I eased back into the thicket of ten foot cottonwood trees and rested my back against one. I was facing the entry road into a large hayfield where I had found a few large turkey tracks the day before. To the other side of the roadway was a mess of briars and vines that no rabbit dared enter, so I guess the open roadway was the only place a turkey could approach.
To my right was the narrow blacktop that lead back to the farm house and across the way was the large cow pasture with scattered briar patches. Also in that direction was one hot gobbler!
Four thirty am came with the smell of fresh brewed coffee as my feet hit the camper floor that cool morning. I dressed in my leafy bugsuit and mixed up a creamy cup of hot java. Once outside the camper door, I paused to take in the crisp morning air and looked upward to a starry sky. Sitting down in one of the outdoor chairs, I rehashed the prior days hunts.
The ole gobbler and I had had a round and he had won. I wasn't proud, nor was I ashambed of being out smarted by a pea sized brainy bird. But with two days gone by and the score being two to zilt, I just had to have my justice today. Yesterday, he had gobbled to me from a roost less than a hundred yards from my camper porch. I then slipped around behind him, got sit up under the wrong bush and when he flew down, he went the opposite direction of course. I know now, that he had been in a position to watch almost every single move I made that morning. I wasn't about to make that mistake again! The prior day, he changed his postition to an area I don't have permission to hunt so he escaped the wrath of my remington 12 gauge that day too.
I sipped my coffee as the thoughts of revenge filtered through my head. I could only hope that as the morning awoke around me that the ole man would still be on the property and I had not spooked him into the next county. The coffee lasted as long as I needed to make a plan for today's hunt. As the sky begin it's dawning, I took out my slate call and make a few tree clucks. Total silence surrounded me. Another cluck or two brought no response from the trees. Suddenly the silence was broken by the call of a hoot owl in the woods a few hundred yards below me. The old tom couldn't resist and he let loose with a trembling gobble. Aha! He was alerting me to his position and I was ready this morning. I set out to conquer Mr. Tom.
After getting comfortable in my small thicket, I allowed the old gobbler a few minutes to clear his throat with more several more gobbles. During my setup, he had flown down and was moving about in the pasture across the road. I could tell this by the change in his gobbles. From my hiding position, I eased off a few purrs and a series of clucks that I just knew would entice him to come hither. He answered each of my attempts with a strong gobble and did come fairly close to the roadway. But alas, he would not be the turkey that crossed the road, not this day anyway.
After a few hours of working him back and forth across the cow pasture, both he and I got tired of the game. He procceeded to travel to the fartherest field on the farm and as I listened to his gobbles grow weaker and weaker, I grew more disgusted with myself. I had been told over and over that a gobbler will almost always refuse to cross an obstacle to get to a caller. Yet here I had tried to presuade one to do just that. I gathered up my things and headed back to camp.
I rode the atv down to check on the farmer as he fed his cows. He is always intereted in how the hunt went and I filled him in on being skunked again this morning. We had a good laugh even though I was a little upset with myself. After I ate a sandwich and watched the news, I rode the road around the farm. I spotted three turkeys in the huge field and one of them was Mr. Tom. I circled back to the camper, grabbed one slate call, two decoys, my shooting stick and gun.
As I made my way to the back of the farm and closer to the strutting tom, the excitment grew inside me. Something just told me this was going to work. It was close to ten thirty and this gobbler was hot. By the time I got to a small food plot just off the big field he was in, he had worked his way the couple hundred yards up the field and closer to where I planned to ambush him. I slipped over the barbed wire fence, stopping twice to free my bug suit from the barbs. I half squatted, half hunched down and eased up the small hill to the center of the top of the food plot. As I peeked my head over, I caught a flash of the blackest black through the treeline of the gobbler as he stutted his stuff. I knew his hens had left him, as he was gobbling every few mintues to call them back.
Carefully, I set up my two decoys, one feeding hen and one alert hen. I noticed the gobbles were louder and closer, so I crawled just as fast as I could to the upper tree line and leaned back against a sapling. I got my shooting stick firmly in the ground and placed my shotgun atop with the red dot scope turned on number ten. I waited. I waited some more. I eased out my slate call and gently scratched off some feeding purrs and two clucks. This brought an immediate gobble. Again I waited with my finger close to the trigger. I could see him blow up and puff out all his feathers through the trees as he strutted in the wide open field. I had my gun pointed to the only clear opening from where he was to where I sat and I waited some more.
I waited so long, I was no longer jittery. But I was feeling like this set up was just perfect. I had just a few briars that partially hid me from where I figured he would enter the plot. I had the shooting stick at just the right height. The red dot scope was clear as a bell and right on the mark as I listened to him sound off as I waited. I slowly turned my head to my right to glance at my decoys. The gentle breeze was making them move in a semi believeable motion. But, they were just about six to seven feet from my feet! My heart pounded! In my haste to set up, I hadn't gauged the distance I had to crawl to cover and the decoys were merely feet from my position. I broke into a sweat trying not to crawl back to them to place them further from my perch. I knew I shouldn't, I really couldn't afford to take a chance of giving my postition away to the gobbler. He was answered my calls and would be watching for any out of the ordinary movement. I was in a mess, or so I thought. Just as I made up my mind to relax and let nature take her course, I notice this huge red head pop into view! It was exactly where I had planned it to be! The neck stretched and the head turned to give the eyeball to my decoys. Then I just knew he heard my heart pounding as he drew his head back down. He pecked at a blade of grass, took another step and popped his head into plain view for the second time.
Boom! I just sat and watched as he done his final flop or two. I then stood, smiled to myself and went to check my prize.
A full eleven inch beard! Spurs shy of a full inch, but the weight of that bird was so much that I had to leave it and retrieve it on the atv. He tipped the scales at a grand total of twenty five pounds. I suspect the grand dose of adrenline that had surged through my veins made him weigh close to a hundred pounds at first pickup. Or was it that my knees were shaking so bad, I feared I'd drop if I tried to lug him out by hand?
I really can't begin to tell yall how proud I was of myself that I had used all of the lessons given to me, by those who have spent time afield with me on turkey hunts, to achieve this turkey trophy.
The last couple of years, I have not been able to sit in one place for a lengthy period of time, so sitting there for an hour and half was a major accomplishment for me. But I was really comfortable in my setup, or I couldn't have done it this time. And by using all I had learned from others, I felt I had hit the jackpot.
I finally outsmarted the pea brained gobbler after a week of some serious hunting! Just one a season like this bird will do me, that is for sure. Enough to keep a person hooked on turkey hunting for life.
To my right was the narrow blacktop that lead back to the farm house and across the way was the large cow pasture with scattered briar patches. Also in that direction was one hot gobbler!
Four thirty am came with the smell of fresh brewed coffee as my feet hit the camper floor that cool morning. I dressed in my leafy bugsuit and mixed up a creamy cup of hot java. Once outside the camper door, I paused to take in the crisp morning air and looked upward to a starry sky. Sitting down in one of the outdoor chairs, I rehashed the prior days hunts.
The ole gobbler and I had had a round and he had won. I wasn't proud, nor was I ashambed of being out smarted by a pea sized brainy bird. But with two days gone by and the score being two to zilt, I just had to have my justice today. Yesterday, he had gobbled to me from a roost less than a hundred yards from my camper porch. I then slipped around behind him, got sit up under the wrong bush and when he flew down, he went the opposite direction of course. I know now, that he had been in a position to watch almost every single move I made that morning. I wasn't about to make that mistake again! The prior day, he changed his postition to an area I don't have permission to hunt so he escaped the wrath of my remington 12 gauge that day too.
I sipped my coffee as the thoughts of revenge filtered through my head. I could only hope that as the morning awoke around me that the ole man would still be on the property and I had not spooked him into the next county. The coffee lasted as long as I needed to make a plan for today's hunt. As the sky begin it's dawning, I took out my slate call and make a few tree clucks. Total silence surrounded me. Another cluck or two brought no response from the trees. Suddenly the silence was broken by the call of a hoot owl in the woods a few hundred yards below me. The old tom couldn't resist and he let loose with a trembling gobble. Aha! He was alerting me to his position and I was ready this morning. I set out to conquer Mr. Tom.
After getting comfortable in my small thicket, I allowed the old gobbler a few minutes to clear his throat with more several more gobbles. During my setup, he had flown down and was moving about in the pasture across the road. I could tell this by the change in his gobbles. From my hiding position, I eased off a few purrs and a series of clucks that I just knew would entice him to come hither. He answered each of my attempts with a strong gobble and did come fairly close to the roadway. But alas, he would not be the turkey that crossed the road, not this day anyway.
After a few hours of working him back and forth across the cow pasture, both he and I got tired of the game. He procceeded to travel to the fartherest field on the farm and as I listened to his gobbles grow weaker and weaker, I grew more disgusted with myself. I had been told over and over that a gobbler will almost always refuse to cross an obstacle to get to a caller. Yet here I had tried to presuade one to do just that. I gathered up my things and headed back to camp.
I rode the atv down to check on the farmer as he fed his cows. He is always intereted in how the hunt went and I filled him in on being skunked again this morning. We had a good laugh even though I was a little upset with myself. After I ate a sandwich and watched the news, I rode the road around the farm. I spotted three turkeys in the huge field and one of them was Mr. Tom. I circled back to the camper, grabbed one slate call, two decoys, my shooting stick and gun.
As I made my way to the back of the farm and closer to the strutting tom, the excitment grew inside me. Something just told me this was going to work. It was close to ten thirty and this gobbler was hot. By the time I got to a small food plot just off the big field he was in, he had worked his way the couple hundred yards up the field and closer to where I planned to ambush him. I slipped over the barbed wire fence, stopping twice to free my bug suit from the barbs. I half squatted, half hunched down and eased up the small hill to the center of the top of the food plot. As I peeked my head over, I caught a flash of the blackest black through the treeline of the gobbler as he stutted his stuff. I knew his hens had left him, as he was gobbling every few mintues to call them back.
Carefully, I set up my two decoys, one feeding hen and one alert hen. I noticed the gobbles were louder and closer, so I crawled just as fast as I could to the upper tree line and leaned back against a sapling. I got my shooting stick firmly in the ground and placed my shotgun atop with the red dot scope turned on number ten. I waited. I waited some more. I eased out my slate call and gently scratched off some feeding purrs and two clucks. This brought an immediate gobble. Again I waited with my finger close to the trigger. I could see him blow up and puff out all his feathers through the trees as he strutted in the wide open field. I had my gun pointed to the only clear opening from where he was to where I sat and I waited some more.
I waited so long, I was no longer jittery. But I was feeling like this set up was just perfect. I had just a few briars that partially hid me from where I figured he would enter the plot. I had the shooting stick at just the right height. The red dot scope was clear as a bell and right on the mark as I listened to him sound off as I waited. I slowly turned my head to my right to glance at my decoys. The gentle breeze was making them move in a semi believeable motion. But, they were just about six to seven feet from my feet! My heart pounded! In my haste to set up, I hadn't gauged the distance I had to crawl to cover and the decoys were merely feet from my position. I broke into a sweat trying not to crawl back to them to place them further from my perch. I knew I shouldn't, I really couldn't afford to take a chance of giving my postition away to the gobbler. He was answered my calls and would be watching for any out of the ordinary movement. I was in a mess, or so I thought. Just as I made up my mind to relax and let nature take her course, I notice this huge red head pop into view! It was exactly where I had planned it to be! The neck stretched and the head turned to give the eyeball to my decoys. Then I just knew he heard my heart pounding as he drew his head back down. He pecked at a blade of grass, took another step and popped his head into plain view for the second time.
Boom! I just sat and watched as he done his final flop or two. I then stood, smiled to myself and went to check my prize.
A full eleven inch beard! Spurs shy of a full inch, but the weight of that bird was so much that I had to leave it and retrieve it on the atv. He tipped the scales at a grand total of twenty five pounds. I suspect the grand dose of adrenline that had surged through my veins made him weigh close to a hundred pounds at first pickup. Or was it that my knees were shaking so bad, I feared I'd drop if I tried to lug him out by hand?
I really can't begin to tell yall how proud I was of myself that I had used all of the lessons given to me, by those who have spent time afield with me on turkey hunts, to achieve this turkey trophy.
The last couple of years, I have not been able to sit in one place for a lengthy period of time, so sitting there for an hour and half was a major accomplishment for me. But I was really comfortable in my setup, or I couldn't have done it this time. And by using all I had learned from others, I felt I had hit the jackpot.
I finally outsmarted the pea brained gobbler after a week of some serious hunting! Just one a season like this bird will do me, that is for sure. Enough to keep a person hooked on turkey hunting for life.
