hambone44
Senior Member
Florida season ended officially last Sunday, although mine had ended two weeks prior to that after fightin' hard to get my limit of two birds.
A week later, my friend , Keith, ended his season as well, though he continued to go and call one up for his dad.
Naturally, I did not get enough huntin' in to satisfy my tastes after only two weeks of it, but I had no one to take and call for, and my camera had to be shipped back to the manufacturer for warranty repair.
Basically, my turkey huntin' bein' obviously over in every facet, I began to get the fishin' bug. The rivers I love to fish, the Apalachicola and Ocklochonee, were gettin' right, after all the rain we've had, to try for some big ol' redbellies.
I went once to the Apalachicola R. and got a good mess of bream, so decided to try them again with Keith this morn on the lower Ocklochonee. This area is just surrounded by some beautiful hardwoods, part of which are privately owned, and the rest is part of a management area.
There is no public access ramps down as far as we like to fish, so it takes about 20 minutes to get to the area we fish from the closest public ramp, by boat.
It was a beauty of a mornin' this a.m., as we made our way, just after daylight, down the river.
Once we finally got to our favorite area, I turned the boat back upstream and we dropped anchor. I told Keith earlier it would be a good mornin' to hear a gobbler.
We weren't sittin' there 3-4 minutes, when a gobbler sounded off straight behind me 125 yards in a very flat riverbottom swamp. I asked Keith, "Did you hear him?"
He said, "What, that dog?''
"That wasn't a dog, bo!, That was a gobbler! Listen!"
The ol' turkey gobbled again, and then another bird gobbled 75-80 yards to the left of the first one's location.
I told Keith I had my turkey call in my pocket, and he replied in a whisper, "Call to him."
I began a series of yelps and a cackle or two, and the gobblers immediately replied. The one straight across the river from us was closer. We were pretty tickled at this, and it was nice hearing thos eol turks gobble one more time.
For a brief time, we forgot about the fishing lines we had in the water, and our minds reverted back to turkey season, and longed to be out there in those woods after those ol' toms.
After playin' a few minutes, we decided it was time to lift anchor and ease on to another hole, 'cause we weren't gettin' any bites. (We both knew in our minds we wanted to see if we could ease around the next bend to the opposite side and see if that turk would actually gobble again with us all the closer). We were basically huntin' from our boat, without actually huntin' , I suppose.
After cranking that 15 horse Johnson outboard, I eased the boat across the river and around the next bend, and, again, we anchored down 15 feet from the bank's edge.
We didnt utter a word, and eased our lines back into the flowin' water, as we both peered out into the still dimly lit flatwoods. Straight in front of us was a slough which ran in towards where we last heard the gobbler.
"Yelp", Keith whispered, and I obliged the request.
That gobbler , after hearin' our outboard crank up and come towards him, gobbled at no more than 60-70 yards in there so loud , we could hear the vibration in his throat.
He was RIGHT there, but we could not see him; just beyond the opposite end of where we could see that slough running. He gobbled again, and again. Once, a big ol' bullfrog croaked and he gobbled at that. Every once in a while, I would yelp, and he would answer.
It wasn't long before w eheard the sound of wingbeats in those woods. We both strained to see if the old tom had actually flown across that slough. Surely not!
Were we right?...surely not! We don't know if he had gotten so close as to see us sittin in that boat, but if he did, I imagine he was convinced 'tweren't no hen.
Anyway, the next time we heard him, he was movin' away, probably for a long day of loiterin' in the woods lookin for real hens.
Needless to say, we speculated for several more fishin' holes as to how we could have "easily stepped onto that bank upriver of him and gotten him to come in, etc, etc."
Who knows? Just seems so easy after the season ends. Well, at any rate, the fish never bit , and that ol' turkey is a free bird for another year, but it was fun just hearin' one more.
A week later, my friend , Keith, ended his season as well, though he continued to go and call one up for his dad.
Naturally, I did not get enough huntin' in to satisfy my tastes after only two weeks of it, but I had no one to take and call for, and my camera had to be shipped back to the manufacturer for warranty repair.
Basically, my turkey huntin' bein' obviously over in every facet, I began to get the fishin' bug. The rivers I love to fish, the Apalachicola and Ocklochonee, were gettin' right, after all the rain we've had, to try for some big ol' redbellies.
I went once to the Apalachicola R. and got a good mess of bream, so decided to try them again with Keith this morn on the lower Ocklochonee. This area is just surrounded by some beautiful hardwoods, part of which are privately owned, and the rest is part of a management area.
There is no public access ramps down as far as we like to fish, so it takes about 20 minutes to get to the area we fish from the closest public ramp, by boat.
It was a beauty of a mornin' this a.m., as we made our way, just after daylight, down the river.
Once we finally got to our favorite area, I turned the boat back upstream and we dropped anchor. I told Keith earlier it would be a good mornin' to hear a gobbler.
We weren't sittin' there 3-4 minutes, when a gobbler sounded off straight behind me 125 yards in a very flat riverbottom swamp. I asked Keith, "Did you hear him?"
He said, "What, that dog?''
"That wasn't a dog, bo!, That was a gobbler! Listen!"
The ol' turkey gobbled again, and then another bird gobbled 75-80 yards to the left of the first one's location.
I told Keith I had my turkey call in my pocket, and he replied in a whisper, "Call to him."
I began a series of yelps and a cackle or two, and the gobblers immediately replied. The one straight across the river from us was closer. We were pretty tickled at this, and it was nice hearing thos eol turks gobble one more time.
For a brief time, we forgot about the fishing lines we had in the water, and our minds reverted back to turkey season, and longed to be out there in those woods after those ol' toms.
After playin' a few minutes, we decided it was time to lift anchor and ease on to another hole, 'cause we weren't gettin' any bites. (We both knew in our minds we wanted to see if we could ease around the next bend to the opposite side and see if that turk would actually gobble again with us all the closer). We were basically huntin' from our boat, without actually huntin' , I suppose.
After cranking that 15 horse Johnson outboard, I eased the boat across the river and around the next bend, and, again, we anchored down 15 feet from the bank's edge.
We didnt utter a word, and eased our lines back into the flowin' water, as we both peered out into the still dimly lit flatwoods. Straight in front of us was a slough which ran in towards where we last heard the gobbler.
"Yelp", Keith whispered, and I obliged the request.
That gobbler , after hearin' our outboard crank up and come towards him, gobbled at no more than 60-70 yards in there so loud , we could hear the vibration in his throat.
He was RIGHT there, but we could not see him; just beyond the opposite end of where we could see that slough running. He gobbled again, and again. Once, a big ol' bullfrog croaked and he gobbled at that. Every once in a while, I would yelp, and he would answer.
It wasn't long before w eheard the sound of wingbeats in those woods. We both strained to see if the old tom had actually flown across that slough. Surely not!
Were we right?...surely not! We don't know if he had gotten so close as to see us sittin in that boat, but if he did, I imagine he was convinced 'tweren't no hen.
Anyway, the next time we heard him, he was movin' away, probably for a long day of loiterin' in the woods lookin for real hens.
Needless to say, we speculated for several more fishin' holes as to how we could have "easily stepped onto that bank upriver of him and gotten him to come in, etc, etc."
Who knows? Just seems so easy after the season ends. Well, at any rate, the fish never bit , and that ol' turkey is a free bird for another year, but it was fun just hearin' one more.
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