A Borrowed Bird on the field of dreams ( long post!)
Apr 27, 2021 22:16:41 GMT -5
Woody Williams, ukwil, and 13 more like this
Post by Sasquatch on Apr 27, 2021 22:16:41 GMT -5
Though I terrorize the local cervids with regularity, turkeys have been unbothered by me for probably 15 years. My hunting property, though it hosts turkeys on and off, is surrounded by better habitat, particularly spring habitat. Several fruitless seasons, very young children, and the overall bustle of this time of year had me abandon the pursuit entirely in recent times.
This year I get a message from a good friend of mine who had already got his bird, an unrepentant turkey killer who no doubt ranks highly on PETA's all-time hit list. " Let's get you a bird," he says.
"Ok, I haven't patterned my gun in years. Not even sure where my calls are...."
"We'll use my gun. We know what it'll do."
"Sounds good," I said. Like some city guy on a guided hunt!
After an hour-long drive to our hunting area, predawn of the 27th found me sitting in a Polaris ranger, coasting downhill with the engine off. As we rolled to a halt & began our walk in, we could hear a couple of gobblers, including one that sounded close to our blind.
The light was overtaking us as we positioned several decoys perhaps ten yards in front of our blind, a brushed-in affair at the edge of a pasture. Surrounded by hardwoods and bordered by a creek on one side, it may as well sport a sign reading "welcome turkeys."
The two biggest turkeys in the area positioned themselves in a pair of ground-hugging camp chairs, comfortable but clearly designed by someone more spry than myself. I pulled up a borrowed face net that smelled strongly of doe urine and positioned the barrel of my similarly borrowed turkey gun on the branch that served as a shooting rail. This would prove to be a good move. We were a little late, and it was probably legal shooting hours before we sat down. Had we been five minutes later it would have probably sunk us.
Steve popped in a mouth call and gave a few soft yelps, and was immediately answered by a nearby gobbler and the raspiest hen I've ever heard in my life. I mean chain-smoking marlboros raspy. We never made another peep, as we figured the talkative hen ( who was very close ) would fly down right in front of us. This is indeed what happened, as she glided a fair distance to land probably 25 yards past our decoys. She stood motionless for a bit before heading our way. She walked between our blind and the dekes, alternately eyeballing them and us. Then she started talking.
Had you been sitting 100 yards away you might have thought some rookie hunter was over-calling. She would yelp three or four times, kee-kee and follow up with a couple more of raspy yelps, all while pacing to and fro in front of us. I was keenly aware of a cut cedar bough jiggling slightly with every breath of mine, as the gun barrel was touching the branch it was connected to. The marlboro hen continued to talk over the a period of perhaps 15 minutes, all the while remaining danger close. Through it all, the occasional gobble rumbled across the creek.
Then suddenly there was a brief, frenzied flapping noise. No long glide this time.
Soon the dark shape of a gobbler broke through the white ring of wildflowers lining the edge of the woods. He puffed up as he entered the open field, taking two or three steps before stopping briefly. Every now and again he unleashed a thunderous gobble. A post out in the field served as 50 yard marker, but he was way beyond it.
By now I'm itching to take the safety off before he gets close, but I dare not twitch, as Raspina the hen is still right in front of us, occasionally making clucks that are scarily similar to alarm putts.
60 yards. My finger quivers.
At long last Raspina moves toward the front of the decoys and the safety moves to the off position.
50 yards. Another gobble.
Raspina stays what now seems the comfortable distance of ten yards away, pecking absently between clucks.
42 yards. With the hen threatening to return to our laps we decided to go for it. Steve makes a few calls to get the gobbler to raise his head and he obliges. My shotgun roars. The hen cackles as the the gobbler goes down, barely twitching.
After briefly wondering what just happened, I struggled out of my chair and walked up to my first turkey. Taken with a borrowed gun. Wearing a borrowed ( and fragrant ) mask. Called in by a 'borrowed' hen. In the same field where my son took his first deer--a field of dreams if ever there was one. As Steve went to retrieve the UTV I simply sat down beside my prize and listened to the birds sing.
23 lb, 10" beard. Spurs were about 1" apiece if I measured them correctly.
Winchester supreme, #6 shot.
Fun bonus fact: one wildly errant pellet broke the gobbler's lower leg. We dug it out. That impressed me.
What a wonderful morning to be alive, and even better to share it with a great friend. Good luck to the rest of you.
This year I get a message from a good friend of mine who had already got his bird, an unrepentant turkey killer who no doubt ranks highly on PETA's all-time hit list. " Let's get you a bird," he says.
"Ok, I haven't patterned my gun in years. Not even sure where my calls are...."
"We'll use my gun. We know what it'll do."
"Sounds good," I said. Like some city guy on a guided hunt!
After an hour-long drive to our hunting area, predawn of the 27th found me sitting in a Polaris ranger, coasting downhill with the engine off. As we rolled to a halt & began our walk in, we could hear a couple of gobblers, including one that sounded close to our blind.
The light was overtaking us as we positioned several decoys perhaps ten yards in front of our blind, a brushed-in affair at the edge of a pasture. Surrounded by hardwoods and bordered by a creek on one side, it may as well sport a sign reading "welcome turkeys."
The two biggest turkeys in the area positioned themselves in a pair of ground-hugging camp chairs, comfortable but clearly designed by someone more spry than myself. I pulled up a borrowed face net that smelled strongly of doe urine and positioned the barrel of my similarly borrowed turkey gun on the branch that served as a shooting rail. This would prove to be a good move. We were a little late, and it was probably legal shooting hours before we sat down. Had we been five minutes later it would have probably sunk us.
Steve popped in a mouth call and gave a few soft yelps, and was immediately answered by a nearby gobbler and the raspiest hen I've ever heard in my life. I mean chain-smoking marlboros raspy. We never made another peep, as we figured the talkative hen ( who was very close ) would fly down right in front of us. This is indeed what happened, as she glided a fair distance to land probably 25 yards past our decoys. She stood motionless for a bit before heading our way. She walked between our blind and the dekes, alternately eyeballing them and us. Then she started talking.
Had you been sitting 100 yards away you might have thought some rookie hunter was over-calling. She would yelp three or four times, kee-kee and follow up with a couple more of raspy yelps, all while pacing to and fro in front of us. I was keenly aware of a cut cedar bough jiggling slightly with every breath of mine, as the gun barrel was touching the branch it was connected to. The marlboro hen continued to talk over the a period of perhaps 15 minutes, all the while remaining danger close. Through it all, the occasional gobble rumbled across the creek.
Then suddenly there was a brief, frenzied flapping noise. No long glide this time.
Soon the dark shape of a gobbler broke through the white ring of wildflowers lining the edge of the woods. He puffed up as he entered the open field, taking two or three steps before stopping briefly. Every now and again he unleashed a thunderous gobble. A post out in the field served as 50 yard marker, but he was way beyond it.
By now I'm itching to take the safety off before he gets close, but I dare not twitch, as Raspina the hen is still right in front of us, occasionally making clucks that are scarily similar to alarm putts.
60 yards. My finger quivers.
At long last Raspina moves toward the front of the decoys and the safety moves to the off position.
50 yards. Another gobble.
Raspina stays what now seems the comfortable distance of ten yards away, pecking absently between clucks.
42 yards. With the hen threatening to return to our laps we decided to go for it. Steve makes a few calls to get the gobbler to raise his head and he obliges. My shotgun roars. The hen cackles as the the gobbler goes down, barely twitching.
After briefly wondering what just happened, I struggled out of my chair and walked up to my first turkey. Taken with a borrowed gun. Wearing a borrowed ( and fragrant ) mask. Called in by a 'borrowed' hen. In the same field where my son took his first deer--a field of dreams if ever there was one. As Steve went to retrieve the UTV I simply sat down beside my prize and listened to the birds sing.
23 lb, 10" beard. Spurs were about 1" apiece if I measured them correctly.
Winchester supreme, #6 shot.
Fun bonus fact: one wildly errant pellet broke the gobbler's lower leg. We dug it out. That impressed me.
What a wonderful morning to be alive, and even better to share it with a great friend. Good luck to the rest of you.
