HUNTING A SPRING GOBBLER

It's said that turkeys are the dumbest, smartest critters out there.  And years of hunting them darn birds has proven it can be tiresome and frustrating but also blood-pumping exciting when the plan, my plan comes together. 

BOOM!!     A flurry of feathers and the ol' tom backflips to the ground.  The big gobbler flops on the dirt thirty-some yards in front of me, its legs sporadically kicking with wicked talons as big a spread as a man's hand.  The pungent smell of gunpowder wafts into my nostrils -- it's pure exhilaration!  "Yeah!" I holler, my voice echoes down the hill.  I gaze as the big bird's wings flap in reflex to the shot.  I lower my gun, still on high alert to slam the action to shoot again if he gets up to escape.
     Leaping forward, almost in disbelief, I scramble to the bird that is still twitching 'like a frog in a frying pan'.  My brain doesn't quite acknowledge yet that it's dead.  Logic spoke, 'Okay - it's down - not gettin' up - it's mine!'  I did it!  The flopping stops.  My ears ring from the shotgun blast, my legs shaking down through my boots with the adrenaline rush.  I catch my breath.  I look up to the sky and thank Jesus out loud.  Like in the tom's mating ritual, my chest swells up with pride.
     My eyes squinted and itched, snapped excitement under the headnet I swiped off, tossed into the air full of turkey feathers and dust, my hair flying in a tousled mess.  I didn't care - I just shot a big damn turkey!
     This turkey's wingspan is longer than four feet, way bigger than he looked from my view sitting on the ground thirty-some yards away.  I guessed it to be at least twenty pounds as I admired the bird lying in a heap of massive dark brown and white striped wings, gnarly red legs with its inch long spurs and carbuncles of a mature tom.  Using my gun as a staff, I kneel down, grasp one taloned foot to measure the spur with my finger.  I lay down my gun next to the bird now covered in dust, slid its gray beard through my fingers, using my forearm as a 'guestimate'  of 11 inches long.  The longer length gives significant bragging rights to us turkey hunters.  I sigh to calm my nerves.
     Riddled with pellets, its head lay still.  My heart still pounding; I stroke his soft feathers with a trembling hand as I marvel over the rich mix of brown, blues, white and maroon plumage of my bird.  Only then can I claim victory over such a wily creature as a gobbler in full strut for a mate.  Then comes the work of hauling this prize back to the vehicle...
     At a distance, a strutting tom appears to glisten golden auburn.  Up close it's a truly awesome sight.  Its tail fan is a fascinating spectacle, in full spread for competition to claim a harem; although, bright red from the vigors of mating its spindly, ugly head sure makes it easy to sight and to shoot with no hesitation.

YOU NEED TOTAL CAMOUFLAGE...

     Sometimes they gobble from the roost but are more likely to start  on the ground a bit after sunrise once they're amidst other aggressive toms intent on the same group of hens.  By sun up, most Spring hunters have walked to their favorite spot either next to a pre-determined huge tree or a thick brush pile from dead-fall.  From there, a hunter can hopefully see across the field, but at the same time the natural surroundings must provide total cover.  Turkeys are not colorblind and any unnatural movement attracts those laser eyes -- they'll run off, fast.  Darn critters spook extremely easy, nor will you get a second chance -- they'll be gone.  That's how they are so darn smart.  They're at the bottom of the heap of the food chain -- always on the verge to escape: run or fly.

      I've had hen turkeys walk right past me as I sat with gun-on-knee-n-position, held my breath waiting, not moving an eyelash in statue mode while sitting in wait for the big boy to bust through.  Your body must completely blend in with that big tree or brush pile so that gobbler will be stupid enough, to come close to your silhouette for you to get a shot.  A good shot.  That's made easier with a couple of hen and jake decoys stuck in the ground.  Depending on the ground cover, I post the 'decs' on tall sturdy sticks next to weeds approximately thirty paces out, at my ten o'clock (I'm right handed).  And there's the big oak tree trick.  Stand still behind a big oak tree, slide the shotgun out and line up the bead onto that ugly red, wrinkled turkey's head, with your heart pounding out of your chest.

     On a calm day, a ground blind is often part of that arsenal if it's lightweight to haul on your back.  That's a good plan if rain is predicted.  But those birds can still see movement inside it unless your clothing matches the blind interior.  I wear a solid black top in the blind and here's a head shot of my gear.

Gals, remove earrings and that sparkly diamond from your finger (oops that goes for guys too).
     

RACE AGAINST TIME...

     IF you are like many traditional hunters, and my husband, who feels strongly compelled to walk into the timber and to his spot in the half-hour before first light -- that's thirty minutes predawn -- is a race against time.  Myself, I've never killed a bird before 10 a.m., but I do love to watch the sunrise and hear all the timber critters wake up.  And it's nice to slide my legs into the dewy leaves, rest my weary head against the smooth bark of the tree and take a lil' cat-nap with one ear and eye open.  Damn, that's so relaxing.

 
     Nothing worse than reaching your honey-hole and toms are within sight in the field or in the timber, already paired up with the hens.  Sunrise does not wait for anyone.  Birds are on Momma Nature's time clock so anyone who overslept best have a Plan B than believing they're so damn lucky that stupid gobblers will just sashay into easy gun range.  Often it's just dumb luck for a hunter to quietly walk in under the shield of predawn darkness, sit and get all comfy under the tree, then after first light you start to hear clucks and purrs of hens above you, a damn good tell-tale sign the toms are close by too.  

      The weather is more predictable then turkeys.  Storm clouds can be seen and thunder be heard.  Predictability is merely a hopeful state of a given hunting opportunity, not a given in of itself.  Maybe you had a minute to put out 'decs' and maybe you'll have to give a few enticing calls, maybe not.  This all sounds contradictory but I've never had success patterning turkeys as many years as I've turkey hunted.  Say a little prayer to yourself as you head your tired body to the back forty, then Lord willing, the flock will fly down and the toms will come in range of the decoys you had a second to stick in the dirt as the ol' wing and a prayer saying may put a smile on you.

     LURE IN MR. TOM...

     For beginners, you can use soft hen clucks at sunrise and grab your hat and slap it back and forth on your legs to simulate their wings same as they fly down from the roost.  All those gobblers tell each other 'time to wake up chumps, I'm the biggest, baddest dude who's getting laid toda-y!'  An early hunter will swear that there were five toms gobbling all around, one right after another!  And I promise they aren't lying.  Those toms will gobble and fight in the trees -- they mean business -- it's their one and only time of year to prove to that pretty sexy hen that their plume is the best, their chest is the biggest and their gobble the loudest to claim her as his harem for a week.  They can hear the noise as far away as they can see.  And from a fair distance, their stupidity won't give way to knowing the difference from real wings battering in the trees in your effort to lure him to your poised shotgun.  If you have ever had the bejesus startled out of you by a turkey's sudden escape flight that's too close for comfort, you know those battering wings are deafening.  It's heart pounding loud!

     It's really a thrill as you sit quietly, for a big gobbler to run full-bore into propped up 'decs', the arena of hens and a spindly unsuspecting jake   to whomp any tom that's in his territory, how dare he even think about getting acquainted with one of his hen 'decs'.  All that really gets your own blood stirred up.
     But that's how a good plan works -- sticking a couple of 'decs' within your realm of shooting distance is the best way to ensure a tom gets into your shotgun range.  I try for this 'decs' scenario:  a hen feeding, and a jake following her so a tom across the field will see -- the onlooking alpha tom gets all riled up, gonna whoop your lil' jake's butt so he spars and outguns the jake, struts for her, is so focused he gets between me and the 'decs', facing them so he can't see me raise the gun to shoot.

     CALLS AND BINOCULARS

     The harder scenarios are the damn birds are nowhere to be seen, you heard birds out of sight and/or they're just not gobbling.  Get their attention.  Stroke the box call.  Stroke it 6-9 times loud, wait a few minutes, call again.  Then put it down and be quiet and listen.  Toms often come in without making a sound, especially a beta tom, feeding as they walk.  There are a myriad of other calls, I prefer to stick with a cut and purr hen box call and the tom 'locater'.

wingbone call

     Teaching my grandson turkey hunting, I've told him 'if you can see a turkey with binocs, it can already see you.'  You need good  8X binoculars to see across fields.  When coming to the edge of a line of timber, I glass the whole horizon looking for that brown thing out there.  Do not venture out into the open, that's the best way to bust up birds and lose any chance of a shot, wasting the entire walk to that field.  Turkeys are so low to the ground you may not see them as they're bent down feeding.  There's bugs; they'll be hunkered down below that slight field slope.  If you're lucky that tom you saw in full strut will be focused on the hen inside the timber so he won't see you.  Then you may be able to head him off, creep up on him or call him to you with those sexy hen purrs you scared your dog with the night before.  Hopefully he's not seen you because he sure as heck ain't going to come closer to danger, seeing you are not a sexy hen.

     Game plans work out about fifty percent.  If he doesn't come in with your calls, something may have spooked him, a hen may have caught up with him and if so, he ain't going to leave her for you.  Flip a coin if you stay or find another spot.  

     After daybreak, they'll stop gobbling often because the hens have flown off the roost, all fluffing and preening their feathers, and feeding in such close proximity that a tom gains an instant harem with a big flirting boss hen -- you don't stand a chance -- she'll keep him occupied.  That's what spring turkey hunting is all about.  The big boys are all about that magnificent strut for the ladies.
     Every year is different, every hunt is unique and it's all relative to the situation and the weather.  It's not fun getting rained on but that is the risk in spring.  I've been forced back to the vehicle more than once to avoid lightning and downpours.  You can easily sit for an hour or more, not seeing or hearing anything all.  But a turkey fan is so gorgeous in the bright spring sunlight - it is so worth it when they decide to show up and strut their stuff.


http://plfrommer.blogspot.com/2015/03/hunting-after-surgery.html

 ready for spring season 2015...