With the passing of April 15th my second turkey
season is officially underway and while I am excited as ever, I won’t lie, it
got off to a rocky start. I awoke on opening morning only to look over at my
clock and see that it was 8:13. After a double take it became all too apparent;
the season I had been counting down the days for had come and I had overslept,
huh, “Some hunter I am”, I thought. But after making my way into the woods that
evening I in part redeemed myself by getting out and scouting around. There wasn’t
a whole lot to go off of but with a little persistence I was able to push
several turkeys out of their roosts just before sunset. I figured the next day
I would start early and see what I could get into. As it turns out, what
happened the next morning would end up becoming my first truly tragic hunting
story.
I suppose if all I was to write about were James and my
successes it wouldn’t be authentic or genuine. The headline to this blog is, “A
couple of east coast boys learning to hunt out west”, and without a doubt, that
is often the case, especially for me. And so, as luck would have it, my
learning when it came to turkeys was to begin immediately.
I arrived at the field I wanted to hunt well before sunrise.
I walked out into the middle and with no calls of any sort or any real idea
where to start; I stood in there, in the pitch black, tossing ideas around. The
indecision must have been blatantly plastered across my face because it wasn’t
long before a great horned owl decided to come to my aid. It was almost as if
he was looking at me in my half-ass camo and saying, “This guy needs help”. So,
to my pleasure he began to hoot, loud and strong, sending vibrations through
the woods. It seems that from what I’ve been told and what I experienced that
morning, an owl’s call will definitely get a tom to start making some noise.
With my owl friend in the back, I began to follow the sounds of turkeys and I
had soon found my spot.
I could hear him gobbling away in the trees above me and
with the utmost care I crawled on all fours up the side of the ridge I believed
he was on. I took my time, moving sticks and pinecones out of my path as I went
along. My breathing was heavy but controlled. I knew that if I just worked my
way up the backside of the hill I would have a chance and as the cards fell I
found myself within 70 yards of about six turkeys. I could see several males in
the group but needed to close the distance. For me, not having anything to
entice them with I got down on my stomach and crawled. I moved from tree to
stump to tree on a zigzagging voyage to the drop off of the ridge I had last
seen them along. I could feel the moment and it was full of anticipation.
As it turns out, I was dead on. I peaked over the ridge side
and there they were, 20 yards downhill. This was it. I didn’t have the shot yet
but all I kept thinking to myself what that I was within 60 seconds of taking
down my first turkey. This was going to be great. This was going to be
something to write home about. However, what happened next was, without
exaggeration, completely demoralizing.
Laying flat on my stomach the turkeys were coming right to
me but being on a steep slope and uphill from the group I could only barely see
their heads. I raised my gun into position and when one of the jakes moved his
head up just above the others I carefully swung the barrel of my shotgun over
in his direction. It was at that exact moment that I realized just how well
turkeys can see. The gentle swing was immediately followed by one of the group
jumping up and in that instant I knew I was dead in the water. I’d never felt
more naked in my life. When he fell back to the ground you could see him look
at his buddies, as if to say, “Whoa, whoa….hey guys, we’ve gotta get out of
here”. This can’t be happening. As their movements began to quickly trend away
from me I knew I had to take a shot. I quickly tried to lift my body up
slightly, aim my gun, and then, with my heart racing I fired off a shot. My first shot at a turkey, 15 yards away,
wow.
When the proverbial smoked cleared I could see all of the
birds flushing away, none with any indication of injury. They simply flew off
into the distance, and my spirit was crushed. I just had the shot of a lifetime
and I blew it. How did that happen? How?
Without delving too much into the frustration in my head I
soon realized that I had learned a vital lesson: even if you have taken all the
time in the world to get to the birds, even if you have exhibited incredible
patience while making your move, if you fail to practice that patience in the
last 60 seconds, rush your shot, and become too excited, the game will over in
the blink of an eye. In that moment, I rushed my opportunity and came back
empty handed. But I suppose, when all is said and done, that’s hunting. What’s
the expression, “If it was easy, everyone would do it”. I couldn’t put it
better myself.
I called James with the news that day and after he reflected
on his morning hunt in which a group of turkeys had given him the run around I
felt a little better. I have now been out for three days in a row and had more
opportunities in these few days than I did all last season, so, I must be doing
something right. I still don’t have anything to call in toms with but my game
is to be patient and move slowly. One of these times I’ll get it right.
With any luck I’ll be able to replicate James’s feat this
week as he was able to take a turkey down yesterday. Throwing on what little
gear he had, a quick trek into the woods soon had a turkey running across an
open flat in front of him. He aimed just ahead of the turkey and hit his mark.
Tonight he will be over to cook that turkey at my house and with good friends
and a few drinks I’ll dream of the day when I’ll be the one bringing home the
bird, sending photos around. Until then, the hunt continues, and what a hunt it
is.
James Returns From a Successful Hunt:
No comments:
Post a Comment