You're killin' me, man!
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My Wyoming turkey hunting adventure, a musical journey in several parts
- Thread starter Danuwoa
- Start date
Whitefeather
Management Material
That candy monkey is kinda creepy
Place I used to hog hunt in south GA had a mounted baboon in the bunkhouse. It was pretty creepy.
Danuwoa
Redneck Emperor
They call that thing Creepy Joe Biden.
Danuwoa
Redneck Emperor
We’re going. I don’t know how many trout I’ll catch and I don’t even care.
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As long as we can follow Lewis and Clark out there, and read their journals on the way by a campfar before we start pickin'.
I've got a sister in St. Louis that will put us up.
Just keeps getting better ! And I kinda like the baboon .
Danuwoa
Redneck Emperor
Thanks, man. Im enjoying writing it.
Whitefeather
Management Material
It looks to much like folk
livinoutdoors
Goatherding Non-socialist Bohemian Luddite
Good job on the story brotherman. Keep em comin.
tad1
Senior Member
Riveted ….. man I’m having a good time!
hawkeye123
Senior Member
Great reading & great country!
Railroader
Billy’s Security Guard.
Dan-O...
You and that baboon are making me wanna Go West Old Man...
You and that baboon are making me wanna Go West Old Man...
slow motion
Senior Member
Felt like we were right there with you.
It's been 24 hours. Where's that next installment?
My wife sounds like Miss Esther.
livinoutdoors
Goatherding Non-socialist Bohemian Luddite
What no story to read tonight? Dang man!
livinoutdoors
Goatherding Non-socialist Bohemian Luddite
Mines a bit calmer but you best just shut up n eat.My wife sounds like Miss Esther.
jaydawg
Senior Member
Danuwoa
Redneck Emperor
Part IV.
Early the next morning after a breakfast sandwich and some black coffee we were rolling out and headed back for the hill where we had roosted that gobbler. I was excited but I was feeling the nearly eight miles we had covered the day before that had mostly been up and around hills. When I say hills, I don’t mean what you think I mean. We don’t really have anything that compares to it in this part of the country. They weren’t mountains, that would come later, they were just really big hills. I was ashamed of myself because there was a time I wouldn’t have been the least bit tired from it. Rolling through the cold predawn Gregg Allman’s immortal words from the last album the Allman Brothers ever recorded came to me.
There is a long hard road
That follows far behind me
I’m so cold I’m about to die
Chasin a dream around the world
Has got me feelin down
But it used to make me high
I’ve spent a lifetime
Actin out a part
Its been a long uphill climb
Laughin like children
Dreamin like a kid
It’s made me old
Before my time
We got parked and instead of going up the hillside we walked around the bottom of the hill skirting some open prairie to get to the backside of the hill and close to the gobbler that we knew was there. Before we got to where we would set up he gobbled. We hurried to get in place and waited. It was still pretty dark. He gobbled a few more times and with the sky lightening up Doug yelped. The turkey answered and we soon heard him fly down but we heard something else too, hens.
All I had heard about Miriam turkeys leading up to this trip was how much easier they were to hunt than their eastern counterparts. That wasn’t the experience I was having and a henned up gobbler is a henned up gobbler regardless of what state he roosts in or what his color patterns are like. I cussed silently as the gobbler moved farther to our north and away from us. But I didn’t have long to be disgusted as a turkey stepped quickly through a gap in the brush down the hill in front of us. He didn’t answer any of Doug’s calls but that didn’t bother me because beyond the wood line and up on the hill opposite us in all that grass came another gobble. He answered every time Doug would yelp. Daniel finally caught sight of him and told us he was about three hundred yards away and had hens with him too.
Over a period of about twenty minutes Doug made something miraculous happen. He called that gobbler down the hill and to within about a hundred yards of us. The problem was the hens came with him. They never came any closer and eventually moved on. After a while we moved up the hill and around finally making our way toward the north. After about our third stop to listen we heard a gobble. We headed in that direction and finally made what was one of the few comfortable set ups of the trip sitting up against some small cedar trees. Doug yelped and the turkey answered. It was windy and hard to tell how far he was.
When I say windy I’m talking about some serious dang wind that made it hard to hear. The sun was up good and the sky was so blue it was hard to look at. It was a beautiful day. But cold and real windy. I caught movement out in front of me and a hen made her way from my left to my right, eventually disappearing into the timber in that direction. Doug decided to take a risk and we got up and snuck forward keeping behind cedars and going slow. We heard the turkey gobble again but the wind just made it too hard to judge how far away he was. Finally after peaking around a bush we saw him, three hundred and fifty yards away according to the range finder and put in the wide open strutting to beat the band with a harem of hens around him. I couldn’t believe it.
We moved on and after walking short ways up a road we heard yet another gobble in the timber. We made a hasty set up and after a few minutes Doug and I spotted a gobbler coming fast off to the west, blown up with his fan spread. The best part was he was by himself. This was it. I don’t know how many times that turkey gobbled but I wouldn’t be scared to say it was fifty. He would move close to the wood line and then retreat. He would work his way to our left and then back. He never would come out in the open. “Why do I hunt these dang things again?”, I thought. The great Tom Kelly, one of the best turkey hunters who has ever lived once wrote, “I don’t hunt turkeys because I want to. I hunt turkeys because I have to. I don’t like it. I hate it.” He was making something of a joke but at the same time he perfectly captured what those of us obsessed with hunting this game bird feel. It’s thrilling, it’s maddening, it’s heart breaking, it’s great and it’s frustrating all at the same time. I was keeping the words of another fine turkey hunter, my own daddy, in my mind, “Patience has killed more turkeys than anything else.” I had to be patient.
After the gobbler had fallen silent for a while we got up and worked our way up the hill. Me and Daniel would later joke that Doug got into guiding so he could walk up hills all the time. I had shaken off my soreness from the day before but we were on pace to put in more miles than had put me in that state. We didn’t have any more action and eventually headed back around mid day. We were welcomed with a feast. Miss Esther had cooked stuffed pork loin, cheese potatoes, green beans and more homemade bread. She had made brownies with ice cream for desert. After that I had to go lay down and take a dang nap. Doug had told us what time to be ready to go for that evening. I didn’t know it yet, but I would see some of the most beautiful country we had seen since arriving that afternoon. I would also go through some of the roughest territory we had covered yet.
When we arrived to where we would hunt that afternoon Doug told me it was some pretty rugged country. I was ready for it. We moved through the timber steadily descending down into a canyon. We set up and called for about an hour. No answer. We moved farther to the north in the bottom of the canyon and then uphill, of course. By the time we stopped, me and Daniel had to pull our face masks off. The day was cool but we were both sweating. Doug ribbed Daniel a little asking him why he was breathing so hard. “Because I’m out of shape, Doug.” he dead panned. We sat and called for a while. Still nothing. Finally while we were on the move deeper into those hills, we heard a gobble. We went toward him and set up about two hundred yards over a hill from him. He answered Doug’s yelps initially but then began to gobble just at random. Hens. Again. I had kind of leaned back and as the temperature dropped and the light showed the first signs of fading from the sky, Doug said, “Laying in turkey crap won’t help us kill one you know.” I looked down and sure enough there was some dried turkey crap right where I was laying. We had seen tons of it along with elk and mule deer droppings. I laughed and we got up and made our way back along the canyon floor.
We walked flanked by cool looking rock formations above us on either side. I thought about the country I was in and the sort of people that had walked this ground. Cowboys. Rough, independent men who lived a type of freedom that is the ideal in my opinion. But it was no easy life. I was tired. And we had a long way to go to get back to the truck. I was taking in all the natural wonder though and I was just thankful to be there. After making a steep climb to the top of the canyon we saw the truck a few miles ahead. We made it back just as the sun was setting. On the ride back we passed groups of mule deer and antelope on the hillsides. I thought, not for the first time, of a Newt Dobbs’ words to Gus McCray when seeing this very same country, “Gus, I never thought I’d see so far.”
Livin on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
And your breath as hard as kerosene
Weren’t your momma’s only boy
But her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
Sank into your dreams-Willie Nelson as written by Townes Van Zant from the song Pancho and Lefty
Coffee on your campfire
Wind through the barbed wire
You huddled close to the flame-Chris Ledoux from the song Ridin For a Fall
High on a mountain
In western Montana
Two riders cut across
A cinnamon sky-Williie Nelson from the song A Horse Called Music
To be continued…
Early the next morning after a breakfast sandwich and some black coffee we were rolling out and headed back for the hill where we had roosted that gobbler. I was excited but I was feeling the nearly eight miles we had covered the day before that had mostly been up and around hills. When I say hills, I don’t mean what you think I mean. We don’t really have anything that compares to it in this part of the country. They weren’t mountains, that would come later, they were just really big hills. I was ashamed of myself because there was a time I wouldn’t have been the least bit tired from it. Rolling through the cold predawn Gregg Allman’s immortal words from the last album the Allman Brothers ever recorded came to me.
There is a long hard road
That follows far behind me
I’m so cold I’m about to die
Chasin a dream around the world
Has got me feelin down
But it used to make me high
I’ve spent a lifetime
Actin out a part
Its been a long uphill climb
Laughin like children
Dreamin like a kid
It’s made me old
Before my time
We got parked and instead of going up the hillside we walked around the bottom of the hill skirting some open prairie to get to the backside of the hill and close to the gobbler that we knew was there. Before we got to where we would set up he gobbled. We hurried to get in place and waited. It was still pretty dark. He gobbled a few more times and with the sky lightening up Doug yelped. The turkey answered and we soon heard him fly down but we heard something else too, hens.
All I had heard about Miriam turkeys leading up to this trip was how much easier they were to hunt than their eastern counterparts. That wasn’t the experience I was having and a henned up gobbler is a henned up gobbler regardless of what state he roosts in or what his color patterns are like. I cussed silently as the gobbler moved farther to our north and away from us. But I didn’t have long to be disgusted as a turkey stepped quickly through a gap in the brush down the hill in front of us. He didn’t answer any of Doug’s calls but that didn’t bother me because beyond the wood line and up on the hill opposite us in all that grass came another gobble. He answered every time Doug would yelp. Daniel finally caught sight of him and told us he was about three hundred yards away and had hens with him too.
Over a period of about twenty minutes Doug made something miraculous happen. He called that gobbler down the hill and to within about a hundred yards of us. The problem was the hens came with him. They never came any closer and eventually moved on. After a while we moved up the hill and around finally making our way toward the north. After about our third stop to listen we heard a gobble. We headed in that direction and finally made what was one of the few comfortable set ups of the trip sitting up against some small cedar trees. Doug yelped and the turkey answered. It was windy and hard to tell how far he was.
When I say windy I’m talking about some serious dang wind that made it hard to hear. The sun was up good and the sky was so blue it was hard to look at. It was a beautiful day. But cold and real windy. I caught movement out in front of me and a hen made her way from my left to my right, eventually disappearing into the timber in that direction. Doug decided to take a risk and we got up and snuck forward keeping behind cedars and going slow. We heard the turkey gobble again but the wind just made it too hard to judge how far away he was. Finally after peaking around a bush we saw him, three hundred and fifty yards away according to the range finder and put in the wide open strutting to beat the band with a harem of hens around him. I couldn’t believe it.
We moved on and after walking short ways up a road we heard yet another gobble in the timber. We made a hasty set up and after a few minutes Doug and I spotted a gobbler coming fast off to the west, blown up with his fan spread. The best part was he was by himself. This was it. I don’t know how many times that turkey gobbled but I wouldn’t be scared to say it was fifty. He would move close to the wood line and then retreat. He would work his way to our left and then back. He never would come out in the open. “Why do I hunt these dang things again?”, I thought. The great Tom Kelly, one of the best turkey hunters who has ever lived once wrote, “I don’t hunt turkeys because I want to. I hunt turkeys because I have to. I don’t like it. I hate it.” He was making something of a joke but at the same time he perfectly captured what those of us obsessed with hunting this game bird feel. It’s thrilling, it’s maddening, it’s heart breaking, it’s great and it’s frustrating all at the same time. I was keeping the words of another fine turkey hunter, my own daddy, in my mind, “Patience has killed more turkeys than anything else.” I had to be patient.
After the gobbler had fallen silent for a while we got up and worked our way up the hill. Me and Daniel would later joke that Doug got into guiding so he could walk up hills all the time. I had shaken off my soreness from the day before but we were on pace to put in more miles than had put me in that state. We didn’t have any more action and eventually headed back around mid day. We were welcomed with a feast. Miss Esther had cooked stuffed pork loin, cheese potatoes, green beans and more homemade bread. She had made brownies with ice cream for desert. After that I had to go lay down and take a dang nap. Doug had told us what time to be ready to go for that evening. I didn’t know it yet, but I would see some of the most beautiful country we had seen since arriving that afternoon. I would also go through some of the roughest territory we had covered yet.
When we arrived to where we would hunt that afternoon Doug told me it was some pretty rugged country. I was ready for it. We moved through the timber steadily descending down into a canyon. We set up and called for about an hour. No answer. We moved farther to the north in the bottom of the canyon and then uphill, of course. By the time we stopped, me and Daniel had to pull our face masks off. The day was cool but we were both sweating. Doug ribbed Daniel a little asking him why he was breathing so hard. “Because I’m out of shape, Doug.” he dead panned. We sat and called for a while. Still nothing. Finally while we were on the move deeper into those hills, we heard a gobble. We went toward him and set up about two hundred yards over a hill from him. He answered Doug’s yelps initially but then began to gobble just at random. Hens. Again. I had kind of leaned back and as the temperature dropped and the light showed the first signs of fading from the sky, Doug said, “Laying in turkey crap won’t help us kill one you know.” I looked down and sure enough there was some dried turkey crap right where I was laying. We had seen tons of it along with elk and mule deer droppings. I laughed and we got up and made our way back along the canyon floor.
We walked flanked by cool looking rock formations above us on either side. I thought about the country I was in and the sort of people that had walked this ground. Cowboys. Rough, independent men who lived a type of freedom that is the ideal in my opinion. But it was no easy life. I was tired. And we had a long way to go to get back to the truck. I was taking in all the natural wonder though and I was just thankful to be there. After making a steep climb to the top of the canyon we saw the truck a few miles ahead. We made it back just as the sun was setting. On the ride back we passed groups of mule deer and antelope on the hillsides. I thought, not for the first time, of a Newt Dobbs’ words to Gus McCray when seeing this very same country, “Gus, I never thought I’d see so far.”
Livin on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
And your breath as hard as kerosene
Weren’t your momma’s only boy
But her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
Sank into your dreams-Willie Nelson as written by Townes Van Zant from the song Pancho and Lefty
Coffee on your campfire
Wind through the barbed wire
You huddled close to the flame-Chris Ledoux from the song Ridin For a Fall
High on a mountain
In western Montana
Two riders cut across
A cinnamon sky-Williie Nelson from the song A Horse Called Music
To be continued…
