Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2019 7:47:29 GMT -5
With a few inches of fresh snow on the driveway this morning, it is time to start thinking about spring, so here is a story that may get you thinking that way. This one did not make the cut for the next book, THE LUCKIEST HUNTER WITH ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE.
As some of you know, my “business” card has a section at the bottom that says, “Tales told, lies swapped with anyone, anytime, any place.” I will leave it to those who know me to decide whether this was a tale told, or———. Hope you enjoy it, whatever it is. Feel free to poke holes in my technique or strategy.
A Spring Gobbler Story
On the first day of spring gobbler season as I sat on the porch of the cabin waiting for daylight I could hear at least four different gobblers sounding off, a couple of barred owls hooting, and one hunter who wasn’t all that good at owl hooting. He missed the part about “Who cooks for you ‘all.’ Since it was close to full moon, I went into the woods very early, shortly after 5:00 A M, and worked my way out the road that goes into the state game lands from camp. I figured I had one of the birds located, so I picked a spot against a blowdown and waited until it started to get a bit brighter. I could still hear the same four gobblers and it sounded as if none had moved yet. I was within a hundred yards or so of the one I had targeted. As dawn approached, I could hear birds stirring in the trees, so since my theory is to be the first hen on the ground, thus attracting the gobbler to my location, I got out the trusty slate call and did a few tree yelps. A minute or so later I hit the "coming down" cackle and a few feeding clucks, and things would shortly get interesting, or so I hoped. You 'all know what the poet Robert Burns said about plans; something like “the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley?” Well, thing ganged aft a-gley for sure. A second, and much better “coming down” cackle followed mine, unfortunately at a distance of fifty yards or so. Birds kaflopped down to the ground and commenced to work their way in absolutely the wrong direction. Try as I might, I couldn’t convince the gobbler that I was the sexiest and most desirable hen bird in the woods. Oh well. Such is the life of the “not the greatest” turkey hunter at Camp Rip-N-Tear.
I spent the rest of the morning searching for another gobbler, preferably one without hens. At about 11:30 I thought I might have found one, but that also was not to be, as he hung up considerably out of range. I headed back to camp for lunch and some chain saw work. Camp needs a winter wood supply. Camp has one now after about four hours of chain sawing and running the hydraulic wood splitter. The cabin will be warm for deer season.
On Sunday morning, I ventured into the woods and tried to do some serious scouting. The same birds seemed to be gobbling in the same basic locations, so I picked another bird to try to figure out. Darned if this gobbler wasn’t a pair of them, and they had four hens with them too. I practiced being motionless as they worked their way along another old woods road that passed a big old beech tree at which we used to have a stand. The glimmer of a plan entered upon this old brain. Maybe I could set up at the beech tree and lightning could strike twice. Oh, I know. Turkeys don’t travel the same routes every day. Well, thinking back on it, I thought I had heard this gobbler travel the same route on Saturday morning, so what the heck. Nothing beats a loss like a try, right? Monday morning, I would give it the old college try.
With the moon full, going into the woods can be a really early thing. The temperature was 42 degrees when I left the cabin and made my way to the beech tree. I set up with a nice foam pad to ease the contact of my buns with the ground and my back against the beech and settled in to listen to the woods come awake. Of course, the same guy with his barred owl call was across the creek from me. An extra day’s practice made little difference. He still didn’t sound all that much like an owl, but at least he was trying. There was not as much gobbling this morning, but the one I was after did sound off at a little more distance than I like. I decided to let the plan play out, so I stuck with the old beech tree seat. From 6:30 on, this gobbler only sounded off twice, but each time it seemed like he was closer, so I stuck with it and called sparingly. All of a sudden, things changed from basic boredom to adrenaline charged very interesting.
A black stump appeared where there had not been a black stump just a few minutes ago. I followed the three cardinal rules of turkey hunting, which simply stated are as follows: don’t move, don’t move, and don’t move. The black stump resolved itself into a nice gobbler, and he was followed by a second bird, also a gobbler. I did a passable feeding cluck or two with my mouth call. When they came into range, a hemlock tree was in perfect position for them to go behind it and they did! Don’t you just love it when a plan works out? When the first bird stepped out from behind the tree I centered his head in my sight picture and squeezed the trigger, followed by a loud boom and a bird flopping on the ground. This intrepid hunter and his family would be eating turkey for dinner tonight.
I didn't have a scale at camp at the time, but I'm guessing this bird weighed about 20 pounds, plus or minus. Of course, he got heavier as I got closer to camp. By then, I could have guessed he weighed 30 pounds or so. His beard was 9 3/4 inches, and he had slightly less than 1-inch spurs. I know my readers have all the information they need now, but what follows is more cleanup stuff. Since I already have a couple of birds mounted, I decided to pass on that for this guy. Fill out the tag and cart the load back to camp, then skin and part it out. A few hours in the fridge and into the cooler for the trip home. Of course, Ms. Doris was happy, and we ate the drumsticks and thighs for supper that night.
As some of you know, my “business” card has a section at the bottom that says, “Tales told, lies swapped with anyone, anytime, any place.” I will leave it to those who know me to decide whether this was a tale told, or———. Hope you enjoy it, whatever it is. Feel free to poke holes in my technique or strategy.
A Spring Gobbler Story
On the first day of spring gobbler season as I sat on the porch of the cabin waiting for daylight I could hear at least four different gobblers sounding off, a couple of barred owls hooting, and one hunter who wasn’t all that good at owl hooting. He missed the part about “Who cooks for you ‘all.’ Since it was close to full moon, I went into the woods very early, shortly after 5:00 A M, and worked my way out the road that goes into the state game lands from camp. I figured I had one of the birds located, so I picked a spot against a blowdown and waited until it started to get a bit brighter. I could still hear the same four gobblers and it sounded as if none had moved yet. I was within a hundred yards or so of the one I had targeted. As dawn approached, I could hear birds stirring in the trees, so since my theory is to be the first hen on the ground, thus attracting the gobbler to my location, I got out the trusty slate call and did a few tree yelps. A minute or so later I hit the "coming down" cackle and a few feeding clucks, and things would shortly get interesting, or so I hoped. You 'all know what the poet Robert Burns said about plans; something like “the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley?” Well, thing ganged aft a-gley for sure. A second, and much better “coming down” cackle followed mine, unfortunately at a distance of fifty yards or so. Birds kaflopped down to the ground and commenced to work their way in absolutely the wrong direction. Try as I might, I couldn’t convince the gobbler that I was the sexiest and most desirable hen bird in the woods. Oh well. Such is the life of the “not the greatest” turkey hunter at Camp Rip-N-Tear.
I spent the rest of the morning searching for another gobbler, preferably one without hens. At about 11:30 I thought I might have found one, but that also was not to be, as he hung up considerably out of range. I headed back to camp for lunch and some chain saw work. Camp needs a winter wood supply. Camp has one now after about four hours of chain sawing and running the hydraulic wood splitter. The cabin will be warm for deer season.
On Sunday morning, I ventured into the woods and tried to do some serious scouting. The same birds seemed to be gobbling in the same basic locations, so I picked another bird to try to figure out. Darned if this gobbler wasn’t a pair of them, and they had four hens with them too. I practiced being motionless as they worked their way along another old woods road that passed a big old beech tree at which we used to have a stand. The glimmer of a plan entered upon this old brain. Maybe I could set up at the beech tree and lightning could strike twice. Oh, I know. Turkeys don’t travel the same routes every day. Well, thinking back on it, I thought I had heard this gobbler travel the same route on Saturday morning, so what the heck. Nothing beats a loss like a try, right? Monday morning, I would give it the old college try.
With the moon full, going into the woods can be a really early thing. The temperature was 42 degrees when I left the cabin and made my way to the beech tree. I set up with a nice foam pad to ease the contact of my buns with the ground and my back against the beech and settled in to listen to the woods come awake. Of course, the same guy with his barred owl call was across the creek from me. An extra day’s practice made little difference. He still didn’t sound all that much like an owl, but at least he was trying. There was not as much gobbling this morning, but the one I was after did sound off at a little more distance than I like. I decided to let the plan play out, so I stuck with the old beech tree seat. From 6:30 on, this gobbler only sounded off twice, but each time it seemed like he was closer, so I stuck with it and called sparingly. All of a sudden, things changed from basic boredom to adrenaline charged very interesting.
A black stump appeared where there had not been a black stump just a few minutes ago. I followed the three cardinal rules of turkey hunting, which simply stated are as follows: don’t move, don’t move, and don’t move. The black stump resolved itself into a nice gobbler, and he was followed by a second bird, also a gobbler. I did a passable feeding cluck or two with my mouth call. When they came into range, a hemlock tree was in perfect position for them to go behind it and they did! Don’t you just love it when a plan works out? When the first bird stepped out from behind the tree I centered his head in my sight picture and squeezed the trigger, followed by a loud boom and a bird flopping on the ground. This intrepid hunter and his family would be eating turkey for dinner tonight.
I didn't have a scale at camp at the time, but I'm guessing this bird weighed about 20 pounds, plus or minus. Of course, he got heavier as I got closer to camp. By then, I could have guessed he weighed 30 pounds or so. His beard was 9 3/4 inches, and he had slightly less than 1-inch spurs. I know my readers have all the information they need now, but what follows is more cleanup stuff. Since I already have a couple of birds mounted, I decided to pass on that for this guy. Fill out the tag and cart the load back to camp, then skin and part it out. A few hours in the fridge and into the cooler for the trip home. Of course, Ms. Doris was happy, and we ate the drumsticks and thighs for supper that night.
