A Season to be Remembered: The Finale, Part 1
#1
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I harvested my third adult gobbler of the season yesterday, May 23rd. It was, by far, one of my best seasons ever. Not simply because I filled all of my tags, but because each hunt was very unique and all occurred on different properties. I've posted the first two hunts with short stories, and would now like to share the last in a story format. The first part is posted below, part 2 to follow tomorrow tonight...
Part 1 The pursuit...
Chris parked the truck and quickly jumped out into the morning fog. He was greeted by multiple birds gobbling, something he had not heard just a mere 4 miles down the road on another property. No owl hooting or crow calling was necessary here; these birds were vocal on their own, calling to attract any nearby hens. Gobbling had been sparse this last week, the fourth week of May, and Chris was surprised to hear so many birds gobbling with the stagnant low pressures coupled with the fog; surprised, but also quite happy.
It was well into daylight, already 5:00 am and 5 minutes past official sunrise, when Chris slid into his vest and shouldered his gun. He slipped the 3 rounds into the chamber and magazine, slipped around an old galvanized gate, and meandered about 200 yards up the old logging road. Although the birds were in the opposite direction, he suspected the birds wandered this direction off the roost, judging by the sign he had noticed prior to the season.
He snaked his way around wild rose and raspberry plants, and with a sure foot quietly nestled up to a broad oak. The woods here were relatively open, with large populations of shagbark hickory, white oaks and maples. The undergrowth was limited to green briars and ferns, with few saplings. However, because of the fog and the small stream trickling 50 feet away---coupled with the density of the oncoming foliage and the heavy air---the gobbling was difficult to discern
Chris decided to pull out a slate call, and started mimicking a hot hen, with mostly clucks and excited yelps. He was greeted, faintly, by the sounds of two birds responding. He waited 5 minutes, and called again, only to hear the one bird furthest away answer. The watch read 5:25, and the birds were now probably on the ground. A few more series of calls netted zero response, and Chris decided to get aggressive.
He pulled out the Lynch boxcall, which he reserved for shock gobbles or windy days, and contemplated his next move. “I just don’t think they can hear me way over here. It’s just too dense and wet. Let ‘er rip baby…”
He ran off a series of 10 yelps, followed by a cutting sequence, finished by another 12 yelps. Again the bird furthest away, up the hill and probably ½ mile away, responded ever so faintly. Chris waited 5 minutes and stroked out another series of yelps, to determine if his previous calling had brought the gobbler closer. The bird responded on cue, but no closer.
“I have got to get closer to this bird, and it’s now or never.”
Although the current setup was nestled in an open area of woods, the forest 40 yards away resembled a jungle from Southeast Asia. Green briars, ferns, and multiple saplings were all interwoven along the forest floor and mixed heavily with low climbing birch and black cherry trees. Excellent cover, and coupled with the moist ground, ample surroundings for a seasoned hunter to stalk closer to his prey.
The box call had really fired up the old bird, and he was now gobbling on his own, once or twice about every 3 minutes. Perfect conditions to get closer, and with 2 tags already filled this season with mature toms, this aggressive gamble did not require more than a moment’s consternation. Chris was off, gun in hand, to meet up with a longbeard. He picked his way along the ridge, which was well traveled with heavy deer trails. At every gobble, Chris would stop and discern the proximity of the bird. “Nope, not any closer, but still gobbling hard. Keep at it ole’ boy…”
After gaining over 200 yards on the bird, who had been quiet for about 5 minutes, Chris stood next to a towering ash, which was a common tree in this section of the forest. Just as he began to reach for his crow call, to elicit a shock gobble, the tom thundered. It sounded as if the gobbler was situated on the plateau, where the hillside Chris was maneuvering and the adjacent hillside converged, approximately 75 yards ahead.
Chris took cover, finding the closest tree for a backdrop. If the bird was on the move, he did not want to be stark naked in the forest. Another gobble, from the same location, and Chris discovered a better setup about 15 yards to his left and 20 yards to his rear. He deftly covered the ground, in a bear crawl, and snuggled up against the towering elm. A natural shelf had been constructed at its base with fallen limbs, which provided a heightened seat. He clicked on the red-dot scope, and pushed the gun’s safety to the ‘fire’ position. A comfortable seat with a great view, it was now time to get serious and hunt this turkey…
Part 1 The pursuit...
Chris parked the truck and quickly jumped out into the morning fog. He was greeted by multiple birds gobbling, something he had not heard just a mere 4 miles down the road on another property. No owl hooting or crow calling was necessary here; these birds were vocal on their own, calling to attract any nearby hens. Gobbling had been sparse this last week, the fourth week of May, and Chris was surprised to hear so many birds gobbling with the stagnant low pressures coupled with the fog; surprised, but also quite happy.
It was well into daylight, already 5:00 am and 5 minutes past official sunrise, when Chris slid into his vest and shouldered his gun. He slipped the 3 rounds into the chamber and magazine, slipped around an old galvanized gate, and meandered about 200 yards up the old logging road. Although the birds were in the opposite direction, he suspected the birds wandered this direction off the roost, judging by the sign he had noticed prior to the season.
He snaked his way around wild rose and raspberry plants, and with a sure foot quietly nestled up to a broad oak. The woods here were relatively open, with large populations of shagbark hickory, white oaks and maples. The undergrowth was limited to green briars and ferns, with few saplings. However, because of the fog and the small stream trickling 50 feet away---coupled with the density of the oncoming foliage and the heavy air---the gobbling was difficult to discern
Chris decided to pull out a slate call, and started mimicking a hot hen, with mostly clucks and excited yelps. He was greeted, faintly, by the sounds of two birds responding. He waited 5 minutes, and called again, only to hear the one bird furthest away answer. The watch read 5:25, and the birds were now probably on the ground. A few more series of calls netted zero response, and Chris decided to get aggressive.
He pulled out the Lynch boxcall, which he reserved for shock gobbles or windy days, and contemplated his next move. “I just don’t think they can hear me way over here. It’s just too dense and wet. Let ‘er rip baby…”
He ran off a series of 10 yelps, followed by a cutting sequence, finished by another 12 yelps. Again the bird furthest away, up the hill and probably ½ mile away, responded ever so faintly. Chris waited 5 minutes and stroked out another series of yelps, to determine if his previous calling had brought the gobbler closer. The bird responded on cue, but no closer.
“I have got to get closer to this bird, and it’s now or never.”
Although the current setup was nestled in an open area of woods, the forest 40 yards away resembled a jungle from Southeast Asia. Green briars, ferns, and multiple saplings were all interwoven along the forest floor and mixed heavily with low climbing birch and black cherry trees. Excellent cover, and coupled with the moist ground, ample surroundings for a seasoned hunter to stalk closer to his prey.
The box call had really fired up the old bird, and he was now gobbling on his own, once or twice about every 3 minutes. Perfect conditions to get closer, and with 2 tags already filled this season with mature toms, this aggressive gamble did not require more than a moment’s consternation. Chris was off, gun in hand, to meet up with a longbeard. He picked his way along the ridge, which was well traveled with heavy deer trails. At every gobble, Chris would stop and discern the proximity of the bird. “Nope, not any closer, but still gobbling hard. Keep at it ole’ boy…”
After gaining over 200 yards on the bird, who had been quiet for about 5 minutes, Chris stood next to a towering ash, which was a common tree in this section of the forest. Just as he began to reach for his crow call, to elicit a shock gobble, the tom thundered. It sounded as if the gobbler was situated on the plateau, where the hillside Chris was maneuvering and the adjacent hillside converged, approximately 75 yards ahead.
Chris took cover, finding the closest tree for a backdrop. If the bird was on the move, he did not want to be stark naked in the forest. Another gobble, from the same location, and Chris discovered a better setup about 15 yards to his left and 20 yards to his rear. He deftly covered the ground, in a bear crawl, and snuggled up against the towering elm. A natural shelf had been constructed at its base with fallen limbs, which provided a heightened seat. He clicked on the red-dot scope, and pushed the gun’s safety to the ‘fire’ position. A comfortable seat with a great view, it was now time to get serious and hunt this turkey…
#2
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Man what can i say?? That was one of the best stories i have ever read Strut!!! I even write my own stories, and the way you explained everything in such contrast, it made it seem like i was really there, from the tall ash trees, oaks maples and well used deer trails, i had flash blacks!! Great story, you should think about a career in writing if your not already, god bless.
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superrman77
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06-30-2004 04:43 PM