04.10.07--Alabama Turkey Chase II

No matter what state you’re in morning comes awful early at hunting camp. Waking with just enough time to throw on some clothes and put on still damp boots we walked out of the cabin into the predawn darkness. Unsure which direction to head, due to our lack of scouting success, we headed toward to a location close to Emory’s ridge, as good a place to start as any.
After placing a hen and jake decoy in the field we eased back into the piney shadows and donned head nets and gloves. The setting was ideal. Soft calling from my Lynch’s Foolproof box call echoed through adjoining oaks and pines but evoked no responses. The woods were coming alive with all types of animal and avian activity but no turkeys made themselves known. Finally we heard a gobble way off, probably a half a mile, in the distance. He gobbled four times and went silent. We sat in our location for twenty more minutes and moved to another spot, calling a little and waiting a little, then moving to yet another location. The results were the same. It seemed all turkeys within the vicinity had lockjaw. We decided to pack it in and go have some breakfast.
Following some bacon and eggs we got back to it. We drove to a new location and split up, Emory choose some hardwoods next to a large pond and I headed down to a large, lush clover field. There was some good sign around the field edges with scratchings and droppings and a large dusting bowl. As soon as I got myself set up it began to sprinkle and I thought, “Great, this will get those birds out of the thick stuff and into the fields.” Things were looking up. I made a couple calls with my slate and as if on cue the clouds broke loose and a downpour began, soaking my calls and my spirits. I sat for a little while and decided I’d had enough, packed up my gear and headed back toward the truck. Emory walked up right after I did and we drove back to camp to wait out the storm. Our wait lasted through the day as the rain continued into the night. Maybe we would do better in the morning.

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.

SoDak - 3.14.07 Pheasant City Pt.1

What's in a name? Well, when you're on an airplane headed to South Dakota and more specifically a place called "Pheasant City" you sure hope its alot. Following our two hour drive from the airport (actually it was supposed to be two hours but ended up being more like four with a first time visit to a Cabelas store, in Mitchell, and multiple stops to digitally capture some of the numerous wildlife sightings) Rusty and I pulled into the driveway of Pheasant City. Two rooster pheasants crossed the road in front of our rental and dodged into the snow filled ditch. Unbelievable. "Pheasant City" indeed!
The lodge was unlocked so we unpacked the car and did a little exploring. The lodge was spacious and properly equipped but the views and sounds coming from without continually called me outdoors. How in the world do the good folks of South Dakota get anything done without spending each day staring at their beautiful surroundings?
After a fitful night's sleep, very similar to the fitful night before every first hunt, we ate a hearty breakfast and headed out back to shoot some clays. Each target met the same demise, a orange cloud of clay dust, boosting my confidence and steadying travel weary, sleep deprived nerves.
With briar proof clothing, ear plugs, hunter orange caps, shotguns and eye protection we loaded up into Pheasant City's mode of transportation, a camoclad, lifted, four wheel drive school bus (read "school beast"). Travis, our guide for the day, Rusty, Morris, a new friend from Tennessee, and two labs drove to our first spot of the morning. Morris and I would block at the edge of a wood lot while Rusty, Travis and the pups would put on a push. My ambush location provided a wonderful, panoramic view of the prairie. It was a gorgeous day! Distant clouds contained the sun's glare but temperatures rose into the 50's filling ditches, ponds and low lying fields with melted snow. A light breeze blew out of the west causing the switch grass to dance and filling my nostrils with pungent odors of a nearby stockyard. Flock after flock of mallards bobbed and weaved their way into a large grain field, unsure of the safety but sure of their desire to be there. Next, a "v" formation of Canadas flew across the horizon, singing their raucous chorus and settling into the same mallard infested field. Then came the snows, high flying travellers, flapping and fussing their way to some genetically imprinted location. My senses were in avian overload. A blur across my peripheral vision brought me out of my trance as a pair of rabbits darted through the woods. A rooster pheasant cackled as it took flight but it either vanished or had an obscure evacuation route because I never laid eyes on it. Moments later a dog came into view, and another and through the brush I spotted two blaze orange draped hunters zigging and zagging their way toward me. Another rooster cackled, this one coming in our direction, busting out of cover, through oak branches and out into the open, splitting the waiting blockers. "Rooster" rang out as I ducked, anticipating a close shot that never came. After the pheasant cleared Morris' twelve boomed but the bird glided to safety a hundred yards away.
The remainder of the morning was more of the same. Beautiful surroundings, good company and great shots (and some not so great ones). Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. Fortunately we were going to hunt again tomorrow.

Final Serenade - 1/27/06 Waterfowl Hunt

It's usually a bittersweet day. As much as I love to hunt, there's always a little bit of joy in the ending of the season. It started back in September with doves, then geese and bow hunting whitetails. Now that I think about it, it started much earlier if you count preparing stand locations, working on food plots, turkey hunting back in April---good grief, this hunting business is hard work! And don't get me started on fishing...
We decided to finish up at one of Mark W.'s favorite lakes. Keith W. was on board and my youngest boy, Zane, was gonna make his inaugural waterfowl trip. After gathering all our accouterments (and a ton of snacks) Zane and I picked up Keith and headed to meet Mark at the lake. Mark had already launched his skiff, procured a location, set out his decoys and was returning to pick us up when we arrived. Don't you love hunting with guys like that?

It was a windy afternoon so when we got to our spot several decoys needed to be relocated. Zane got a real kick out of seeing the fake ducks being thrown into the water and was ecstatic to get to throw one himself. Set modifications complete, we headed to the blind.
We'd only been sitting down a minute or so when Zane remembered the brown sack in my blind bag carrying all the goodies. "Daddy, I'm hungry," he said staring in the direction of my bag. Out came the oatmeal cookies, goldfish (not your run of the mill hunting snack), pretzels and peanut butter crackers. Bottled water and apple juice were next, followed by some Christmas candy that had somehow survived the holidays. I was stumped as to where in the world Zane was putting it all but he had substantial reinforcements in the three grown men hunting with him and soon all our groceries (other than the pretzels he'd spilled on the ground) were gone.

Bellies full, or at least temporarily sated, it was time to hunt. Low lying clouds drifted east covering the setting sun and transforming our setting to ideal conditions. Several groups of mallards worked off to the south, circling and landing in an adjacent swamp, heading for shelter from the impending front. One flock of four birds headed toward us, but turned away at the last minute. It was sizing up as a good afternoon, then the action died.

Me and my little buddy decided to take a little walk. Actually this was a defensive tactic to keep him from driving both Keith and Mark crazy. Zane wanted to go sit in the skiff but we "explored" the woods a bit, checking things out but primarily stretching four-year-old legs. The minute we returned to the blind I noticed Mark standing at attention and Keith peering through the branches of a pine tree he was hiding behind. As if on cue they both shouldered their shotguns and fired simultaneously. When the smoke cleared we looked across lake and there were two ducks floating in the current. Actually, one was swimming in haphazard spirals just beneath the current, another shot of number 2's finished him off. Mark headed toward the skiff, with Zane in tow to retrieve their bounty.

They made quick work of it and were back in a snap, two ruddy ducks in hand, both "boys" grinning from ear to ear. These turned out to be the only ducks within range, the season ending very much like it had started. We packed it up, jumped into the boat and rode back to our trucks in the semi-darkness.

Although we didn't connect with many ducks it was a wonderful hunting adventure. My little boy had a blast, I got to spend time with good friends and we were blessed with another safe hunt. We left the lake, grateful for the afternoon, each other and the opportunity to enjoy a bit of the Creator's handiwork. Until next time....

Notes:
You want to know what kind of friends you have? Take your children hunting with them and see how they respond. Mark and Keith were very patient and kind to Zane, treating him like one of their own.

Finally Wearing Wool - 1.20.07 Afternoon Waterfowl

Wouldn't you know it. Less than two weeks left in the season and we finally had some cold temperatures. Three days of winter weather had some ducks giving up their northern abodes and following the flyway into Carolina. Important family duties, namely cooking waffles for two little boys, holding my baby girl and laying on the couch with my wife, kept me from the morning hunt. Mark W. picked me up at twelve-thirty and we met Keith H. at his house at one. Skies were baby blue, with a few clouds but the wind was blowing pretty good, promising the decoys would be dancing on the water.
An hour later we were heading across the lake in Mark's skiff, eyes watering as cold air assaulted exposed flesh. Luckily it was a short boat ride. After setting out a load of decoys, under Mark's seasoned scrutiny, we piled into the blind. Guns were loaded, fask masks donned and gear was stowed in its proper location.

Keith pulled out a bag of beef jerky and some other snacks and passed them around. Making small talk and picking on one another helped passed the time. There aren't many places on earth more comfortable than a January duck blind shared with good friends.
After a while my legs needed stretching so I left the blind and walked around a bit in woods adjacent to the lake. Deer and turkey sign seemed everywhere and although I didn't have permission to deer hunt this property and the season ended three weeks ago anyway, I found myself looking at possible locations to hang a bow stand. I guess old habits are hard to break. As I was admiring a huge, ancient oak several shots rang out, coming from the direction of my buddies hiding spot. Dagnabit! I'm out on a hike and wouldn't you know it, ducks show up.

I hurried back to the blind to find Mark out in the skiff, picking dead birds up, and Keith standing on the bank with a big, goofy grin on his face. Apparently two different flocks, one ringnecks the other bluebills, had come into the blocks, catching the mighty hunters unaware. Somehow they'd connected on two birds. Of course they were disappointed in their shooting but both felt fortunate to have ducks in the hand. I had a hard time feeling sorry for them!
The sun followed it's course and the hunt ended with no other ducks being spotted. We pulled up our stakes and started picking up decoys. Of course a large flock of bluebills flew right at us, trying to land among the blocks even with the boat and three hunters sitting in the way, circling once, then again before flying off. It was a quick ride back to the ramp. I pulled down my wool cap over my ears and tucked my chin down into my coat. This was what duck hunting was supposed to feel like.

Note: Make sure you're aware of the sunrise/sunset time. On this hunt we left the blind twenty minutes too soon because we didn't want to hunt after LST. IF we had known sunset time we probably would have gotten a shot at that final flock of bluebills.