Charlie Elk

pseudonym of a man

Wisconsin 2018 Fall Turkey Drawing – Canceled

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Starting in 2018 the state of Wisconsin will no longer require hunters to enter a drawing for their fall turkey license.  All fall turkey authorizations will be sold over the counter or more accurately via the internet at Go Wild.

I do not know when this decision was made or if there was a press release, I missed it.  As new hunting seasons approach, I don’t feel complete until all my new licenses/tags/permits–no wait–the correct term is changed; license, tags, and permits have become authorizations.

When I purchased my Conservation Patron authorization, I always apply for all auths available this prevents forgetting to submit the applications later.   Panic set in when the fall turkey auth was already part of my package!  What happened to all the leftover auths we used to purchase.

A quick to Wisconsin DNR website and keyword search “turkey” provided the answer.

One fall turkey harvest authorization is included with each fall turkey or conservation patron license purchased. Customers will need to specify their zone of choice at the time of purchase. For select zones, bonus fall turkey harvest authorizations (formerly known as leftover tags) will be sold over the counter. Availability will be posted in the summer.

Whew, this means after the turkey committee meets we will be able to purchase more fall turkey harvest authorizations.  Got a little nervous there that turkey dog Vic’s turkey hunting opportunities were being curtailed.

This is good news, it has been a waste of time and money conducting the fall turkey drawing because there are so few fall turkey hunters in WI nearly every unit has leftover authorizations.  Now each hunter will receive an authorization with their fall turkey license.  Previously, they would not get this if they had not applied for the drawing.

 

Vic and I will relax now.

Turkeys Gobbling Time To Scout

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Start scouting now?  It’s only March in Wisconsin! Turkeys are still in winter flocks; What possible reason is there to start scouting wild turkeys now?  The birds are likely going to be in different woods and fields by the time my spring season opens.

Turkeys spend more time in trees than we realize

The number one reason: it is fun and educational to be out talking to actual wild turkeys anytime of the year, even

Sign turkeys have been around.

better when an upcoming season is only a few weeks from opening.  Rarely does a “spring only turkey hunter” venture out to experience the pure yet complex world of wild turkeys.  Those who are year-round hunters know the male turkeys gobble and strut at all times of the year.  Meanwhile, the other turkey hunters are shocked when they hear fall turkeys gobbling their heads off.

Here’s a brief what should you look for:

  • Goes without saying, try to find birds they make it all the more fun. This time of year wild turkey flocks are getting a little frayed around their social edges but still spend the day and night in their winter flocks.  Hens plus jennies and gobblers with jakes satelliting, when the opportunity presents a lone gobbler the jakes like to harass him.  Jakes act like the teenage boys of the turkey world, full of energy and trying to be part of the turkey world.
  • Travel corridors, with snow or mud or just soft ground walking turkey leave tracks which are quite easy to see.   You can also determine the number and sex of the turkeys traveling together.
  • Turkeys use their wings more than most hunters realize.  When turkeys are fluttering and flying around the bare treetops, they are easy to spot. On many occasions, I have seen turkeys hovering, much like giant hummingbirds pecking the swelling tree buds, typical behavior when the ground is an icy snow sheet.
  • Sounds of wild turkeys. Many of the flock’s members are beginning to disagree with the hierarchy they agreed to last fall and getting noisy about it.  Especially the gobblers, who, for the most part, have not talked to any of the ladies in the neighboring gaggle for quite some time.
  • Call to the turkeys.  Yeah, I know, all the “expert” advice is you are not supposed to call outside before the season opens.  I’ll go out on a limb here and admit a secret;  I have practiced my spring time calling to real live wild turkeys for the last twenty years. And what is the worst thing that has happened?  Wild turkeys have moved into areas I can hunt.  That’s right turkeys are very social birds and regularly seek out those other unknown interlopers.  Read about “audio baiting” here– How to Legally Bait Turkeys

An icy beard hanging as he flies to the trees.

Whenever you can get out–do it and enjoy. By the way, if you deer hunt, their trails, bedding

Frozen insects are high protein food for winter time turkeys.

and feeding areas will be very obvious. These are the same areas the deer frequent during WI firearm, muzzleloader and late archery season.

The Ten Minute Buck Leads Us to Next Day

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Hunt date October 24, 2017

The buck stood just a mere 15 yards with one back leg lifted as if a dog on point.  The setting sun’s glare was blinding as I settled into the stand, so I turned my back to it while waiting for its further descent to the horizon.   The view on the other side of this short ladder-stand can be just as productive.  Figures, just like turkeys, deer like to appear on your backside.

The first assumption is the buck has busted me in this seven-foot stand. However, buck’s eyes are focusing on something at ground level and not at my position.  Apparently, this buck has come to find out what made the walking noise.  Whenever approaching a deer stand it is best to walk in like a deer, the noises made must be natural sounding within the cadence of the deer’s world. In this case, instead of thinking a hunter had moved in this beautiful buck came to investigate a potential doe.

The temptation is to count points while waiting for a good shot; longtime experience has taught me not to do this, stop the one, two, three… immediately and focus on the task at hand.  This evening’s thermal current is gently cascading downhill from the buck to me; there is plenty of time.

When deer are in close moments must be slowly deliberate so that they don’t catch the deer’s attention by sight or sound, including neurological background noise.  Like the hands of a clock my lower torso shifts to align the bow when its time comes to rise. The front angle of the deer is too sharp for a shot; he needs to move down about eight feet for an arrow to hit the pocket behind the left shoulder and exit before the last rib on the opposite side.

Time seems to have stopped, I’m not sure if 54 years of deer hunting have numbed my excitement or if more concerning, shooting a buck no longer causes the fever.  Sadly, I feel no excitement only intense concentration to not screw this up because no matter the experience level things can go wrong in a hurry.

The multipoint buck sniffs the thermals one more time before moving on the downhill trail, almost broadside he comes to a stop with his front shoulder extended forward. Perfect, the arrow is released.  My buck bounds angle straight away uphill, stops, his antlers are above the brush then disappear while the sapling he was standing by vibrates as if life is leaving the deer or he is making a rub.  It is time to wait at least a half hour; I give it 40 minutes even though my arrow is blood-soaked.  Slowly descend to the ground all senses alert.  Upon inspection, the blood on the arrow has bubbled up and down the shaft, indicate substantial lung penetration.  There’s chest color hair on the ground and a good blood trail to follow.  However, this deer should not have gone up any hill, which always makes me suspicious that things are not as they first appear.

It takes me at least 15 minutes to move 50 yards towards a dead buck, the sound of a deer bounding downhill freezes me, and more deer sound like they are walking away side-hilling.   More time passes the sun is low, and light is fading fast as I reach the sapling.  At the base of this little tree, an empty blood-soaked deer bed.  Wait some more even though a substantial blood trail beckons me to follow.

Apparently a mortal hit. Air bubbles in blood pool indicate lungs are pierced.  At this point I did not think the deer would go far.

The thick hillside brush makes moving sound like anything other than a human crashing their way ahead impossible. At any moment a carcass should be illuminated in my beam of light, depressingly, I find another bed, blood, and a good crimson trail leading off onto neighboring land.  Time to seek permission.

The neighboring landowner was, perhaps, one of the most accommodating, he promptly granted permission to search.  Shane with Calling all Turkeys was to arrive tonight so that we could video some fall turkey dogging.  I called to let him know I’d likely be busy hauling a buck in, at that time my expectation was for a smooth recovery.  This year Shane was training his 9-month-old Blue Tick hound, Callie, for deer recovery, a leashed tracking dog is legal in Wisconsin. I agreed and waited until Shane arrived with Callie before resuming the buck’s trail.

We were back at the point of shot five hours later.  Callie easily picked up the trail as she started dragging Shane behind her.  Large puddles of blood confirmed she was on the correct deer.  With all Callie’s baying and commotion of us busting brush to keep we flushed several other deer on the way. In spite of the distractions of the deer, Callie stayed on the track.  However, that gut feeling of something is not going right begin to seep into me.  During my half-century-plus of deer hunting, I have been on hundreds of recovery trails, for many of those years I was on the tracker’s call list to help other hunters; something was not going right here.  A deer who has lost this much blood and continued to do so, should not be leaving yet another bed.

After a couple of more hours, the blood on the ground started turning a grainy black color typical of deteriorating lungs and not a lot of it.  According to Callie’s nose, the deer crossed an open grassy field that took us to another woodlot.  We decided to wait until sunrise before going further.  We all needed rest and a break from the inky black night.  My sleep was not restful as the mind kept replaying all the events of the shot and track over and over looking for some details it might have missed.

As the sun rose it all its splendor, we were back sorting through the evidence to figure out where this buck went.  At a planted food plot the deer was expected to cut across to the other side, wounded animals are known to take the path of least resistance.  The buck did not do this.

Blood sign continues to be easy to follow.

Instead, he circled and bedded in the opposite side’s brush line. He bedded stretched out; the moist ground leaves

Charlie is pointing out the bucks outline where he laid stretched out.

held an imprint of his body.  And he had moved out yet again!  Tracks and small spots of blood led us downhill towards a paved county road and past a number of trail cameras.  Shane suggested I contact the landowner for permission to pull the cards so that we could perhaps see the condition of the deer was.  Yeah, I, of course, was having doubts about my shot placement too; to my pleasant surprise, the landowner allowed us to pull the camera cards.

As we ate lunch, we perused all of the camera pictures and were shocked there was no photo, not a single one of the buck!  How could this be?  The sign and Callie’s nose confirmed the buck had used the trails heading downhill.

After lunch and some rest, we replaced the camera cards.  Unless this deer possesses powers from the gods not yet discovered by us mere mortals, there must be an earthly explanation.   While Callie continued dragging Shane around in attempts to pick up the trail and that included attempting to take him for a walk along the busy county road, I started back trailing in an attempt to find the

Shane covered in burdock including some particles in his eyes. He trusts me to remove them from his eye.

“earthly” reason for no pictures.

This old buck apparently knew where the trail cameras were!  Figured out he should let his picture get taken.  He had left the trail to walk behind every one of the cameras!  Never before had I encountered this kind of behavior from any deer.  How could he possibly have figured out how hunters use and why hunters use cameras?  Of course, my mind has worked on this quirky happening.  The only thing that seems logical is the electronics in the camera make some noise that spooked a cautious buck; he did not like the sound or the flash causing him move around the camera.

By this point in the day, I’m feeling queasy, hate not doing my part well and losing a deer and, the thought of giving up bowhunting gnaws in my head.  The trail is cold and the final option, grid searching appears to be it. There’s a long grass swamp at the hill’s base along the road; he must be in there.  As we searched I lost track of the deer remains that we found, one a small buck died within a week, others large, literally mossy covered natural European mounts and some more recent.  What we could not locate was our buck.

In what was to be the final loop along an old logging trail that would allow Callie to scent on the downwind side of the swamp.  As we moved around the swamp getting close to the county road, I was ready to give up on the recovery of this buck.  Or at least until the vultures and crows showed me where he was in a few days.  The case could not be made that he’d be OK and alive.  In situations like this I always consider my tag filled because clearly, I killed the animal.

Callie suddenly jerked Shane off the path into a thick bushy patch that lay between the trail and county road.  Shane yelled I got something in my eye and need help.  Earlier Callie had dragged him through dense patches of cockleburr, and I had to get him to hold still while pulling some fragments out of his eye.  Oh no not again.  But my partner needs my help so into the brush I go.

Shane had his camera pointed at me, his eye was ok and on the ground lays a large dead twelve point buck with a perfectly placed arrow wound.  It’s about 3p, nearly 24 hours since the shot. Shane has a video of me he continues to laugh at–as my face from depression to ecstatic “Holy shit is that my buck?! I mean holy moly…”  The back story there is Shane had made the reasonable request that I refrain from profanities during recordings.

We would not have recovered this deer without the aid of Callie the deer tracking hound.  She had tried to take us along the buck’s trail along the shoulder of the road.  We did not think a wounded deer would walk on the shoulder of a busy county road during daylight.  Moral of this story, trust the dog.  In this case, even if she is an inexperienced 9-month-old.

Shane has very good reason to be proud of Callie and training he as given her over the summer months.

Excitement might not have hit me way back at the shot, had the buck been recovered from his first bed, I’d have been thrilled.  But after all

I will be ever so grateful for Callie’s excellent nose work. Notice where the arrow hit. This is a shot opportunity I would take every time it is presented.

that trailing and becoming ready to give up then finding him;  well I was in touch with a  lot of that old-time deer excitement.   The buck’s meat is perfectly fine and delicious, weighed over 200 pounds field dressed.

Callie absorbing the hard found deer scent.

What went wrong? Why such a long trail?

This is an obvious question that all hunters think hard about, and the answer did not hit me until I was reading a piece by a chef regarding knife sharpening and proper knife selection for the task.  The chef stated a knife cuts best by slicing not pushing.  It is the length of the back and forth pulls causing the food to be sliced cleanly and not pressure pushing the blade down to get it through.   Of course, I knew that!  This year I had been convinced to use a different broadhead which has a wide stout blade.  This head smashed its way into and out of the deer’s chest but did not do a good job cutting its way.   Kind of like a hatchet would have performed.

An arrow kills by hemorrhage, which requires cutting like a knife, not a hatchet type whack.  Broadheads that are wide, and short, even though they are sharp, are not as deadly as the longer knife like heads.   A big wide broadhead causes entry damage, making for copious amounts of blood, however, internal cutting–hemorrhage may be minimal.  Both lungs on this buck were penetrated, plus the edge of the liver. With my old Zwickey or Grizzly heads, he would have been dead within 60 yards with a hit like this.

Both lungs were hit and the liver which has a large wound.  Notice the bruising and tearing.  No evidence of the broadhead slicing.

 

Starting from left. QAD Exodus this is the broadhead I used this year, notice the short blades, they are not long enough to slice.  The Grizzly has the longest cutting surface and slices it passes through a deer’s chest.  The Zwickey operates similarly to the Grizzly head with slightly shorter cutting length.  The last broadhead on the right cutting length is short due to notches at the rear so it too will tear rather than slice.  Tearing does less tissue damage thus allowing game animals to live longer after a lethal hit. 

In my experience, the Grizzly and Zwickey broadheads when properly placed have killed deer without fail to cause the deer to drop dead within 60-70 yards.  After my experience with the QAD Exodus this season no one will talk me into using a broadhead that does not have enough cutting length to slice rather than tear its way through a chest cavity. Other broadhead designs may look “wicked” but no company has done a study that refutes the finding of Dr. Ashby’s study of arrow lethality on African game.  I should have known better.

 

Sage Grouse in Decline? Hunt them to save them.

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The long drive to Wyoming required at least a short nap, it was still dark, and the front seat of the Wrangler was not at all conducive to sleep.   However, shear tiredness has a way of dropping one into a deep sleep.  As my groggy vision begins to clear and the colorful sunrise comes into focus highlighting a sea of sagebrush extending a

Sunrise on a first Sage Grouse hunt.

ll the way to the distant mountains;  Where, exactly, are we going to start looking for sage grouse?  Never in my wildest dreams did sage grouse pop up as something I needed to hunt.  Heck, before the Federal Government proposed listing them as an endangered species, sage grouse were not on or in my mind.  If a species might become endangered, but still

has a hunting season for them; then what is the best thing to do?  Hunt them, to save their population.

Time to wake the curled up lump in the passenger seat, my 14-year-old grandson, who will require food immediately.  Vic is staring at us with the intensity he points a bird.  He slept nearly the entire 1400 miles, so his energy level is quite apparent, and by the looks of this 100 square miles of sagebrush to search, he’ll need it.

My grandson was shooting a sage grouse, while Vic watches with anticipation.

Sagebrush turned out to be more agreeable to walk through than it first appeared at least during the first several miles without a single sage grouse rising.  As the sun sank towards the horizon, Vic froze, pointing intently, his first point of the day, we circled to get in front of him in a feeble attempt to “pin” the subject of his attention.  Vic charged ahead, racing between us as if he was going to scatter a turkey flock and then froze pointing 90 yards on the other side of the barbed wire.  My grandson eagerly raced under the fence and was quickly alongside Vic trying to get a flush. I moved to and through the gate just as sage grouse started rising.  The young one fired a couple of shots, but alas, target panic set in with all those big wings scooping air around him.  One grouse circled back around me to become my first sage grouse. Vic’s eyes glittered his satisfaction as he grabbed that grouse for the retrieve, oh well won’t be mounting that boomer.

The Grandson and Vic head for the top of the hill to attempt a reflush while I stayed put directing my lungs to use the scarcely available oxygen available at 6,700-foot more efficiently.  Shots ring out as another covey of

Nice pair of sage grouse.

grouse take to wing, and a lone bird glides downhill crumpling to my broadside shot.

The eastern sky shows off all the colors of the spectrum as the sun rises from behind the snow-covered mountains, a hot cup of coffee is at its best at these moments.  This morning would be completely silent if not for the snoring of my hunt companions.  Surprised they didn’t wake up when I smashed the ice in the water bucket for coffee making. It’s all good and puts a contented smile on my face.

Kids will be kids, even while hunting.  My grandson has a powerful urge to get into the snow; he is an avid snowboarder, and thankfully we did not pack his snowboard.  Being an easy touch grandpa, I readily agreed we need to take a trip up to the snow line after all its things like this I bought the Rubicon for.  I had assured myself as I plopped down the cash for what was a shiny-new Wrangler that I had no intention of rock crawling with it.  Not only did we crawl over stones we did several water crossings and wallowed our way through some of the stickiest mud the earth has to offer.  It was all worth it.

As we hunted our way down the mountain,  Vic pointed a covey of grouse that held tight as Walker moved around to the front of Vic.  With the five birds pinned they exploded straight up above dog and kid whose shot was right on bringing to hand his first sage grouse.

Hunting was good even though we were not hunting in a sage grouse core area which of course caused us to wonder if grouse hunting would be any better in a core area so as in the old saying “Go West…” we packed up and headed further west.  In hunting, the experience and adventure are just as relevant as bagging the game, maybe more important.

Tired and looking forward to a restful camp; we turn off the highway and spot Rick with his old reliable English pointer. So many times stories circulate about selfish, thoughtless hunters, I believe them to be mostly false narratives repeated again and again.  Rick is a shining example of the many excellent hunters.  After introductions, Rick took us under his sage grouse tutelage.  Enthusiastically explaining sage grouse is one of the last remaining old west experiences that may soon be coming to an end.  He has been hunting them for a half a century.

Rick made sure a restful camp was not coming our way until well after sunset; he took us out grouse hunting all the while explaining the subtle difference in sagebrush along with the mix of terrain sage grouse require to prosper.  We entered the brush with dogs locked on

Expert advice. If you do not find sage grouse droppings, you are not hunting in the right place.

hardpoints and coveys of grouse taking off in waves, a restful camp faded to a distant memory.  After all, first things first, right?  My grandson shot another grouse and then another to take his daily limit.  We experienced an old Western hunt complete with the smell of sage, a peaceful sunset and that welcome feeling of tiredness at the end of a good day’s hunt.  Our camp was set up after dark surrounded by stars that appeared to be a mere arm’s length away.  I looked forward to what the morning sunrise would reveal.

Rick explained there is no reason to rise early for sage grouse; they roost on ridge tops and fly away as soon as they see danger coming.  Then as the morning warms the grouse move down into the cuts and draws to start feeding where it is much easier to hunt them.  Dogs will scent better, and the sage grouse tend to hold tighter at the dog’s point.

We spent several delightful days hunting and learning with Rick.  All too soon we felt that melancholy of a season is coming to a close.  We bid farewell and headed off in opposite directions for our homes.

To me, this photo captures so much of what a hunt is all about.

Each day of hunting provided us delicious lunches of sage grouse, as much as we could eat.  Contrary to what I’d heard sage grouse are excellent eating.  They are dark-breasted birds so caution must be used in preparation not to overcook.  The grouse meat is naturally seasoned with a mild taste of peppery sage.

Sage grouse do not have a significant following; this puts them in danger of remaining a low valued species.  Low valued species have a long history of not being appreciated and when decisions about habitat are made those species with high value will always be taken care of first, i.e., antelope, deer, elk, etc.

We highly recommend you enjoy some sage grouse hunting.

 

When Do the Eggs of Hen Wild Turkey Start Developing?

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On December 23, 2017, I shot a wild turkey hen.  While dressing out the carcass, I found these tiny egg clusters that were attached to the inside of her lower backbone.  Apparently, these are the beginning of egg formation.

Wild Turkey eggs recovered from a hen shot on December 23, 2017

Until I found these tiny egg packets the question of when eggs begin to develop in a wild turkey had never occurred to me. And since I usually try not to shoot adult hens during the fall hunt, this is the first December hen I have dressed out in preparation for the table.

Also, see When do Turkeys nest in Wisconsin?

It is legal to shoot any turkey during Wisconsin’s fall season so why do I  try not to take a hen?

An adult hen (brood hen) is a proven breeder, so I choose to focus on the jakes and jennies, thinking turkey biology, they are the most likely members of a turkey flock not survive the long cold winters. In other words, they are more likely to perish so why not put those excellent eating turkeys on the table?

In December most turkeys are approaching the same size, except for some late in the season hatched chicks.   Documented turkey nests with incubating eggs have been located as late as mid-August. Over the years, on three occasions, I have discovered broods of flightless poults at the end of August.

These eggs located in Wisconsin mid-March

Other interesting observations from the hen.

Pictured are the contents of a Dec 23rd hen’s crop. Temperatures were in the low teens and single digits.

 

This insect was found alive in the hen’s crop.

I do not know what kind of insect it is.  Even when temps are subzero, these bugs can be found moving around at the base of trees and in the bark when the sun warms the south side.

Winter Turkey Hunt; makes for the seasonal slam completion

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The first question; What is a seasonal wild turkey slam? It’s the taking a wild turkey during each season of the year; spring, summer, fall, and winter.  Wisconsin turkey hunters are lucky to have a turkey season open during all yearly seasons. Usually, the most challenging bird to bag is the winter turkey.  In 2017 the first day of winter was December 21, in Wisconsin, the turkey season closed December 31 this gives a hunter ten days to complete their seasonal slam. During winter visibility is excellent against the snowy white background, everything is frozen so that all things from the ground up to your equipment makes a lot of noise that is easily heard by the turkeys.  Not to mention setting up for some “cold calling” takes on an entirely different dimension, if you are lucky some days may rise above zero with minimal wind.

Because the turkeys are in large 50+ member flocks, they can be hard to find but when located the excitement is such a hunter will forget about the cold, at least for a while.  Vic the turkey dog and I searched many empty fields and woodlots with no success in locating the turkey flocks.  Even after being invited on a “there are turkeys there for sure hunt,” we found no turkeys, lots of sign that they had been there.

During the next few days, we continued searching for turkeys, no success until, as usual, when, my attention started to wane as my mind

River’s current if flowing fast and icy.

wandered around random thoughts.  As we trudged up an old logging trail along the river Vic begins sniffing and looking towards the river below.  Some rabbit and squirrel tracks were leading into decaying treetops felled by a tornado a few years ago.   I glanced down towards the ice chunked river and seeing no turkeys continued, leaving Vic to have some fun with the rabbits.

Suddenly the crystallized air exploded with the sounds of scattering turkeys.  Earing aids under ear flaps make it very hard to hear directionally and the sounds of excited turkeys and Vic’s barks echoing off the hillsides all around… I tore off my hat; clearly, the commotion was coming from behind me and down towards the river.  Hastily as I could with the heavy insulted boots clomping along, I headed back towards Vic just in time to watch perhaps seventy-five to a hundred turkeys rising above the standing timber then soaring off in all direction including some flying across the river.   Stunned does not begin to describe how I felt about strolling past that many turkeys.  What the heck?

All the years I have hunted this area and hiked this trail I did not know there was a nearly flat bench tucked in the hill out sight from the path.  While above on the trail you can see the river just beyond what appears to be a very steep drop straight to it.  The bench is not visible, and the turkeys were enjoying a smorgasbord of acorns.  The snow cover on about five acres of ground was scratched away with all the leaves turned around and over.

Vic gave me the most exasperated look, after all the pheasant hunting we had been doing he, no doubt, expected to hear gunfire and watch some wild turkeys fall from the sky.

During Wisconsin gun deer season Vic and I frequently go pheasant hunting.

But he should know I am not real keen on shooting turkeys in flight; it’s time for us to setup and get-to calling some back before the sun sets.  Vic chose a nicely sheltered setup area; I spread out his closed cell foam pad and insulated blanket for cover he snuggled close to my side as I leaned back on my new Alps Grand Slam turkey vest.  (A very thoughtful friend gave it to me for Christmas)  I love this vest.

When it gets cold friction calls do not seem to work as well, perhaps this is due to my stiff fingers, losing the feel through mitten covered hands or the snow dust that is attracted by the call’s surface.   After sitting quietly for about 12 minutes, I begin sending out some inquiry yelps and kee-kees.  Sometime later a distant yelp answered the trumpet which I quickly answered by series of loud yelps breaking a the end as if the turkey was losing its voice, that’s my best imitation of a lost turkey.  I did that a few times and got no answer, except the 40-yard gobbler starring at us from our right and behind us.   He had not made a sound and of course as it always seems to happen this bird came in from behind on my wrong side to shoot.  When he moves behind a tree I cluck once and raise the gun while pushing Vic down,  I hate to shoot this close over his head, so we wait as the tom moves parallel along the river below.  Seems like forever before he steps into the shooting lane, at 45 yards the prototype number 9 Federal Premium TSS (tungsten super shot) dropped him dead.  Vic is released to hold the gobbler down until I get there.  No matter if the turkey does any moving or not that is one of Vic’s favorite part of the hunt.

There is still a half an hour before sunset, so we set back up to resume calling.  Two turkeys fly back from across the river and land down along the bank a bit out of range.  Vic sits up to see better; I have to pull him down and lean my body over him, the movement caused one of the turkeys to move closer in range, my last #9 TSS drops the bird.  Incredibly at the shot, the second bird moves towards us into range, one of my regular turkey loads drops him flopping on the ground.  I released Vic to race down on the flopping bird, and he gets on top it quickly holding it down until the first turkey starts twitching then he races onto that turkey.  I am moving as fast as I can to help contain the turkeys.  Before I can get there the turkey, Vic released flips over off the edge falling twelve feet down onto the river’s shelf ice, in slow motion slides off the ice shelf into the fast current and is swept away out of reach.  I had to scream to stop Vic from attempting a retrieve in the icy river, we both hate losing birds.

Damn it; the other bird is not laying there!  Where in the heck did it go?  While trying to stop the flopper, the “dead” turkey slid off onto the ice shelf below.  As insurance, I immediately shot this bird in the head again even though it showed no sign of life.  No way are we going to lose two turkeys.  It’s a beautiful hen lying dead on the ice sheet much too close to water’s edge.  The bank is twelve feet straight down; I kept from falling by grabbing roots and rocks.  Fortunately, there is a pebbled place to stand off the ice, the ice cracks as soon as I put any weight on it, the turkey is 17 feet out of reach.  I climbed back up to find branch or sapling long enough to hook the turkey with to drag it within reach.

Winter hen and gobbler called in after an excellent scatter.

I can’t recall a time when having a turkey firmly in hand felt as good as this one did but I still have to climb back up which requires both hands.  The bank was too high to throw the turkey up.  No, of course, there was no rope handy, so I did the next best thing; slung the turkey over my shoulder and clamped the leg in my teeth.  It worked.

Vic wanted a vanity shot of him with the hard-won wild turkeys.

Anyone who has hunted with me when the game requires follow up to retrieve knows I did not give up easily on the bird swept away in the river.  Vic and I walked along downstream until the light of day gave way hoping to find the turkey pushed up somewhere we could retrieve it without risking life.   We returned the next morning to resume searching further downstream; sadly we never saw that turkey again.

 

 

 

Oklahoma Fall Turkey Flock Finally Located

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Submitted and Written By First Bubba

With nearly a week of “Fall Turkey Gun” season over, a flock of toms is finally located and patterned.

Zeroing in on where they pause to gather before crossing a creek, it’s time to set up an ambush site.

It was awesome this morning! Hard frost, no wind!

It didn’t feel that cold until I jumped in the truck and turned the wipers on. They just bumped over the dew on the windshield! It was frozen solid!

Limping off down the road, I’m hunkered down in the seat to see the way through the one little clear spot.

A dense fog kept me from making much speed, and I wandered from ditch to ditch until the windshield thawed. That didn’t make a lot of difference because of the fog! LOL! Missed my turn in the gloom and had to back up about 30 yards!

I got in my “ambush, ” and set up well before daylight, and a deer began snorting and blowing behind me, guess it spotted me setting up. That’s okay; I’m after turkeys today.

Lying on the tripod with the stock on my lap is the Winchester Model 12 16ga I bought many moons back. I’ve wanted to turkey hunt with it for a LONG time.

I hear birds back to the east. One gobbled and 2 or 3 more yelps and cluck, and then they fall silent …and I wait!

It’s 7 am, and the fog-shrouded bottom is eerily quiet. Big, pecan fattened red squirrels rip from tree to tree, barking and quarreling. The whistle of duck wings overhead is a welcome sound from my past. Seven thirty! Where the heck are the turkeys? …and I wait!

Nothing moves.

Wrens flit in and out of the weeds and limbs I used for cover.

A sudden rushing sound like an approaching flight of ducks and about 15 turkeys sprint by me and stop at the creek crossing 20 yards away. I wait until the last bird passes. Selecting one of the larger birds, the Win M12 comes up out of its rest and mounts easily.

The selected bird sees the motion and takes a step, telescoping his neck in alarm–TOO LATE! The one-ounce charge of 7 1/2’s found their mark! The smooth oily action of the M12 quickly reloads, and the shotgun covers the flopping bird.

There is an explosion of wings at the shot as the remaining birds scatter, leaving one of their numbers behind!

Oklahoma Fall Gobbler by First Bubba

 

It’s 8 o’clock sharp.

18 pounds, 8-inch beard, 3/4 inch spurs

Not a “trophy” bird, but a really nice fall bird! …AND…with my 16ga M12 Win!! I love it!

Wisconsin 2017 Fall Turkey Drawing Complete; Estimate of leftover permits Updated with final stats

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Update: 5:00 PM 8/18/17 the official leftover fall turkey permit numbers are posted. Scroll down the page for table and link to WDNR page.

The 2017 fall turkey hunting drawing has been completed by the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.   Notification cards will be mailed very soon.  In the meantime, hunters can check their Go Wild account for their application status; look under “current licenses.”

Leftover fall turkey hunting tags will go on sale Saturday, August 26 at 10a.  Turkey hunters may purchase one permit per day until all permits are sold out.

Estimated Leftover Permits for Fall 2017 turkey hunt:

Zone 1 – 15,000+

Zone 2 – 5000+

Zone 3 – 18000+

Zone 4 – 8000-

Zone 5 –  150

No permits are leftover in zones 6 or 7.

When the leftover permit statistics are verified the exact number will be posted on the;

2017 Fall Turkey Hunting Leftover permit availability page. 

Update the final leftover turkey permit numbers are posted. Here is a copy of the WDNR table.  Click the link above to visit the WDNR page.

Zone Remaining Permits
Zone 1 15,486
Zone 2 5,073
Zone 3 18,531
Zone 4 7,936
Zone 5 180
Zone 6 0
Zone 7 0

Permits are $5.00 for 10 and 11-year-olds, $10.00 for residents, and $15.00 for nonresidents.

Please note that at the time you purchase your permit you will be required to purchase a fall turkey license. If you did not buy a spring turkey license, you would also need to buy a Wild Turkey Stamp.

2017 Wisconsin wild turkey fall season dates;

Zones 1-5  – Opens, September 16, 2017, Close December 31, 2017

Zone 6 and 7 – Opens, September 16, 2017, Close November 17, 2017

Wyoming Snow Turkeys

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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

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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

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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

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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.

More video July 1, 2017

Waited a long time for them to cross the road, to get a good count on the 13 poults (believe there’s 7 in the first group). Haven’t seen another hen yet in the last 3 days, so they must be all hers. It’s rained 16 out of the last 18 days here too. Join the AWTHDA, members receive access to exclusive content.

How does she protect 13 little ones by herself?!

Hard to Stop Turkey Hunting

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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?

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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 2nd 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 2nd or 3rd 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

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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

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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?

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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

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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.

 

 

The Rain Bird

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The Rain Bird

by FirstBubba

It’s April 13th and so far, turkey season has been a bust! I’m seeing birds but my every attempt has been thwarted! Soooo…I’m up early this morning to try again!

A gusty north wind greets me at the door. Lightning to the northeast provides brief illumination as I scurry to the truck with my shotgun. I almost turn back, but forge ahead into the gloomy morning.

Parking at the gate, the one ton Dodge rocks and rolls as the blustery wind buffets it broadside!

Again I think, “Why don’t you just go home?”.

At 6:45 AM, daylight is breaking through the gloom. I gear up and head across the soggy pasture to my ” spot”. Thirty-knot wind gusts and 58°! It ain’t fittin’ weather fer man nor beast! After fiddling around a bit, I get my gear spread out and set up.

Buffing the surface of a slate call, I send a few yelps into the gale. That won’t be heard until it reaches the next county over! Oddly, I get a reply from across the creek to the east! Cross a creek? In a rain storm? R-I-G-H-T!

I settle back and wait.

The spot is comfortable, but the wind is miserable. Especially since it’s beginning to spit rain. “Just what I need!”

Lo and behold! Out of the storm, I see a jake cautiously approaching. I get my gun up but a small hackberry tree blocks my shot. A little shift and lean to the right and I get him lined up, but it also spooks him and he’s having none of it! He scurries off in a trot.

The rain picks up.

Minutes later, what appears to be a rain-soaked tom gingerly approaches from my left. I suppose it’s because of the rain, but this is one scroungy looking bird!

The rain picks up.

Approaching dead on, I’m having a hard time detecting any “tom” features like beard or fan. One or two tail feathers seem to be dragging the ground.

The bird finally turns far enough to his left that I can detect a decent beard through the rain, thunder, lightening and wind.

The safety snaps to the off position and he approaches dead on. At 20 yards, he stops and stares at me through the rain. (did I mention it was raining?) The recoil is unexpected and he collapses in a pile of soggy feathers.

FINALLY! This was my first bird since 2011!

I retrieve my bird and begin to pick up my gear as the cadence of the raindrops increases.

Two toms appear out of the storm from the east! They had to be the birds gobbling at me from across the creek earlier. I’m in a “2 Tom” county, but they’ve seen me move and all the soft clucks and purrs won’t bring them in. They skirt around me at 70 to 80 yards and head west across the rain-soaked pasture.

I get my gear picked up and reach over to a broken limb to grab my hanging camera. The two toms that came from the east are coming down the fence line from the west…..in the rain!

When I step out into the open, 8 to 10 birds gathered under the pecan trees scurry across the pasture and the two stragglers join them!

I’m covered up with birds! I’m soaked! I’m cold! I’m elated! I’m going home!

Old Rainy 22 lbs. 9-inch beard and .75 inch spurs

This bird only had 7 tail feathers! It appeared that maybe a predator had shredded his tail. Five feathers on the left. The two on the right hung loosely and drug the ground!

I tried several times to pose him for a picture or two. Nothing worked! I finally just snapped a picture of him lying in the mud! It WAS raining, you know!

As the diesel roared to life, I realized that water was still pouring out of my rain-soaked”Boonie” hat and had to laugh! My dad used to tell me, “Son! It was raining so hard, water quit running IN my boots and started running out!” I knew exactly what he was talking about!

Neon Tom – Gobbler Rumble End

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“Neon” Tom
by FirstBubba
The “Gobbler Rumble” ended when the six toms broke into smaller groups and headed to the field with the hens.
One of them, however, headed off on his own to the pecan grove to the east.
The grove has huge, old trees that have shaded out most undergrowth. As they leaf out, they also leave the ground under them in dark shadows.
This tom seemed to be on a mission. He never gobbled, yelped, spat or drummed. He simply walked into the dark shadows of the trees and began to strut proudly. I turned the video back on and began to track him. A few rays of the rising sun were stabbing through the timber east of the trees and provided perfect backlighting for his gaudy show!
I decided I wanted prints instead of video and switched the camera to “Smart Capture”, but alas, the show had ended! I did eventually get one nice photo of him (shot #3) as he strode off with a couple of hens that had arrived for the “Gala”!
As hard as I tried to make an 8×10, the “still from video” function just won’t allow a clear enlargement! Therefore, 4×6 is the best I can do! When we darken the room, his tail stands out in his framed photo like a curved beacon.
So, in all his “radiant glory”, these are the shots I call; “Neon Tom”!

Now is that a ” shiny hiney” or what?