4.08.09 Tennessee Turkey Trek III

He gobbled and Rusty and I looked at each other in disbelief. A big ole gobbler was strutting fifteen yards behind us and neither of us had any clue how he got there. "He's a big bird but make sure he has a nice beard!" Rusty hissed beneath his breath. The landowner had given instructions to only shoot mature birds. I could only make out the outline of the bird as he was obscured by several small trees. After another gobble he eased over to me and I was able to tell he was in fact "mature". I eased the barrel of my Super Nova out through one of the windows, lined up the red fiber optic site on the tom's head and squeezed the trigger. A tremendous BOOM echoed across the country side, shaking the blind. I blinked and strained my eyes hoping to see the turkey laying in the grass....
In the predawn darkness, all three of us had crammed into Rusty's Double Bull blind. It was cool, really cool for April, but I had layered Zane up and had already stoked his inner fired with a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and some hot chocolate. I was hopeful he would make it through the morning without being too cold. Rusty had situated the blind in the heart of a funnel where two meadows, a couple strips of hardwoods and a small stream came to a point. If birds were moving through the area there was a great possibility that they would come right by us. The Double Bull comes equipped with windows that spans 360 degrees and we were going to need it. There was a possibility that turkeys could come from just about every direction.
We settled in to wait, keen vigilance versus intense exhaustion. After thirty minutes a lone bird crossed the field directly in front of us, 150 yards away. It was a huge tom but our calls did nothing to pursuade him to come our way, he had other places to be. Ten minutes later two more turkeys, which looked to be hens, followed an identical path. We waited and although he got a little bit restless, Zane was very patient. Around 8 o'clock we heard a gobble and then another coming from the woods, about a hundred or so yards off. Rusty and I both yelped a little and then put away our calls. All six eyes were peering in the direction of the gobble, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tom it had come from. I guess we were so intent on seeing him that we never saw another bird come up behind us. His gobble shocked the occupants of our blind.
I couldn't believe it. He was still standing there, looking around, trying to figure out where that loud noise came from and it appeared that he was about to bolt. At that very moment, a car drove by on a nearby road. This captured tom's attention and apparently convinced him to stay. Then he gobbled again and went into a half strut. I quickly covered his head with the Nova's front bead and squeezed the trigger. This time he turned a cartwheel and began flapping on the ground. The blind erupting into huge grins, cheering and high fives. Zane and I ran over to retrieve our prize. I will never forget the huge smile on his face and the strength of his hug as we congratulated one another.

04.11.07--Alabama Turkey Chase III

Morning comes even earlier the second day in hunt camp. We weren’t quite as responsive to the alarm’s clarion call. Stumbling from room to room gathering socks and gloves and calls and other assorted paraphernalia scattered about the cabin. I stepped out of the cabin onto the porch and instantly noticed the cool dampness. Everything was dripping wet. Clouds covered the moon and stars and a whipping wind masked all other sounds. At least it was no longer raining.
After Emory finally got his boots on we walked to our spot for the morning. I put out a couple decoys in a wheat field that backed up to a swampy bottom full of oaks, poplars and hickories and we concealed ourselves in some young pines and brush along the field’s edge. Eventually the sky turned from black to gray to lighter gray. Once again our setting was ideal and yet again it proved pointless. We waited approximately an hour before packing it up and heading back for some breakfast. Maybe the weather (or at least the wind) would let up and our afternoon hunt would be better.

PM - It was pouring. The gentle, spring shower had become a deluge. Thunder reverberated across the horizon and the wind was bending ancient oaks like they were saplings. I crawled into a shooting house, overlooking the clover field to escape the conditions and pulled out my small, camouflage Bible to pass the time. The swaying of the wind and the sound of raindrops hitting my tin roofed refuge combined with the sleep deprivation always associated with hunting trip put me right to sleep. I was awoken by the thump of the New Testament I’d been reading earlier hitting the bottom of the stand. I looked out the windows, the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining. The wind however, continued its blow so I decided to remain in my current locale. A glance at my watch showed I’d been “resting my eyes” for almost thirty minutes. I pulled a slate and striker out of my vest and began a series of purrs and clucks. Twenty minutes later I did it again. Nothing. Motion in the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was a decoy turning in the wind. Maybe I should pick up, cross the dirt road to another location and try it there? As I planned my new plan of attack I began to doze again. Again, motion in the corner of my eye. This time it wasn’t a decoy. A hen walked out on the field, feeding along the edge oblivious to my presence. She fed along the tree line and turned back to toward the woods. As she turned I noticed an appendage hanging from her neck. She was a HE and as he came closer it became more and more apparent that he was a mature gobbler. My call was lying at the bottom of the shooting house and picking it up would have meant putting my Benelli down and possible noise. So I decided to wait him out. Then he noticed the decoys in the field. His attention was captured and he meandered toward them and closer to me. When he reached the thirty yard mark I let him have it…3 ½ inches of Winchester #5’s right across the beak. He never made another move. I took a deep breath, gathered my stuff up and went down to check out my prize. He was an old bird. Eleven inch beard, long, rounded off spurs and beautiful coloration. I thanked God for this blessing and went to pick up the decoys. Emory walked up a minute or so later with a big grin on his face, which became even bigger when he saw the bird on the ground. We headed back to camp, two happy campers.

04.09.07--Alabama Turkey Chase I

Three turkeys, all hens, were feeding in a large wheat field. Long, gangly legs supporting black and bronze bodies shimmering in the afternoon sun. I glanced at my watch, 4:00pm (3:00pm ‘bama time) as the truck whizzed down Highway 17, my friend, Emory, at the wheel. A moment later, on the other side of the road, another turkey was feeding, this one appeared to be a jake but at 65mph who can be sure. Two minutes later, in a field way off the highway, a mature tom was blown up, in full strut, displaying his grandeur for all the world to see. My trigger finger was twitching, my mouth was salivating and that little voice in my head, the one it always pays to ignore, was telling me to unbuckle my seat belt and roll out of Emory’s Ranger. How much longer??
By 5pm we were fully camoed and set up in the wild. Emory was on a hardwood ridge adjacent to a food plot, I was in a swamp bottom paralleling another plot. Our intent was to scout a bit, maybe call a little and listen for roosting birds so that we’d know where to set up in the morning. A recent cold front had brought spring to a screeching halt and clamped shut the mouths of gobbling toms. And other than some sparring squirrels and the repeated bites of no-seeums (mental note: put Thermocell in turkey vest.) it was a beautiful but eventless evening. Emory hadn’t made out much better. Some deer and a rabbit “large enough to put a saddle on” were all he’d seen.