to the task at hand, call, he takes a few steps, I wait, call, few more steps. He turns towards private land, I must stop him, I purr on the call. He turns towards me again, he has to check it out. He comes closer, 45, 30, 25 yards. BOOM! The bird drops, I never heard the gun go off or felt the kick. An overwhelming sense of accomplishment comes over me. I just experienced a text book picture perfect turkey hunt. I came, I called, I busted that thunder chicken! I had run over to retrieve my bird, I am not sure if I dropped the gun, laid it down or took it with me. I took the bird, laid it across a near by log making sure it was in the sun. I spent the next 5 minutes just admiring the beauty of the bird. Thinking about what I had just witnessed, and accomplished taking my first turkey. I just sat and admired God's artwork. So many different colors reflected in the sunlight in perfects patterns, and that blue and red head covered in wart like peduncles such a paradox of beauty and hideousness. Every aspect and color pattern serving a specific evolutionary benefit. My thoughts drifted to the gift of meat this bird will give my family and friends. I looked forward to sharing the story with family and friends. Although they will never see and experience the same exact thing I did I like to try and paint the story in the vivid detail that I lived it. A glorious bird with an amazing story. For you turkey guys the beard went 9.75" and the spurs 1+".
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