Turkey Hunting

Wyoming Snow Turkeys

July 13, 2017 by Charlie 37 Comments

In many parts of the country, July spells are hot, or July suffers hot spells, in any case, the heat can be oppressive. While all this is happening memories of snow and frozen turkeys sound extra appealing. After experiencing an intoxicating Colorado turkey hunt that came to an end much faster than anticipated any “regular” turkey hunter would try to figure out where to hunt next. Well, Wyoming is on the way home from Colorado to Wisconsin, right?

At times it seems like Nebraska is everywhere

On the drive north to Wyoming, hey forgot about having to traverse Nebraska too, the weather forecast for Sundance not only contained rain. But the rain was expected to turn into snow by morning in the shadow of Devil’s Tower. Change of plans on the fly seemed a prudent choice. Check the Wyoming map, err; What Wyoming map? A stop at the Sidney Cabelas fixed that problem with the purchase of aWyoming onXmap GPS map chip. Cell phones do not work where there is prime hunting in the hills of Wyoming.

Wunderground has personal weather stations all over the country for which they provide point weather forecasts. Due to incoming weather, my decision was to hunt much further south than usual where only rain was supposed to fall during the night. The map chip got me to a remote campsite in an area with lots of potential and high enough that I should be able to hear morning turkeys for quite a distance.

Totally content, sipping a hot cup of coffee in a snug camp I figured I’d better refresh the old memory about the ins and outs of Wyoming hunting regulations. “You have got to be kidding!?” my brain silently screamed, a habitat stamp is required, and the kindly elder lady at the gas station forgot to mention when I asked if this is all the license needed to hunt turkeys. Oh, well, bless her, my mother wouldn’t have told me any different.

Turkey hunting destinies do not work out in obvious ways. The jeep’s bouncing along in the dark on my camp’s trail signaling the 160+ mile habitat stamp round trip was nearly the end. I now felt like something great was going to happen in the morning. Thank goodness that Shopko had still been open on this fateful Sunday.

At my predawn awakening, it was evident by the sag in the tent, that snow had moved further south. The good news, the temperature was

Wyoming spring turkey hunt welcome mat

well below freezing which ensured the Colorado gobbler was frozen solid, likely for the duration of the expedition.

At this point in the story, I’d love to write about toms on every mountain top angrily gobbling the snow away and stomping in practically tripping over their beards. But, alas, that is not the way the day went. This turkey hunter did his share, make that more than his share of tromping or slipping up then down hill and dale to the tune of a gobble-less day.

My body tells time, there is no sense to wearing a watch or checking a phone see what the time is, a turkey hunter must learn to operate on turkey time. Whatever in the world that is exactly. Unmistakably, it was approaching evening meaning it would be a good idea to move from my after dinner relaxation and into putting a gobbler to bed mode. Camp is remote, thankfully, I shouldn’t have to travel far, just to point over there and make some turkey talk.

Stretching as I stood up from a good camp meal I put the wingbone call to my lips and let loose some plaintive lost yelps immediately answered by the first gobble of the day. The sound echoed making it difficult to tell where it emanated from, yelped again. By golly, those birds are close and getting closer fast!

Grabbed the shotgun and started heading for some kind of a setup. As any experienced turkey hunter can attest a “setup” can be overrated in particular when you see the strutters heading your way across an open alpine meadow. Hunter movement is not helpful in this case, so I artlessly hide standing behind the closest towering Ponderosa pine.

The gobbling has stopped for what seems an eternity. A peek to see what is going is imperative in my mind. The peek reveals two toms strutting on their toes as if a pair of ballerinas. At thirty yards it’s time to get to the shooting part. Mountain Merriams are not noted for how close they get to a hunter.

As I stepped around and even with the tree keeping my left shoulder in contact the far gobbler drops out of strut and begins eating! The near tom stays in half strut while extending his neck to get a better look at the expanding tree.

This is why it is important to camp where the game is rather than staying miles away.

Perhaps he thought the shotgun was just a growing branch. Somethings we will never know.

Nightfall brought clear sky with bright stars.

Nothing to do now except enjoy the evening.

A Sensational Turkey Hunter Goof Up

July 6, 2017 by Charlie 6 Comments

Luck is an indispensable asset during any successful turkey hunt. Not just luck at the beginning but it requires luck at every intersection of the hunt. Take for example one of my recent hunts during Wisconsin’s last spring season. I had a surefire plan, also known in turkey hunting parlance as a preconceived notion.

The previous day I had a six and half hour calling duel with a blabber beak type of gobbler who did not have the good manners to come and show himself. We introduced ourselves at 8:45 A and chatted back and forth until 3:15 P. Tried the silent treatment on him several times, needed a break from all the noise not to mention the old fingers were in need of rest. Plus the wingbone pucker needed to ease off my face. But each time he matched the silence while moving off 100+ yards to then give that nana you can’t get me gobbles, this only made me more determined to kill him. No luck, so all that night as I slept, I dreamed up – The Plan.

After the three miles foggy Mississippi River boat ride, the tedious wet slog to Mr. Babbler Beak’s haunt begin. The determination to get this particular bird was dominating my thoughts even though a wrong step could have frigid water pouring into my knee boots. Swamp turkeys can be most provoking.

Less than a quarter of the way into the plan an urgent gobble erupts. An unaccounted for occurrence in the hunt is an intersection; the hunter must decide to continue or change of mind. An easy decision, change of the plan. I figured out a doable setup on a relatively dry finger of land, a few soft tree yelps and settled in for fly down.

Air swooshing through feathers followed by a dull thud marked his landing. Scratching out the most urgent yelps I could muster brought a robust series of approaching gobbles. Down went the slate and up with the gun, just in time he’s right there in strut with two hens flanking him. When he moves clear, the blast swirls the fog, and I launch up to claim my prize.

Except, there is no prize laying there. What the heck? I saw him go down, after searching the area I turn around to go back to the setup, perhaps I’m looking in the wrong spot. Uh, no, that ripped down sapling caught all the shot. The tom is unscathed.

I Swear there really was a turkey there, while sitting against this tree.

Here I am at another intersection, is this a sign to go on with the original plan or stay in the area and pursue this lucky gobbler.

Working my way in the direction the hens went pays off. They flush, rising straight up above the oaks heading different directions, excellent they are out the picture. The tom should miss them at some point and call out for his ladies. I grin when he does – I’ll do the answering.

One of the hens had a nest on an elevated piece of ground to keep it out of the coming flood.

Like the hands on a clock, I move forward listening carefully. At different points, a couple of does break cover crashing off leaving behind their well-hidden fawns. Who can pass up taking those pictures?

Need to be careful where a hunter steps today.

Another one! I really have to watch my step.

Gobbling begins in earnest somewhere up ahead, can’t pinpoint it exactly as I continue moving forward until I realize he is on another strip of land to the east. The water is too deep to cross so backtracking is required to a more amicable crossing point. Dang river has been at flood stage all spring making stealthy approaches on longbeards difficult at best.

The woodland is open, full of mature maples and oaks with good visibility on the strip he chose. This is good news in that I have a better chance of seeing him and bad news, he has an even better opportunity to see me. Move down a bank to sneak along the water’s edge, slipping on the mud occasionally but this breaks up my outline while allowing to see.

The tom’s course yelps carry through the mist to my ears telling me it is time to pick a spot and start talking turkey. Of course, these spots are never perfect, my seat sinks down, no matter it is showtime. My first calls are answered with robust gobbling that is closing in. And, of course, he is across the water from me as he walks by out of range. I amp up my calling as soon as his head goes behind some trees this causes him to spin back and walk his back trail right past out of range. My calls continue every time he can’t see me, his gobbles start to fade with distance. My hope is he is going cross back to my side somewhere up ahead. Taking advantage of the pause in action I reposition into a convenient blow down which provides me better cover and good visibility.

There’s a white/blue head bobbing its way towards me, stopping to look for danger and hens. At fifty yards he goes behind and large maple,

Turkey hunting is great if for no other reason plans change

seemed like he stayed there for an eternity. When a gobbler is searching like this silence is a turkey hunter’s friend. His juking head preceded him as came out trotting in full strut facing my position. At thirty yards dropped out of strut to start yelping. I won’t claim to know

The shot caught him mid yelp.

what he was saying in “turkey speak” but those were his last words.

Stressed Hen Turkey Struts and Drags Wings

July 6, 2017 by Charlie 2 Comments

Submitted by AWTDA

It’s a hard life, trying to protect seven babies by yourself! This hyper hen was in a near perpetual 3/4 tail strut, almost dragging her wings,
warning anybody that sees her she’s a formidable threat. Notice her head position is always on alert, she rarely gets something to eat herself, always on a lookout for danger. Where are them big tough gobblers, when a mother could use a little help around here?

Do hens suffer from the loss of gobblers? For more tiptoeing around the issue see AWTDA

Video of Wisconsin Wild Turkey Hen with Poults; Video added

June 29, 2017 by Charlie 10 Comments

Contributed and Written By; American Wild Turkey Hunting Dog Association

Here is another hen with her brood this morning. A beautiful hatch, despite that it has rained 15 out of the last 17 days here. Either it’s an old wives tale that getting wet will kill poults when less than 3 days old, or Wisconsin turkeys have evolved to tolerate it.
I count 13 poults. Only saw the one hen, but I suspect her cohort(s) was/were nearby. Two or more related hens will often lay eggs in the same nest, take turns setting, serving as sentinel and raising the brood, with adjacent barren hens and male turkeys announcing danger in the neighborhood.

Notice this hen has a slight beard – never shoot bearded hens.

How old do you think these poults are on June 29, 02017?

At 44.27° N Latitude in Wisconsin.

Update June 30, 2017 – Next day video

Going the other direction today. Four poults flew 3′ off the ground, by tonight they’ll roost in the trees.

Hard to Stop Turkey Hunting

June 28, 2017 by Charlie 8 Comments

The last day of Wisconsin’s 2017 wild turkey hunt dawned quiet, very quiet; at least as far as turkey sounds are concerned. The usual bird rush hour was in its normal fine form, but on this morning the turkeys apparently had other plans. The season has been rewardingly long this spring from the first week in April hunting Colorado Rios, moving up to Wyoming Black Hills for a snowy Merriam and back to

Take time to teach the next generation of hunters.

Wisconsin for some youth hunt mentoring until my first Wisconsin tag validation the last week of April. Not a morning missed, rain, shine, or somewhere in between and now here I set wearily reflecting on it all to the sounds of silence, the 30th of May with no complaints or regrets. Yeah, I missed a turkey or two and zigged when a zag was needed more often than I care to remember. It’s not good to focus on negative thoughts because if you do, they become self-fulfilling prophecies.

As the morning birdie rush hours fade into memory, I stand, stretch and give thanks. Wild turkey season has come to an end for me…Until later while walking the dogs, a lone gobbler takes to flight out of the VPA field and glides lazily to the opposite woodlot. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, the season is still open, and I have two unpunched tags left. VPA is private land that the Wisconsin DNR leases for public access, the field is open for hunting but as is so typical the woodlot is not enrolled, so it is closed to hunting without permission of the landowner.

The internal debate heats up; tiredness makes its nagging request just to forget him and rest. While the prey drive says “two open tags and several hours to hunt a gobbler you can call out to kill.”

I feel sorry for the poor dogs after promising them on my return this morning that my hunt was over until the fall season and Vic would get the hunt the next time. Funny thing about plans, they are subject to change, and here I am setting up in some long grass barely able to see the freshly planted corn field, calling on a tongue teaser to what seems like wide open empty spaces.

2017 spring’s most effective call for me

As 3:00 rolls around my sanity in some quarters would be questioned and the of quitting continues to grow in appeal. The sun seems searing in intensity; you’d think the biting gnats would have their wings burned off, sadly it just appears to energize their bloodlust.

Time crawls to only 3:15; Has my watch stopped? Ok, enough for one spring; as I roll off the gobbler lounger to take a final 360 look around a neon blue spot moves on my right…How in the heck did he get that close without being seen? And, as always, these birds come in from the direction least expected.

Rarely, is movement helpful when a standing tom is staring at you at close range. However, he must have thought another turkey was moving around in the long grass causing him to up periscope for a better look-see, a fatal mistake. I rose to my knees and looked at the twitching gobbler through the shot-tunnel in the grass. Must be a mirage! Another tom is closing fast, heading directly to the dead bird and the end of my barrel.

Two toms, side by side.

For a moment I thought it was just a dream, so I waited for the empty field to rematerialize. But you know, the weight of 40+ pounds of turkey over your back brings reality into focus. On the half mile stroll back to the truck there was a moment or two when the memory of turkey tags still available and the season does not close until 8p something…hmm.

Run’n’Gun or Sit’n’Wait: Why Not Both?

June 24, 2017 by Charlie 15 Comments

By Huntfishtrap

Most turkey hunters seem to fall into one of two camps – on one side you have the people who prefer to sit in one spot and wait for the turkeys to come to them, while on the other you have the folks who like to keep moving as much as possible. And both camps generally think their way is best. It’s kind of like politics, only (usually!) more polite. They each have their pros and cons, and you can be very successful using either strategy, but I prefer a more situational approach, where I let the needs of a specific hunt dictate what kind of tactics I use. I think the following story illustrates the benefits of this approach very well.

Going into our 2^nd shotgun season this past spring, my hopes were high, as I had roosted 3 birds on one of my favorite properties a few days before. I expected a relatively short hunt on opening day, and my expectations were met, although not quite in the way I envisioned. Despite picture-perfect weather that morning, there was very little gobbling on the roost anywhere within earshot, and none at all on the property I was hunting, nor on the neighboring one where I also had permission. I set up anyway, and stayed until 7 AM, but heard nothing close except for a few hen yelps. I knew there had to be gobblers around but was getting impatient, so decided to go elsewhere in search of more cooperative birds.

I drove to another property a couple of miles away from where I’ve often had good luck later in the morning. This is a small farm, only about 35 acres, but I’ve killed a number of gobblers there. They generally roost on the neighboring properties and congregate on this one after fly-down. I set up just inside the woods on the back side of a small cornfield and made a few series of yelps. After my 2^nd or 3^rd series, a gobbler answered me from the neighboring property to the north. The tom was about 300 yards away, so I decided to cut the distance between us as much as I could, and eased down over the crest of the hill on which I’d been sitting until I was about 75 yards from the property line. I don’t know if he spotted me moving, or just wasn’t that interested, but after the 2 initial gobbles, I never heard from him again. After a fairly dull half-hour, I decided to make a move and headed back up to the ridgetop where I’d started out. I walked to the end of the ridge, which overlooks a very large valley, and pulled out my loudest aluminum friction call. The first series of ear-splitting yelps brought a faint response from a distant gobbler way off down the valley, so I elected to drop down to the valley floor, even though I knew I couldn’t get very close because the property ends just past the base of the hill.

When I got to the bottom of the hill I called again, and the still-distant bird answered again, but this time another, a much closer tom gobbled as well. I quickly found a spot with decent visibility and hunkered down next to a tree. The gobbler answered my next series of calls enthusiastically, then went silent for a few minutes. Finally, he gobbled again, and I could tell he had closed the distance quite a bit, but was circling around me on the hillside above. He continued to gobble as he moved but didn’t deviate from his course, and I was unable to move because I knew he could see down into the valley from his position on the high ground. Eventually, he circled far enough around the shoulder of the bluff that I figured he couldn’t see my position anymore, so I grabbed my pack and gun and took off running around the base of the hill, trying to get ahead of the bird and cut him off. Running up the steep, 300-foot bluff nearly killed me, but I knew I had to beat him to the spot where I wanted to set up. Thankfully he kept gobbling every so often, so I could keep track of his position. I huffed and puffed my way to the top of the bluff about 100 yards in front of the gobbler, and just over the crest of the hill from him. I crawled up behind a large oak tree that offered good cover and scratched out a few soft yelps. He hammered right back, and I thought it would be over quickly. But even though he gobbled heartily every time I touched a call, he wouldn’t budge from what I now assumed to be his strut zone on the ridgetop. I knew I was between where he was and where he probably wanted to go, so I settled in to wait him out.

After a 20-25 minute stalemate, during which time he didn’t seem to move more than a few feet in any direction,

Wonderful Iowa Turkey

I suddenly saw a red head pop over the crest of the hill, peering down the slope in my direction. The head was quickly followed by the rest of the bird, as he came walking down the ridge toward me. I already had my gun up and resting on a fallen tree branch, so it was a simple matter to swing it over a few degrees and track him with the muzzle as he approached. After navigating a patch of thick saplings, he finally popped out into the open at a mere 20 yards and stopped. A trigger squeeze later, and my first turkey of the year was flopping his way down the hillside.

Given his behavior and the fact that it was relatively early in the spring when most older toms would still be flocked up with hens, I assumed I was dealing with a 2-year-old bird. But when I bent over and grabbed a leg to pick him up, I almost fell over in shock. He had perfectly matching 1 9/16” spurs,

Perfectly matching 1 9/16” spurs, both razor-sharp

both razor-sharp. He was otherwise relatively ordinary, weighing just under 24lbs, with a wispy 9” beard. But judging by the spur length, he was definitely an old turkey. That fact made the successful conclusion to the hunt even more rewarding.

Looking back on the hunt later, I realized I had utilized both patient and aggressive tactics to kill that bird, and most likely would not have been successful had I stuck with one or the other. It was a good example of why you should let the turkey’s behavior determine how you hunt, rather than sticking with a predetermined course of action. Planning has its place, but to be a consistently successful turkey hunter, you sometimes need to be able to change things up on the fly and adapt to the situation at hand.

After The Storm

June 17, 2017 by Charlie 6 Comments

by FirstBubba

From no bird since 2011 to the spring of 2015!
At least I’m not greeted by thunder and lightening this morning! Meant to be up by 5:00 AM. When my bleary eyes finally locate a clock, it’s 5:26 AM!
Coffee and dressed and I’m out the gate at 6:03 AM! Not bad for an old, fat cripple!
It’s 6:43 AM when I stop at the gate and it’s beginning to break day. Quite a difference from the deluge of two days ago! The air is still, quiet and nearly 60°. The sun promises a cloudless, bluebird sky! AWESOME!
Somewhere across the bottom, a gobble breaks the silence! I quickly gather my gear and head out across the still soggy pasture, birds gobbling from time to time. The crystal clear notes tell me they’re still on the roost.
I set the “deke” and make my spread. Then the “Gobble Fest” begins. I must be hearing 10 to 15 birds from three different directions.
Low lying fog spreads across the bottom. The fog is beautiful, and I take a few pictures. Two coyotes stop and check the hen decoy before moving along.
Muffled gobbles tell me birds are on the ground. Buffing the slate call, I throw out a “cut” or two. They’re greeted with gobbles. Yelps and purrs are more often cut off with gobbles than not!
Checking the camera, I see the batteries are getting low. Retrieving the four new batteries from my coat pocket, I pop the old batteries out and drop the new ones in. I replace the camera on its monopod and shove it into the soft ground and realize that two birds are almost to the pecan trees! One looks to be a very nice bird! Oh, well!
Checking back the way they came in, I see a big white head about 30 yards out.
What do I do now? The gun is resting on its tripod, probably 70° from where the bird is! I contemplate my next move.
I lift with my right hand on the wrist of the stock and slap the fore end with my left, lifting the gun out of its cradle.
Startled, the bird stares at me as I swing the shotgun into position and slap the trigger!
He’s mine!

Not as big a bird as the “Rain Storm” gobbler, but a VERY pretty bird! 16 pounds 3/4″ spurs 9″ beard

The Kamikaze Bird, by huntfishtrap

June 12, 2017 by Charlie 18 Comments

By, HuntFishTrap

The morning of May 5 brought clear skies and mild temperatures to my corner of Iowa, and I was itching to get back into the turkey woods again, after a 2-week layoff following the hunt for my first bird of the year, back in our 2nd shotgun season. We’re allowed two gun tags for spring turkey hunting here in Iowa, and of the 2 one must be for the 4th and final season, for reasons I have never heard explained by the powers that be.

Being strongly averse to rising early in the morning, I elected to set my alarm for 6 am, and then hit the woods after fly-down. Since it was a weekday when most of the competition would be at work, I elected to go to a public land spot where I had long wanted to kill a gobbler. The property had produced a number of close calls over the years, including missing a big longbeard two seasons prior, but I had always seemed to be snakebit there.

I pulled into the deserted parking lot a little after 7 and set off into the woods as the rising sun painted the just-emerging maple and oak leaves with shades of gold. I walked about a ½ mile into the timber before stopping to call for the first time, knowing from past experience that calling close to the parking lot is usually a waste of time on public land. The first series of yelps did not produce a response, so I kept going, stopping to yelp a few times every couple hundred yards or so. My destination was a ridge overlooking a large oak flat that often held birds, and I had almost reached it when I heard a faint gobble from somewhere off in the distance. I cut loose a few loud yelps on my go-to long-distance aluminum pot call and received an answer. Still, could not tell exactly where the bird was, so I eased up to the top of the ridge and tried again. This time the far-off gobbler was joined by another, much closer bird, somewhere down on the oak flat in front of me. I quickly scanned the trees around me for a good spot to set up and chose a large oak tree with a deadfall in front of it which acted as a sort of natural blind.

After settling in, it didn’t take long to ascertain that the distant tom was way down in a big valley on the other side of the oak flat, and was most likely a lost cause. But the closer gobbles were only a few hundred yards away, and it sounded like there might even be more than one bird. My first few series of calls brought immediate responses, and it sounded like the bird or birds were moving closer, but then they seemed to begin to lose interest. So I started switching calls, looking for something they’d like, but without much success. The occasional gobble would ring out, but they didn’t seem to be answering anymore. Finally, I got to one of my three wingbones, which I rarely use, and mostly carry for emergencies. That was the ticket, as they – by now I was certain there was more than one – started responding again, and began working their way closer. The birds got to within 200 yards, then hung up, and a stalemate ensued. I would call, they would gobble, but wouldn’t come a step my way. I knew the area quite well and didn’t think there were any obstructions that would prevent them from moving my way, so after about 30 minutes I was getting exasperated. Finally, I’d had enough, so decided to make a move.

I eased back over the ridge until I was certain the turkeys couldn’t see me and started looping around one side. The open oak woods didn’t offer much cover for trying to sneak up on anything, but I knew there was a small ditch on the far side of the ridge that I could use for cover if I could get there. I made it to the ditch and followed it as far as I could, until reaching the point where I had to climb out in order to keep moving in the right direction. At this point, I figured I was still at least 150 yards from the last gobbles I’d heard, but at least I was now on their side of the ridge. I elected to stop and call just before reaching the top of the bank above the ditch, but before I could get my wingbone out of my pocket the toms gobbled again, but they sounded much farther away. I cut loose with a little wingbone music and received silence in reply, tried again, the same result. I was standing there a little despondently, trying to figure out a new plan of action, when I heard what I thought was a hen putting just over a small rise in the ground, about 100 yards in front of me. That was followed immediately by a loud commotion that sounded like several turkeys running in the dry, crackly leaves.

I figured I had somehow spooked part of the flock I’d been hearing, and almost started to jog up to the top of the knoll to see if I could catch a glimpse of them, when a red head popped over the hill in front of me, followed immediately by two more! I froze in consternation because I knew that standing in the middle of the open woods without any cover near me was a recipe for disaster. But thankfully when they lowered their heads they disappeared behind the rise in the land again, and I could drop to my knees and scramble several feet backward until I was up against an oak tree. I just had time to raise my trusty 870 and steady it over one knee before they came trotting over the hill, headed right for me. At this point I was not certain what kind of birds were coming in – the gobbles I’d been hearing all morning had sounded a little choppy at times, like jakes – but the first bird in line was a nice long beard, and he was determined to be first to the party. He came trucking right toward me, beard swinging from side to side, while I tried to make myself small against the oak. While he was coming in, I heard a loud spit-n-drum from beyond the rise and saw a fan pop open, so I knew there were still more birds coming but was focused on the one at hand.
He paused at about 40 yards, and I almost shot him, but just as I was about to squeeze the trigger he kept coming, and I kept tracking him with the gun muzzle. Even in the heat of the moment, the thought popped into my mind, “This bird is like a kamikaze – I’m going to kill him, or he’s going to run me over!”. Finally at 25 yards, he started to slow down, and finally stopped and started giving me the old hairy eyeball, so I centered the bright fiber-optic bead on his glowing head and sent 2 ounces of #5s on their way. The gun boomed he dropped like a stone, and turkeys took off in every direction behind him. There were at least 5 or 6 different birds, a mix of jakes and toms. I will never know what made that flock suddenly reverse course and come right to me after essentially disregarding my calling for the previous 2 hours, but I’m not complaining. Sometimes the unpredictability of turkeys is bad, and sometimes it’s good.

When I looked at my watch, I saw that the time was 9:35 am, only 5 minutes later in the morning than when I killed my first turkey of the year, two weeks before. This bird would then tip the scales at 20 ½lbs, with 1 1/8” spurs and a 10 ½” beard. A nice 3-year-old tom. After snapping some photos, and stopping to enjoy the beautiful day for a while, I loaded the bird into my pack and set off on the 3/4+ mile walk back to my truck. The hard part of the hunt was just beginning, but it was a small price to pay for such an awesome morning in the turkey woods.

Are Turkey Hunts like Chess Match or Card Game of Chance?

June 10, 2017 by Charlie 20 Comments

What do you think? Is a wild turkey hunt more like a game chess in the woods or is it more like the card game solitaire?

Something, perhaps mostly unknown about charlie elk is the fact it took him five wild turkey seasons before he finally killed a gobbler.

What took him so long?

After all, he helped Minnesota catch grouse for the Minnesota/Missouri turkey/grouse exchange release program so he should have learned something about turkeys during that long restoration period. Well, not so fast. Charlie was an accomplished big game hunter who frequently stalked within longbow range of bedded cervids across the North American Continent. And then, in the early eighties along came the wild turkey opportunities.

After finally being drawn for a Minnesota turkey license in the zone where a band of turkey nuts, including Charlie had released turkeys from Missouri years before; the young, cocky, self-assured Charlie was humbled by a bird with a brain about the size of a walnut. It is amazing how a feathered bird-brained creature could be so elusive.

He planned all his hunts so carefully, doing research to determine in advance where the turkeys roosted, where they would want to go from roost and how they would get there, all to no avail. Then late one morning he saw a truck with plates from Missouri pull into the parking area, an elderly gentleman stepped out walked around surveying the area and then did some cutting on a long box call. Answered by a robust gobble, not more than 100 yards down the trail Charlie had just walked back to camp. The veteran hunter headed down the path and soon a there was a gunshot. The fellow came walking back with a very nice turkey over his shoulder.

The mistake Charlie had been making, in his humble opinion was that he’d been hunting turkeys using many of same tactics as he used for hunting big game. Big game animals do things for reasons that are quite apparent to an experienced hunter. Whereas the wild turkey does things that are apparently done for well, maybe no clear reason at all.

A lot of turkey behavior, if not most, is random, much like the shuffling of a deck of cards. For example, if a turkey is flushed and somewhere different with suitable habitat and maybe an available hen during the spring— that turkey is likely to be just as content in the new location as he was in the previous one, he’ll just roost in whatever tree is convenient as it gets dark. Once this randomness soaked into charlie’s sometimes, most times, dense head, he has killed a turkey in every season he has hunted over the last 40 years.

Wisconsin Turkey Season Winding Down

May 27, 2017 by Charlie 4 Comments

As this is written there are only three hunting days left to Wisconsin’s 2017 spring turkey season. For the most part, the toms have stopped gobbling to tip off their locations and they have started forming their summer time bachelor groups. This is the moment some hunters eagerly wait for because when the toms are properly motivated with gobbler talk, deep sounding clucks followed by a slow raspy yelp or two. Make sure it’s just one or two yelps clearly separated and not run together.

The added challenge much like in fall hunting is finding the turkeys. When turkeys form groups there will be more areas without and the other areas will have more birds.

After sleeping in until 5:00 a, sleep deprivation is taking its toll on me; a gobbler who has irritated me since early April by consistently strutting in the middle of a field I can’t hunt. Worse, no one else has hunted him either so all he does is strut at me nearly everytime I drive by. This morning he was in the middle of the dirt road strutting as beautiful as a peacock with the rising sun glinting off his feathers. I did feel a temptation to stop and shoot him or just run him over, but clearly, those thoughts were just symptoms of sleep deprivation, I just blew the horn instead. That tom tipped me off to his roost location as he flew off. I had a good feeling the next morning I’d get him. He was clearly callable onto some land I have permission to hunt by a farmer who likes to have a lot of turkeys removed from his land.

I continued on my way to check out a hillside pocket that is only reachable by boat and since the rivers were above flood stage the turkeys should be in the “pocket”. Sure enough, I settled in called with a few clucks, noticed a black stump that looked very much like a turkey staring at me, red-headed and all. Figured it was a stump with a cardinal sitting on it. There have been a lot of cardinals and scarlet tanagers this year causing excitement here and there. Lack of sleep does that to you sometimes, so I lowered my eyelids to check for leaks. When I opened them a few minutes later the black stump was gone; I clucked and there he was not quite 30 yards standing at attention in the wide open woods staring at the lump that was me. Fortunately, my gun sling is always hooked on my left knee holding the barrel level out front and this tom is standing right in front of the gun barrel. All I needed to do was raise it up and one tag for the last season was filled.

Tongue Teaser call brought em in again.

That left two tags in my pocket for Friday. The determination to bag that most irritating strutter in the county rose to an obsessive level. That is, until Friday morning, when I forced myself out of bed, shooting that poor turkey did not seem as important as it did yesterday.

At 6:10 am I found myself laying back in a grassy field wash using the folds of the field to hide me. Lying back when you need sleep is not conducive to remaining alert. However, the chain gobbling that answered my first tongue teaser yelp sure did get my full attention and when that yelp was followed up with some walking clucks and a single yelp to be answered by near constant incoming gobbling from two sides—sleep just slid way down the priority list.

During late seasons my Willow Ridge Tongue Teaser – Gobbler Pine Box is the call I turn to, Scott made this special for me to use in the fall for calling in gobblers. It works whenever, the need to make gobbler calls arises.

In about 20 minutes the five toms converged on my location, marching as if on a mission to either recruit the lonesome gobbler (me) or kick his butt. I do not which it was, for they did not get any time to explain. At mid-gobble my gun commanded silence from the first one at 15 yards. The other four turned around marching away single file when a single cluck stopped them and turned em around for the gun to silence the second one mid-gobble at 30 yds filling my last two tags for the final season.

Late season turkeys are challenging to find, but when you do it might be double the fun.

You’d think, the season would end there… Not in Wisconsin, there are still thousands of OTC tags left and two of those are now in my pocket. Heck, sleep is overrated, I have all summer to catch up on it.