Gifts

In July 0f 2009, my wife gave me a couple of gifts.  First, her hand in marriage.  Along with that came another gift……a turkey caller.  At the time, I didn’t even know people getting married were supposed to give each other gifts.  Thankfully the ring I gave her was sufficient and she overlooked my ignorance of the “getting married gift.”

When she gave me the caller I didn’t have a clue who made it and I still don’t have a clue about it today.  Because of the nature of the gift, it has never been used it in the woods…….until this morning.  Last weekend I left my turkey bag with my hunting callers  in a friend’s truck.  He told me he was holding my “turkey purse” hostage until I got him a bird, but that is another story.

Last night I decided to hunt this morning so it was either break out the wedding caller or break into my friend’s truck to retrieve the turkey bag.  His truck glass survived Monday’s record setting hail storm so I figured it deserved a pardon.  After I had made up my mind to use the wedding caller, I located another caller made by Buford Harris that I had misplaced years ago.

With callers in hand, this morning started out decent enough.  Every type of song bird in the world sang as the darkness turned to light.  The cloud cover kept the turkeys quiet a little longer than usual.  At 7:15, I heard a gobble.  I made a few yelps with the wedding caller and then a few more with the Harris caller.  No response.  A short while later, another bird sounded off.  The bird I was hunting gobbled and drifted in the direction of the second gobbler.

With him safely away, I repositioned to where he had been gobbling.  A gave him another round of yelps followed by some purrs.  He gobbled about 250 yards out.  A short while later he was 100 yards out.  No reason to call now.  Yet a few more minutes and he gobbled about 50 yards out.  My only problem was that he was in a thick mess of pines with no way for me to see him.  I just scratched in the straw and leaves a bit.  That must have done the trick because he poked his head out looking for a hen directly in front of me at 32 steps.

The old NEF 10 gauge sent a load of Nitro 7s his way.  He didn’t run and he didn’t flap a wing.  It looked like he just tipped over.  I ran over as I always do to pick him up and said a quiet thank you to the Lord for a beautiful morning and a beautiful bird followed by a silent thank you to my wife for the caller.  As I type this she still doesn’t know that I used that caller to kill the bird.  However, I suspect she will read this and know that I am very thankful for all of my gifts from her.

19.8 pounds, 9.5 inch beard and 1 inch spurs.  All in all it was a great way to start the day.

He shall gobble no more!

After several unsuccessful attempts earlier this year, my plan today was to get as close to where I thought they were as early as possible.  Not exactly rocket science, but a plan nonetheless.  I woke up 30 minutes prior to the wake up alarm so the day started off well. 

Drank a cup of coffee on the way and got situated next to a tree while it was still dark.  The woods were dead silent.  After about 40 minutes, night gave way to morning and it began brightening up a little bit.  I heard 3 or 4 chirps and then what I had been waiting on.  The old boy let out a gobble.  And another and another.  I had convinced myself that calling to him on the limb was going to result in the same lack of success as previous hunts so I just sat there and waited.  Then it hit me.  Coffee gut pain.  Horrible, coffee gut pain.  My stomach churned and I began a frantic search for the toilet paper that all turkeys hunters carry with them.  I waited for a minute to hear another gobble and assure myself that the gobbler was still in the tree before easing off 20 yards to handle some paperwork.

Once completed, I got back to my tree and was again greeted by a gobble.  The bird that had been surrounded by hens all year sounded as if he was solo today.  He gobbled at crows, he gobbled at trucks on the highway, idiot neighbors making racket, dogs barking and generally every loud noise for the next hour. 

 I stuck with my plan and did not make a hen call to him.  Rather than a yelp, I gobbled at him.  He responded.  The plan was working.  We went back and forth a few times and I decided to wait him out silently at least until his feet hit the ground.  At 7:45 another bird in the distance gobbled.  My bird couldn’t let that go unanswered and they carried on a contest for the next 15 minutes or so.  My bird sounded as if he claimed victory with a quad gobble, but I cannot be certain.  And then everything went silent.  

I waited and pondered whether he was still on the limb until my thought was interrupted by a spiftt-vroooom off to my left.  I let out a purr and clucked twice.  Then I sat the caller down and picked the gun up.

A red head bobbed into view followed by another.  I looked through my green dot sight only to find that there was no visible dot.  Great!  I had the dang thing set on 1 and due to the sunlight I needed it on 5.  I made the adjustment slowly and waited for the birds to separate enough that I wouldn’t get a double.  At the blast of my 10 gauge, he folded up and I ran out to claim the voodoo bird.  When I did, the other bird just stood there and looked at me.  Another bird that I hadn’t previously seen did likewise.  We had a brief stare down and then they just walked off putting.  While I would like to think I got the voodoo bird that has given me fits all year, I suspect he sacrificed his buddy and will torment me another day.

10 1/2 inch beard, spurs 1 1/8 and 18 pounds.  Should make some good fried nuggets tonight. 

 

Putt, putt, putt

I have been after one specific turkey all year that has a very distinct gobble.  Despite there being a number of birds with him, once the feet hit the ground he is the only one that gobbles.  Earlier this year I had another bird in range, but let him walk off because this bird that haunts me sounded like he was walking in right behind him. 

In true turkey fashion I got a few glimpses of him but the loudmouth stayed out there just out of range and I went home sans thunderchicken.  This bird simply doesn’t want to be called.  He sits on the limb and gobbles until hens walk under him.  Then he drops down, gobbles 10 -15 times at his leisure over the next hour.  I have hunted him early, mid day and afternoon with the same amount of success.  None.  

This morning I figured he would be back in his typical roosting area and I was right.  Sort of.  Instead of being where I expected him, he was about 80 yards closer and my hunt ended with putt, putt, putt and wing flaps.  The worst sound in the spring woods (with the possible exception of chainsaws and skidders).  While I didn’t see him, I have no doubt that he was flipping me the bird with his over sized turkey toe as he flew to safety.  Despite that, I waited around a while with the hope that another bird might come my way.  After a couple hours nothing happened and it was time for work.  As I walked out, the sorry $%*$%^ let loose with a gobble just at the edge of where I could hear.  I am pretty sure it was the avian version of “kiss my turkey butt.”  It would be nice to get him before the end of the season, but this bird may just die of old age.