BirdNut
Senior Member
March 22, 2008
If there's anything I like as much as quail, its spring gobbler hunting.
I am a non-committal deer hunter these days. I used to deer hunt literally non-stop. I think this is what makes me crave deer hunting less now. We would hunt from before sun-up to after sun-down, staying on stand all but maybe 1 hour of the day. We killed a lot of deer, and really killed my enthusiasm for it too. Sitting 15 or 20 feet up in a tree in 30 degree weather for six or seven hours straight tends to dampen your ardor for just about anything, including deer hunting. When I was younger, it was a test of will power. Now, I am purely disinterested. The last deer hunt I went on was to take my boys on their first. This was a great pleasure, and hints that one day the fire will return. But for now, you can have your deer hunting. I'll take the turkeys, thank you very much.
For me, like for so many other poor unfortunate souls, turkey hunting is like an obsession. Once turkey season starts, I really can't think of much else. Yard work goes untended. My marital bliss deteriorates-so much so it doesn't really get fully repaired till deer season arrives. I stumble bleary eyed though the Spring-others attribute it I am sure to the new baby or pollen. Only I know the truth-waking up to meet the crack of day instead of sleeping in on Saturday morning after a long week of work.
I guess that I am somewhat of a purist. For me, the ultimate is the early morning ritual of gobblers on the roost. I know you can kill turkeys at later parts of the day, but for me, the waking of the woods is a magical time, and it revitalizes me. When I sit on a deer stand all the pressures of life creep into my brain, haunting my time in the woods. When I am standing on some high point in the dark, listening to whippoorwills and other early morning birds, waiting for that first gobble, I feel completely free. When that first bird sounds off, proclaiming his majesty to all of nature, it sends a thrill through me every time-just like a covey rise.
This morning, March 22nd, was the opening day in Georgia. I have passed 20 seasons hunting turkeys in my home state. I have hunted both public land and private. I have hunted morning, mid-day and afternoons. I have called up turkeys in all manner of places and times, using a variety of calls. Like most turkey hunters, I have called up far more birds than I have killed. Some guys have the knack to drop the hammer on a gobbler every time they get one in range. Not me-Murphy is a constant companion when I am in the turkey woods.
I think I remember more vividly the birds that gave me the slip. There was a gobbler that came running his goofy side to side gait up the little woods road to the old well. With every stride his paint-brush beard swayed ponderously. He stopped next to an ancient pine, stuck his head out and gobbled so loud it felt like it shook my hair. He had stopped short looking at my decoy. He gobbled over and over again, going into a half-strut and gobbling at my decoy which sat there motionless and unimpressed. He puffed up into a strut, showing off for my frigid female. She remained passionless. He finally got fed up and side-slipped around me, then disappeared behind some brush. The whole time I had a bead on him, but thought he was beyond effective range. After he'd been gone a while, I walked over to where he'd put on the show and was amazed and shocked to realize it was less than 30 yards. It had all happened so fast I hadn't gotten a good judge of the range.
Another time in the mid-day I had been sitting on a ridge top calling down into a bottom. A hen had come up to investigate me and given me a valuable hen talk lesson. I was dozing off in the warm sun. Some of the best sleep I've had was on the forest floor during turkey season after an early rise. Suddenly I heard a bird gobbling on the loading deck behind and below me. I flipped my position around on the same tree and faced up-hill. The lip of the ridge and a little logging road was 15 yards away and concealed the bird. He seemed like he was gobbling in the loading deck and getting no closer. I made the command decision to belly crawl up to the lip of the road where there was a berm formed by a dozer for a better look. I froze half-way there when I heard him stepping in the leaves on the road. He must have heard me GI-crawling through the leaves and thought it was the hen he'd heard. I was prone with my shotgun up, ready to fire-but then I inspected the berm a couple of yards to my front. I still couldn't see the tom, but I could see all kinds of rocks in that berm. Then the tip of a white skull-cap appeared above the berm, followed by a blue head and keen eyes, then the blood red neck and wattles. I had my shotgun bead on the kill zone, but then my mind flashed to all those rocks in that berm-what if stray pellets hit those rocks and richoted back? I decided to wait for the bird to move to the left or right of the berm. He peered over the edge, seeming to look past me, down into the wide open oak bottom below us. There was no hen in sight and rather than go right or left, he made an about face and walked away. To add insult to injury, he gobbled one more time down on the loading deck and then departed for parts unknown. I had lain patiently awaiting him to come back, and then eased up to the berm when I heard him gobble from the loading deck, but once I could spy from the top of the berm, he was gone.
That story happened on public land, national forest land, during Spring Break when I was in college. All my friends thought I was nuts, spending the week in the woods chasing turkeys rather than chasing bikinis on the beach. But, they'd come back, telling stories of getting arrested and zip tied by the cops and I'd just sit quietly and listened and wouldn't have traded my stories for one of theirs.
That was almost 20 years ago, and today is the anniversary. My future Father-In-Law took pity on me and introduced me to the turkey woods, ruining me for life and much to the chagrin of his daughter. We hunted a lot, and I missed a lot of sleep but it was all worth it. We started out on the Oconee National Forest down close to Lake Jackson. We called in a lot of turkeys, but I never killed one on public land, even to this day. My first turkey came a few years later on a private lease and it was a text book hunt. Matter of fact, I have killed all my turkeys within the first hour of daylight. I have called up a lot more after that, just never connected. I think because I've never connected on one in my old haunt, I keep going back.
Last year I took a good friend from out west on his first Eastern gobbler hunt. He'd killed turkeys before, in Texas with a rifle. I assured him this was like kissing your sister compared to spring gobbler hunting. We heard two different gobblers at daylight. I asked him which one he wanted to chase & he said it was my choice. I picked the one that seemed to be in a more familiar place & we jogged off to get him as he sounded about a half-mile distant. We got closer and set-up in a pretty oak hillside bordered by a creek. I wanted him to get the shot and made sure the set-up was such that he had a high probability to have the gobbler appear on his front. That bird continued to gobble and double gobble on the roost. He gobbled so much I worried someone else would hear him and maybe spoil the hunt. Then when I called I could tell he was on the ground-I whispered here he comes. The bird cut me off when I called and I turned to my friend and told him this bird really wants to get killed. He came closer and closer, gobbling every time I called. I whispered "Get ready, he's coming". The bird was within 100 yards of us by the sound of him, but we still hadn't spotted him. We were on a little slope with some very mature oaks and little ravines here and there. About 60 yards to my left was a screen of brush. Then, by the sound of him the bird had veered to my left, away from the designated shooter. We started arguing over who was going to take the shot. I insisted he do it as my guest and he finally relented. Then I saw the bird coming and whispered to my friend to get ready. He tried to tell me to take the shot. The bird was hidden by a giant oak trunk. I had my gun on the trunk, but was hoping the bird would swing around so my guest could take his first Eastern. Then, the bird moved to the left of the trunk, placing me in the line of fire. I would have to take the shot or wait for him to move either further behind us or down in front more. I waited. The gobbler got suspicious, like they always do when they see wide open woods with no hen. He putted a few times, then took off behind us like a track star. There was no opportunity to shoot for my friend. Once out of sight, the bird gobbled at us a couple of times, then moved off. We tried to call him back, but to no avail-he'd had enough of invisible hens for one morning.
Despite the fact we didn't get a bird, this is one of my most memorable hunts. I was able to spend a beautiful morning in the woods with a great friend and we got outsmarted by a bird with a brain the size of a walnut. What could be better?
So, I celebrated my 20 year turkey anniversary this morning. I hunted the same spot. I heard a gobbler a few times on the way in...down close to the creek. But I was intent to get to the same spot. He answered a crow call, but not my hen calls. Maybe its still a little too early. I came out, once again, with no bird. But I enjoyed the solitude and the beauty immensely. The air was clean and cool, the walk was good, and I heard a gobbler.
I had promised my wife I'd be back before noon. I got out early, and drove some of the forest service roads I've hunted up and down over the years. I though to myself that now I am "that guy". The one I used to wonder why he drove up and down the roads when turkeys were just about to get cranked up again at ten-thirty or eleven after their hens have left them. But like I said, I'm a purist and I'd rather get one at daylight-plus I'd promised to be back. Now I know why that guy drove out so early-he probably had a wife and three small kids and work to do before everyone comes over to the house for Easter. So, as I passed each car or truck parked at an old logging road, I thought to myself, enjoy it-I've had my time like your having yours now. My time is different now, but I wouldn't have it any other way. My kids were delighted to see me and my wife tried to act put out with me for leaving her and going hunting, but that's an act she's been putting on since before we were married, since I started turkey hunting, twenty years ago this day.
If there's anything I like as much as quail, its spring gobbler hunting.
I am a non-committal deer hunter these days. I used to deer hunt literally non-stop. I think this is what makes me crave deer hunting less now. We would hunt from before sun-up to after sun-down, staying on stand all but maybe 1 hour of the day. We killed a lot of deer, and really killed my enthusiasm for it too. Sitting 15 or 20 feet up in a tree in 30 degree weather for six or seven hours straight tends to dampen your ardor for just about anything, including deer hunting. When I was younger, it was a test of will power. Now, I am purely disinterested. The last deer hunt I went on was to take my boys on their first. This was a great pleasure, and hints that one day the fire will return. But for now, you can have your deer hunting. I'll take the turkeys, thank you very much.
For me, like for so many other poor unfortunate souls, turkey hunting is like an obsession. Once turkey season starts, I really can't think of much else. Yard work goes untended. My marital bliss deteriorates-so much so it doesn't really get fully repaired till deer season arrives. I stumble bleary eyed though the Spring-others attribute it I am sure to the new baby or pollen. Only I know the truth-waking up to meet the crack of day instead of sleeping in on Saturday morning after a long week of work.
I guess that I am somewhat of a purist. For me, the ultimate is the early morning ritual of gobblers on the roost. I know you can kill turkeys at later parts of the day, but for me, the waking of the woods is a magical time, and it revitalizes me. When I sit on a deer stand all the pressures of life creep into my brain, haunting my time in the woods. When I am standing on some high point in the dark, listening to whippoorwills and other early morning birds, waiting for that first gobble, I feel completely free. When that first bird sounds off, proclaiming his majesty to all of nature, it sends a thrill through me every time-just like a covey rise.
This morning, March 22nd, was the opening day in Georgia. I have passed 20 seasons hunting turkeys in my home state. I have hunted both public land and private. I have hunted morning, mid-day and afternoons. I have called up turkeys in all manner of places and times, using a variety of calls. Like most turkey hunters, I have called up far more birds than I have killed. Some guys have the knack to drop the hammer on a gobbler every time they get one in range. Not me-Murphy is a constant companion when I am in the turkey woods.
I think I remember more vividly the birds that gave me the slip. There was a gobbler that came running his goofy side to side gait up the little woods road to the old well. With every stride his paint-brush beard swayed ponderously. He stopped next to an ancient pine, stuck his head out and gobbled so loud it felt like it shook my hair. He had stopped short looking at my decoy. He gobbled over and over again, going into a half-strut and gobbling at my decoy which sat there motionless and unimpressed. He puffed up into a strut, showing off for my frigid female. She remained passionless. He finally got fed up and side-slipped around me, then disappeared behind some brush. The whole time I had a bead on him, but thought he was beyond effective range. After he'd been gone a while, I walked over to where he'd put on the show and was amazed and shocked to realize it was less than 30 yards. It had all happened so fast I hadn't gotten a good judge of the range.
Another time in the mid-day I had been sitting on a ridge top calling down into a bottom. A hen had come up to investigate me and given me a valuable hen talk lesson. I was dozing off in the warm sun. Some of the best sleep I've had was on the forest floor during turkey season after an early rise. Suddenly I heard a bird gobbling on the loading deck behind and below me. I flipped my position around on the same tree and faced up-hill. The lip of the ridge and a little logging road was 15 yards away and concealed the bird. He seemed like he was gobbling in the loading deck and getting no closer. I made the command decision to belly crawl up to the lip of the road where there was a berm formed by a dozer for a better look. I froze half-way there when I heard him stepping in the leaves on the road. He must have heard me GI-crawling through the leaves and thought it was the hen he'd heard. I was prone with my shotgun up, ready to fire-but then I inspected the berm a couple of yards to my front. I still couldn't see the tom, but I could see all kinds of rocks in that berm. Then the tip of a white skull-cap appeared above the berm, followed by a blue head and keen eyes, then the blood red neck and wattles. I had my shotgun bead on the kill zone, but then my mind flashed to all those rocks in that berm-what if stray pellets hit those rocks and richoted back? I decided to wait for the bird to move to the left or right of the berm. He peered over the edge, seeming to look past me, down into the wide open oak bottom below us. There was no hen in sight and rather than go right or left, he made an about face and walked away. To add insult to injury, he gobbled one more time down on the loading deck and then departed for parts unknown. I had lain patiently awaiting him to come back, and then eased up to the berm when I heard him gobble from the loading deck, but once I could spy from the top of the berm, he was gone.
That story happened on public land, national forest land, during Spring Break when I was in college. All my friends thought I was nuts, spending the week in the woods chasing turkeys rather than chasing bikinis on the beach. But, they'd come back, telling stories of getting arrested and zip tied by the cops and I'd just sit quietly and listened and wouldn't have traded my stories for one of theirs.
That was almost 20 years ago, and today is the anniversary. My future Father-In-Law took pity on me and introduced me to the turkey woods, ruining me for life and much to the chagrin of his daughter. We hunted a lot, and I missed a lot of sleep but it was all worth it. We started out on the Oconee National Forest down close to Lake Jackson. We called in a lot of turkeys, but I never killed one on public land, even to this day. My first turkey came a few years later on a private lease and it was a text book hunt. Matter of fact, I have killed all my turkeys within the first hour of daylight. I have called up a lot more after that, just never connected. I think because I've never connected on one in my old haunt, I keep going back.
Last year I took a good friend from out west on his first Eastern gobbler hunt. He'd killed turkeys before, in Texas with a rifle. I assured him this was like kissing your sister compared to spring gobbler hunting. We heard two different gobblers at daylight. I asked him which one he wanted to chase & he said it was my choice. I picked the one that seemed to be in a more familiar place & we jogged off to get him as he sounded about a half-mile distant. We got closer and set-up in a pretty oak hillside bordered by a creek. I wanted him to get the shot and made sure the set-up was such that he had a high probability to have the gobbler appear on his front. That bird continued to gobble and double gobble on the roost. He gobbled so much I worried someone else would hear him and maybe spoil the hunt. Then when I called I could tell he was on the ground-I whispered here he comes. The bird cut me off when I called and I turned to my friend and told him this bird really wants to get killed. He came closer and closer, gobbling every time I called. I whispered "Get ready, he's coming". The bird was within 100 yards of us by the sound of him, but we still hadn't spotted him. We were on a little slope with some very mature oaks and little ravines here and there. About 60 yards to my left was a screen of brush. Then, by the sound of him the bird had veered to my left, away from the designated shooter. We started arguing over who was going to take the shot. I insisted he do it as my guest and he finally relented. Then I saw the bird coming and whispered to my friend to get ready. He tried to tell me to take the shot. The bird was hidden by a giant oak trunk. I had my gun on the trunk, but was hoping the bird would swing around so my guest could take his first Eastern. Then, the bird moved to the left of the trunk, placing me in the line of fire. I would have to take the shot or wait for him to move either further behind us or down in front more. I waited. The gobbler got suspicious, like they always do when they see wide open woods with no hen. He putted a few times, then took off behind us like a track star. There was no opportunity to shoot for my friend. Once out of sight, the bird gobbled at us a couple of times, then moved off. We tried to call him back, but to no avail-he'd had enough of invisible hens for one morning.
Despite the fact we didn't get a bird, this is one of my most memorable hunts. I was able to spend a beautiful morning in the woods with a great friend and we got outsmarted by a bird with a brain the size of a walnut. What could be better?
So, I celebrated my 20 year turkey anniversary this morning. I hunted the same spot. I heard a gobbler a few times on the way in...down close to the creek. But I was intent to get to the same spot. He answered a crow call, but not my hen calls. Maybe its still a little too early. I came out, once again, with no bird. But I enjoyed the solitude and the beauty immensely. The air was clean and cool, the walk was good, and I heard a gobbler.
I had promised my wife I'd be back before noon. I got out early, and drove some of the forest service roads I've hunted up and down over the years. I though to myself that now I am "that guy". The one I used to wonder why he drove up and down the roads when turkeys were just about to get cranked up again at ten-thirty or eleven after their hens have left them. But like I said, I'm a purist and I'd rather get one at daylight-plus I'd promised to be back. Now I know why that guy drove out so early-he probably had a wife and three small kids and work to do before everyone comes over to the house for Easter. So, as I passed each car or truck parked at an old logging road, I thought to myself, enjoy it-I've had my time like your having yours now. My time is different now, but I wouldn't have it any other way. My kids were delighted to see me and my wife tried to act put out with me for leaving her and going hunting, but that's an act she's been putting on since before we were married, since I started turkey hunting, twenty years ago this day.
