Let me first say that a 19-26 pound, 3 foot high, feathered, red-headed bird with a brain the size of your big toe can outwit, outlast and overcome even the best hunters in the woods. Unfortunately I found that out this spring taking out hunters and hunting myself. Truthfully, I couldn't have been more fit for my five day hunt in Wisconsin . . . although I already knew that it would only take a single day before Mr. Longbeard hit the dirt. This year was different, I did twice as much scouting, twice as much hunting, and three times as much day-dreaming. For a strenuous two weeks before season, I was born with the roosters and died with the moon then reincarnated the next morning. Only to
repeat the process over and over again. I was in what us serious turkey hunters call Gobbler Mode! Eat, sleep, and of course dream of turkeys. It was our one and only opportunity of the year to pursue these birds. Five days goes by fast, only faster when your prey is dormant.
The occasional grogginess feeling swept over me about 1st hour of school everyday. Sporadically dozing off threw the interminable lessons of the Great Napoleon or was it the Russian Revolution? It didn't
matter, it was TURKEY SEASON!
The count down of days began then ending on Tuesday, April 20th. The day before season. Unwillingly, it poured and it poured until I tallied inches of wet, miserable rain. Although, I haven't any control over
these things.
I fearlessly trekked afield to set-up my, "kill zone". Blind, decoys, chairs and I'm out of the woods in the speed of lightning. Only know coping with sleep and a gobbler awaiting on roost.
Day 1: Believe it or not, I was awake before the alarm clock
tormented me. In glowing numbers it read 4:00 a.m.
There is nothing other than hunting that will arouse a
teenager to wake this early! Effortlessly slipping
into my mossy oak brand camouflage made me feel
invincible to animals. I scarfed a light breakfast and
I was out the door and on a mission. I told my mother
that I wouldn't be home until I bagged a tom. Which
made me feel significantly older and more mature.
The swift gurgles of my four-wheeler abruptly ended
after the turn of the key. In pitch black conditions,
I ventured toward my destination. Arriving to the
blind in only minutes. Well, there I was, an hour
till' what I've been waiting for since last years
success. As time passed the sun grew tall.
I poked around in my turkey vest until I fumbled upon
Blodgett's Premier Double Trouble friction call. With
two arms suspended out the blind window, I eagerly
stuck it to em'. Soft yelps to cackles blared out of
that sweet call and not even a whisper of a gobbler
toned my ears. I felt insulted and in disbelief. I
barked out some more language with my diaphragm call
and yet... nothing. "Ok, the birds must have
lock-jaw due to the stormy weather", I kept telling
myself. Finally at 7:00 a.m. I caught a weary juvenile
bird come strolling by with noone accompanying. Hours
after hours of peering out a Hunters View Blind screen
window can do a number on you, let me tell you. I
looked yonder to appeal my eyes to what looked to be
two hens. And it was. Yet, nothing I'm in search for.
To make a long day short, I sapped eleven hours in the woods and stared at the same tree's, forage and brush until my eyes couldn't take it. Day one was extremely unsuccessful, but brighter light shines upon tomorrow.
Day 2 : I figured yesterdays hunt couldn't get any worse.
Thursday I sat another five hours without seeing a
turkey. I couldn't figure it out. Where did all of
these birds vanish too? It was only Tuesday morning
when I heard the toms ferociously gobbling back and
forth at each other establishing dominance. The last
two days I haven't heard a peep. I finished the day
literally baking in the black interior, coffin-like
blind. I imagined I was in a sauna, only in the middle
of a lush green forest. Basically, day two was none
other than a waste of time, simply stated.
Nevertheless, brighter light shines upon tomorrow.
Day 3 : Friday, was game time. The cameraman and I drifted
south, way south. We were in a new area that hasn't
been pressured by hunters. Thursday night, we were
fortunate to roost 5 separate gobblers in the same
area. No more screwing around, we had the big boys on
our hands. The cameraman met my approval when he
smoothly laid out a picture perfect plan.
Taking in consideration that turkeys usually come to the field
to scratch for worms and grub, meant a setup on a field edge would be our best bet. Sunshine pierced through the storm clouds and arrayed a breathtaking scene. I staked my Renzo's jake and two hen decoys out
to enrage the gobblers that this immature boy is stealing big daddy's ladies.
After talking to the camera, I started the morning off with soft tree yelps to direct the gobbler toward me. In a millisecond the
gobblers responded to my surprise. High hopes and
expectations soared threw my body. My blood actually
started pumping again, because the last two days I
felt as if I were dead in sorrow. The Double Trouble
friction call and I gave it more than our best. After
finishing up my last series of calling, I laid back
and let them come to me. A few switches here and there
in the blind and I was awaiting my prey. An enormous
smile and high level of confidence to add to the
scene. I even drew back my bow and aimed readily
pondering the scenario.
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK,
CRACK, one more... CRACK!!!! As soon as I heard the
shotgun fire directly behind me I stood up, and threw
my blind over. O! I was more then furious. I directly
stared into the cameraman's eyes and they reflected
red fiery, bloodshot eyes. Just after that a big sack
of woeful feelings knocked me over and smothered my
pitiful self into the ground. Twenty-four hours down
the drain once again. What more can a man do, I
thought?
Friday I eat my tag again and just waited for my fourth chance, because brighter light shines upon tomorrow.
Day 4 : A prominent morning was ahead of us. We repeated the
process of yesterday and got up close and personal
with a gobbler. As daybreak follows as it always does,
I waited to listen for the tom to gobble. Last night
he sure did when I pressured him with the old owl
hoot. This bird never made a sound, let alone flew
down. It was eight o'clock, when we stepped out of the
blind in disarray. He questioned me, "Did that gobbler
mislead us?" Just after he finished mumbling the word
"us, the gobbler took flight with his wings spread
like a 747 jet in flight. He booked out of our
presence in a matter of seconds. We both looked at
each other and had to laugh. "It just gets better and
better don't it", I said aloud. We walked miles that
day, so many that we took a break and fell asleep
under the shade of a cottonwood.
Gobble-gobble-gobble!! "Did you hear that?", I asked
the cameraman? No more than 100 yards away was a bird
I thought. Only a dream . . . right? Just in case I
sprinted for my decoys and staked them each fifteen
yards away from us. One thing I've learned is that
turkeys will always catch you off guard at that one
moment you don't pay attention. I called he gobbled,
he gobbled I called.
It went on for only 10 minutes until the love-sick tom couldn't take anymore teasing. Everything was happening in fast forward motion. I
could actually hear him spit n' drum. Still didn't intimidate me one bit. He slowly peeked over the ridge and undoubtably puffed up and came to full strut. When a tom flares up, he appears much bigger than what he
actually is. Almost like some men who noticeably stick out their chest like their actually going to impress someone. After a brief show of his performance he threw up his head and examined the decoys again. His
keen eyes were locked on the jake decoy. The last I saw of him was his clumsy-softball looking head jogging the wrong way. I pulled my head net off and buried my face into my hands. Not crying, but sure feeling like it. After forty-four hours of hunting, anything will break you down especially having my luck. Thoughts of a empty handed season haunted me
throughout the day. Only to know surely brighter light shines upon tomorrow.
Day 5 : I drug the cameraman out with me for one last day. I
reassured him that we'd get a bird, because I could
almost feel his tension building up. There was no luck
sitting so we started walking and calling hoping to
intercept a lonesome gobbler, but of course we didn't.
We came to a hill top to take a breather and collapsed
to our knees. We laid back staring at the clouds miles
above us and started playing the cloud game. It was
dejauvue all over again, I could vaguely remember
playing it when I was seven years old. The cameraman
pointed at a cloud that identically matched a tom in
full strut. We had to chuckle, for that was the only
bird that hasn't ran away from us. Only time and it to
perished. It was odd, but we both said it at the same
time, "Taking off?" I asked. With a stern nod of his
head he shook my hand and walked back to the truck
speechless.
Exactly forty-five minutes separated me from an
unfilled tag. I could feel depression nestle rite next
to me. All hope out the window. I tried to piece
together any highlights of my hunt, but only could
find low-lights.
I yawned and firmly straightened to my feet. Wait!
What was this? Could it be a turkey?! My muscles
galvanized in disbelief. In astonishment, my Nikon
binoculars told me a different story. It was only my
cameraman. "Phhhht thmmmm", the sound of a brute
monster shook the fertile ground. It's amazing how
them birds catch you off handed isn't it? Looking like
a puffy marshmallow no more than thirty yards away was
Mr. Longbeard. The Renzo's Juvenile Decoy had done
it's job. He finally showed up ten minutes before
closing time. I wasn't going to let this s.o.b. tamper
with me whatsoever. In a Texas minute, I was mentally
focused and my radar was on him. He never stood a
chance. With a quick draw back, smile and release, the
bird hit the dirt. It was the end of my bird, my
season, and more importantly my goal, taking a bird
down with a bow!
Conclusion :
Obviously weather plays a key role in turkey
attitudes. They simply change their habits and act
like a different bird they were from yesterday. Having
no luck locating the gobblers only affected the hunt
even more. So we sat, moved and called our way to a
twenty-five pound, eleven inch bearded gobbler to
remember.
When they show this attitude you need to bare with
them. I stuck with them and eventually fate had it
that a gobbler was bound to come in. Spending
precisely fifty-five hours in the woods chasing birds
and shooting one in merely a minute is nothing more or
nothing less than what hunting is all about. It's an
incredible fight that winner takes all. Sometimes
serendipity is just around the corner, and put it this
way, "Your not gonna get one sitting in the house". In
contrast, get out there and exert yourself. Turkeys
play hard you play harder. They wouldn't call it
hunting if it were a one day wonder hunt every time.
Hunting is fun and as long as you don't have any
regrets after the season you're a happy hunter and
made your notch in the ever so popular; Turkey v.s.
Hunter Rumble.
By, Brandon M. Wikman
This Hunt Was Made Possible By My Sponsors:
Klawhorn Productions www.klawhorn.com
Tru-Fire Releases www.tru-fire.com
Beman Arrows www.bemanusa.com
Nikon Binoculars www.nikonusa.com
Blodgett's Premier Game Calls
www.blodgettgamecalls.com
PMI Cover Systems www.coversystem.com
TruGlo www.truglo.com
G5/Bullet Broadheads
www.g5outdoors.com/www.razorring.com
Renzo's Decoys www.renzosdecoys.com
Whisper Creek Archery www.whispercreekarchery.com
GCI Outdoors www.gcichairs.com
Vital Bow Gear www.vitalbowgear.com
Mossy Oak Apparel www.mossyoakapparel.com
Antler King www.antlerking.com