After five days of hunting spring gobblers, I was beginning to feel the wear and tear. I’m pushing a wheelbarrow full of years, more decades than I care to admit and feel it. Sadly, I hadn’t taken the time to get into better shape before the season. Well, some people never learn.
I’d awoken before the alarm everyday so far, but Friday I was in a deep sleep when the dreaded beeping began. My nice warm bed seemed as if it was refusing to release me from its grip, but with a superhuman effort I tore myself from its comforts and staggered to my feet. Yep, this was turkey season alright, the pain was ramping up.
We set up on a gobbler, accidently flushed his hens, a good thing in most cases, but hadn’t spooked him. He gobbled to my owl hoot — cut me off in fact — and when they do that your hopes soar. It was still very dark when we set up despite the three quarter moon.
Our hopes were soaring. Set up undetected, accidently much closer than we intended, a hot gobbler without his hens just in front of us, everything seemed to be going our way. I had a large tree to my back, was within 150 yards of the bird just down over the bench, and I felt almost positive the gobbler would come in. But, then I remembered this was spring turkey hunting and calmed myself down. Something could still go wrong.
Then, the unseen gobbler crashed noisily out of his roost and my stomach dropped sickeningly as if on a rollercoaster. What just happened? He couldn’t have seen me.
A few seconds passed and then I saw a dim human form walking across the bench 50 yards directly in front of me. What kind of hunter was that?
Well, the good news was we hunted the rest of the morning, never heard another bird and froze to death in the process. The temperature dropped and the wind came up. Miserable indeed.
With high winds and heavy snow forecast for Saturday it seemed reasonable to go to camp, eat heartily, enjoy camp life, socialize and sleep in. The sleeping in part really warmed my heart.
Saturday’s weather forecast was spot on with the cold, wind and snow as promised. With three inches of snow on the ground, we caught up on our sleep, enjoyed a deer sausage, pancake and egg breakfast and around 9 o’clock couldn’t seem to help ourselves and went hunting.
Jim Acker and I headed down the ridge and split up. He was only going a short distance and then turning around. I went out on the point and he headed down the ridge. When I finished my set up he hadn’t returned. Something was up so I hit another spot and tracked a hen with some distance calling. No gobblers responded and Jim still hadn’t returned. Hmmm. Knowing Jim he just kept going.
That he did. Despite the wind and snow he continued down the ridge moving easily and calling every 150 yards or so. When he reached a dip at the head of the valley he called once again at 11 o’clock. This was his last attempt before turning around and heading back.
To his shock and surprise a bird gobbled back just down over the hill. Instantly his heart began pounding and he quickly took two steps to his right and sat against the first tree. Correct decision number one.
Unfortunately, just 25 yards in front of him a large brush pile blocked his view. If he could reach it he’d be able to see clearly. No, with a bird so close that was just too risky. He’d stay put. Correct decision number two.
He scanned the area in front of him, but couldn’t see very well. Deciding not to call with the gobbler so close he waited for several minutes, but the bird remained silent. What’s going on? He called and the bird answered immediately a little closer. Again the waiting game, only silence. He called a third time and the bird answered very close now.
Jim’s heart was pounding, his bad wrist ached abominably, and the tension continued to ratchet up. What was this turkey doing? He was a cagey one and not giving his presence away unless called to.
Jim remained absolutely still, eyes scanning the area in front of him. Suddenly, a red and white head popped up in the center of the brush pile. Holy cow, the sneaky bugger had snuck in out of sight!
Jim only had to move his sights a few inches to his right, but the gobbler caught even that slow motion shift, putted and ducked. Knowing there was more than one bird Jim cut, cackled and yelped to hide the alarm putt as he cursed himself for moving at all. Good decision number three.
The air filled with gobbles, perhaps there was hope yet after all. Then, to his right, four long beards appeared from behind the brush pile 40 yards away, angling away. It was now or never and the gobblers were moving and he swung his muzzle quickly to his right. Good decision number four.
The last bird stopped unsure of what he’d seen and Jim aligned his Red-Dot and fired. The big gobbler collapsed, flopped a short distance and stuck his head up. Jim fired again to seal the deal.
Jim leaped to his feet, the long 12-month jinx was over. When he reached his magnificent gobbler he was thrilled to see a long 10-inch beard and .75-inch spurs. The spur length indicated a two-year-old gobbler.
When he picked it up he couldn’t believe how heavy it was. Back at the farm the tom pulled the scales down to 22 pounds. He couldn’t believe it had reached that weight so young, but scales don’t lie.
So despite wind, cold temperatures and three inches of snow, Jim stuck it out and was rewarded with a hard to bag gobbler in terrible conditions. It only goes to show that when you’re hunting turkeys, expect the unexpected.
