Charlie Elk

pseudonym of a man

Druming & Spitting Turkey

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At least they were there

Once upon a time turkey hunters had to stop hunting at noon.

Now all states I hunt in are open to sunset or 20 minutes after. At one time we referred to this as cruel and unusual punishment. 4:30 a.m.  to 9 p.m. is a long day. Long gone are those  idle afternoons with time to relax and and recharge because I have now discovered  gobblers are active all day long so if you want to do the Snoopy Dance,  you have to be there.

The Wyoming Black Hills are one of the hardest places I have ever hunted turkey.  Late in the afternoon, on the last day of the hunt I heard a half hearted gobble at least a 1000 feet up on a plateau. After gasping in as much of the thin air as possible I set up with my back against a large ponderosa pine.

After 45 minutes of calling to dead silence some kind of liquid started hitting my neck the sun was shining so I assumed the pine was sapping.  Never mind a little bit of sap somewhere behind me a turkey’s war drum was starting up. Thinking he  was over on my strong side I shifted slightly to get readyas more of that dang sap splashed  my neck.

Suddenly there was a thunderous gobble; startled and spinning around a  Merriam  5 feet away bugged eyed and frantically wing-beating to increasing that distance.

Was what I thought pine sap really turkey spit?

Mother Turkey Hen is Killed by a Predator

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This poult is now an orphan

While hiking this morning, I came upon the scene of the heinous crime, the murder of a mother. Mrs. Hen was apparently going about the peaceful business of raising her brood when some lurking predator struck her dead. Her family terrified jumped into a wild flight, off to who knows where. Those poor orphaned poults are now homeless and vulnerable if they are not dead already.

 

What do you think killed Mrs. Hen?

Hen turkey death scene

 

Hen turkey killed by predator

 

Submit your best guess of the murderer in the comments.

BTW, we can hope the dead hen’s poults get adopted by another brood hen.  If poults survive the attack, they will seek out a new hen by sound and sight.  That is why turkeys are so vocal even this time of year; if you know what to listen for you will hear hens and poults calling out to each other.

 

Sunrise in the Woods

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Sweat is trickling around on my skin with my breath coming in long steady gulps trying to satisfy the hungry lungs burning in my chest. False dawn provides a twilight feel as I rest, listening for the faintest hint of a turkey, rustling feathers or the scratch of feet shifting on the bark of massive oak limbs overhanging my steep hillside trail.

I am here due to a sudden change of plans, last night a good buddy called to report he heard a gobbler while fishing on the Mississippi River yesterday afternoon. He quit turkey hunting a few years ago, a situation I have failed to remedy. Being the kind of fellow who is always looking for a way help someone, he called knowing I would be interested even though that turkey was atop a heavily wooded cliff, which around this area is usually referred to simply as a bluff.
Since there had been no vocal birds anywhere else I’d been hunting; more than willing ears absorbed this hot turkey tip.

At 5:00 am I found myself at the base of a 500-foot bluff thinking just maybe my friend was playing with me, the mental picture of him holding his laughing stomach, face contorted in mirth caused a moment of hesitation every turkey hunter knows when he starts to think about being somewhere else.
There was no turkey talk going on, a beautiful but silent morning and I’m in an area my boots had never before trod. Up the old logging path, hooting and cawing.

At the top, the woods was open, 5:45 not so much as a cluck.
I set up on the most comfortable tree of the season the sun just a red glow peeking over the horizon at my back. Fighting off a bout of tree trunk narcolepsy I made my first calls – quiet yelps, rising to cackles.  Nothing. Let out a series of lost yelps and kee-kees. Still and quiet.

About 6:10 red pinkish sunrise light is filtering thru the upper story leaves dancing and flickering a rainbow of colored bars all around throughout the woods;  a gorgeous unbeatable morning, certainly worth the hike as my mind strains to absorb it all into the pages of my mind.

There – I know not,  from where he came; the most outrageously beautiful strutting turkey I have ever seen; bathed in the glow of those multi-colored beams of sunrise. Irradiance feathers caught and shimmered those colored rays of light changing into little starbursts of color skittling across my glasses at me as he pirouetted on his toes in a manner that would make any ballerina jealous.

As I had many times in the past, I gazed intently over the gun barrel usually a natural thing at a time like this, but it seemed harsh and so out of place this morning. Tomorrow is another day.

Smitty’s Spring Turkey

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My 2012 Spring Turkey

Written by Smitty, posted by charlie elk.

Slowly sneaking into position I question whether I made a good decision or not. I had been running late that morning so instead of going for a bird that I had roosted the night before, I headed towards a spot that I had seen one earlier in the year.

I am about 40 yards from my planned location when a gobble echoes through the pine swamp. Just as I had feared, the bird is already on the ground.  Belly crawling to the field edge was my only hope for getting a shot.  Soft yelps come from my dad as he sits back and watches my sneak. Once reaching the edge of the field, I try to stay still with all of the adrenalin flowing through my veins. He is close, maybe 60 yards, but I am still unable to see him. Both my dad and I begin calling frantically trying to work him into a frenzy. It works as the gobbler begins cutting and yelping back at us in between spells of triple and even quadruple gobbles. He refuses to come out into the field and into range. Then it all stops. Not another sound comes from the bird. After about 15 minutes I decide to sneak to the corner of the field to look down the wood-line.  Just as I reach the corner, the tom lets loose another gobble.

Using a large pine as cover, we begin another sequence of calls. Again the bird refuses to come closer. The sounds of him digging in the leaves die off and he again slips away. I begin to look around and plan my next move when he appears in the field about 200 yards away. Then two hens come over a knoll in the field and begin taking him away from me. The next 5 minutes entailed near constant gobbling as we cut and yelp at him like mad. Finally he could take it no longer. The tom lets down his tail and begins a full out sprint straight for me. He gobbles a couple times on the run and then drops behind another knoll in the field. All is quite except for the slight ‘click’ of the safety on my Remington 11-87. Many times have I seen a gobbler quiet down as he enters the woods so I knew the crucial time was coming. From behind a blow down at 28 yards he appears. A light squeeze of the trigger and a load of #6 shot drops the bird dead. It took only one hour and fifteen minutes for me to kill my biggest turkey ever but the memories will last a lifetime.

He is double bearded with one measuring 10 1/4in and the other 6in with dual 7/8 inch spurs.

Turkey Call with Pen Barrel

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Turkeys can be called in with a wide variety of things, even your common ink pen.

Turkeys can be called in with a wide variety of calling implements.  From all types of friction calls like box and pot calls to wind calls such as trumpets, wing-bones and yes even a common everyday ink pen.  So if you forget your calls as I did one day—–
More accurately I did not forget my calls so to speak; as I was on my way out to hunt something else. There was a group of toms in a field I had permission to hunt. Then I discovered the box call usually kept in glove box was missing, there was the pen. I got out rushed the toms to break em up, only one peeled off a different direction from the rest. I set up in a hurry wearing a blue and black plaid flannel

Smile the Gods did, the gobbler sported three beards

shirt, smeared a bit of dirt on my face, the shotgun was mod choke loaded with #6 Fiochhi pheasant and sometimes as in this case the turkey gods of the hunt smile on you.

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Caught Red-Handed

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“Where’d those feathers in the truck come from? Is that blood on your collar?…..you’ve been turkey hunting again………haven’t you?!

 

This is Vic’s first experience with his master going turkey hunting without him.  He just is not understanding the concept of seasons.  He says that’s what goes on food right?

He was a loyal pup last fall hunting his heart out and tolerated me hunting deer alone, but that was it!  Now the spring turkey season is in full swing, dogs are not allowed and he is getting his feelings hurt.  So is it best to honest tell him to stay while I leave or is there some good sneak tactics?

Late Spring Gobbler Tip

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During the late spring seasons gobbler yelps get a better response than hen yelps.  Breeding is winding down, hens are tending nests, the gobblers are losing testosterone and looking to reform into bachelor flocks (they hang in these all summer) in order to find each other they yelp and cluck.  Not aggressively just in a where are you sort of way.
To locate toms in the late spring season many hunters make the mistake of listening for gobbles which are fewer, rather they should listen for the gobblers yelping and clucking to each other.
Bottom line during the last 2 seasons in WI most hens have been bred, the guys are tired of the woman talk and looking to start up the guy talk again.

Spring Turkey Scouting in Wisconsin

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At least they were there

Spring is coming, and you’re anxious to get turkey hunting, but it is weeks away.  The fever is setting in both for spring and turkeys.  Scouting makes sense, where do you start even if you see turkeys now there is no guarantee they will be in the same place come the season.

Here is what I look for and do while scouting-

  • Turkeys; yeah duh, but it is very nice to see them.  If you plan on filling a tag the first rule is you must hunt where the game is.  Because if you hunt where there is no game no matter how hard you hunt you will not fill your tag.  Do not let tradition dictate where you hunt allow the game in this case turkeys determine where your hunting area will be.  Turkeys are wide ranging here in Wisconsin so be adaptable and keep scouting for birds right up to your season.
  • Think nesting areas.  Where will the hens most likely choose to nest?  Of course, this is where the hens are going to be hanging out during the spring season with the gobblers satelliting them.
  • Roost areas that are adjacent to the nesting areas.
  • Now that you’ve keyed on some good nesting areas think about the food sources that will be in this area when you start hunting.  Such as new green grasses or clover, insects including flying, crawling and burrowing, wildflowers, and new buds.  If you hunt multiple seasons, this will be changing weekly.
  • In spite of all the advice about not calling in the area where you plan to hunt, you should ignore this unsound advice and take your calls out to use for locating birds.  In my opinion, this does no harm; turkeys have no memory, and they will not imprint your calling as a danger because you are not shooting at them yet.  Interactive calling with real turkeys is the best learning experience to begin gaining the understanding of different turkey vocalizations and their inflections.

Time to go out and find those Wisconsin turkeys.  Enjoy.

Post Season Melancholy

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Wisconsin turkeys laughing

Are these turkeys laughing or snickering?

Postseason melancholy has set in, and it is never too early to start obsessing about the next hunt. Wisconsin was kind enough to provide me with 6 in state tags this year. The 6th season has been my jinx season, or maybe I should refer to it as the turkey jester season. I had been doing the Snoopy dance each previous seasons with a gobbler at my feet and the intense feeling of invincibility coursing through my veins. With two 6th season tags in my pocket, this would be the year of 6th season gobblers. Of course, that was the invincible thought going into the season. Reality soon set in; spring growth from 5th to 6th season was shocking to behold — areas where you could see last week – no longer so.  Forcing me to set up on a field edge, I could see here that is as long as the expected gobbler entered the field but noooo!  He the Gobbler started spitting and drumming behind me so close I swear I can feel his exhale on my neck. No see, no shoot. This is repeated time and again all season. The memory highlight occurred on May 23 I found a “loud mouth” gobbler at 5:30 am and worked him non stop until 4:30 pm suffering cramped seriously puckered wing bone lips and a severe case of leg cramp in my right hand. Suddenly the gobbling feathered submarine went “up periscope” in range, in front of my bead.  His neck and head were all black with only a red skull cap on top.  I hesitated to confirm the identity of the target. “Down Periscope” and back to loud mouth gobbling for another hour without an opportunity repeat.  It is just amazing how my “can we have a replay” look to the sky never helps get that replay. The next weekend with no open season, in a field where I can hunt, a gobbler lights up at 9 am and gobbles over the next 2 hours. Not sure if he was laughing at me or frustrated by lack of hen interest. It was a great season filled 4 out of 6 tags. The remaining tags were not half bad as a condiment on a grilled Greek turkey burger.

New Year Eve Turkey

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jake 04172016

During my almost half century of hunting, I have always made a point of hunting the last day of the season assuming I have an unused tag still available in my pocket.  It is my way to say a respectful goodbye to the season and usher in the season next year with good karma; maybe a little superstition or perhaps my excuse to hunt one more time.
Wisconsin fall turkey season closes Dec 31st each year providing, in my humble opinion, the perfect way to celebrate the coming New Year with all the high expectations of hunts yet to come.
December 31, 2011, found Vic, my 1-year-old Vizsla and myself hunting for the last wild turkey of 2011.

The turkeys had been hard to locate the last couple of weeks. Perhaps due to unusually mild temperatures the turkeys were still in small flocks or being loners wandering the woods and fields enjoying the readily available buffet of seeds and fruits littering the bare ground.
Due to my attention being distracted for a moment I lost track of Vic a rather typical occurrence with a wide-ranging turkey dog.  I’m beginning to listen intently for telltale signs of him, suddenly an abrupt cackle followed by a chain of loud cackling and wings must be my turkey dog causing all that noise. The flock rose up as a tower out of the brush above the logging road I was standing on. Thinking these birds were all heading across the valley to a far ridge I was surprised when they rotated their wings for a decent downward splitting in half landing on the road on either side of me. Realizing their mistake the turkeys took off running in different directions, a good break indeed. The silence returned as I blew the whistle signaling for Vic’s to come.
Vic was so spun up I had a hard time tethering him during our wrestling match. Usually he is allowed to run around to continue flushing any straggler birds but this time, the turkeys were scattered close by making a fast set up necessary.
The electricity of excitement burning in Vic could be felt right out to the tips of his hair. What little fur he has. While we continued wrestling into set up position a nearby cluck carried through the air. I answered with a demanding assembly call that was answered back with a pleading kee-kee cluck. Vic froze on a sitting point towards the opposite direction from where I thought the sound originated. After a season of hunting with Vic, I have learned to trust his senses over mine, so I turned shifting the old model 1100 to my right side just in time. A bluish turkey head materialized just beyond the bead- boom – Vic relishing the intoxicating smell of freshly killed turkey. A glance at my watch- 4:15 as I punched my last 2011 tag marking the end of Vic’s first season.
I told Vic this was the last turkey of the year as I took his picture. His face says it all.

End of the season!? What is this? I thought seasoning was used to cook turkeys.

End of the season!? What is this? I thought seasoning was used to cook turkeys.

Vic’s First Turkey

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Turkey Dog Success

 

Sounds of the fall hunting season; Vic’s paw falls in fallen leaves, alarm putts, large wings clawing for air causing thunderous wing beats as two toms soar over my head from the ridge above.  I stop and listen hoping; yes another putt and wings moving in the opposite direction, show time for the caller- that would be me. 

Vic trots into sight panting hard.  For a 9-month-old pup, he sure puts his heart into the hunt.  The ridge is mostly park-like, with acorns strewn about and squirrels scurrying to put up the winter stores.  Quite a distraction for my pup but his training focused on turkeys all summer so when he found the toms the squirrels won their reprieve. 

We set up against an inviting oak with Vic tired and for the moment content to drink some water and lay on my left side.  He barely stirs when I let out the first series of course yelps followed by purrs and angry clucks.  The last call from my slate is cut off by the lost tom who is answering with excited yelps and booming gobbles.  Game on!  My wingbone answers with the bonk sound similar to that of a steel barrel or bucket makes with change in temperature.  Don’t ask me why gobblers come to this sound no one has explained it to me why nor have I figured it out, it just works and this tom is no exception, he is on his way coming in quick.  Vic goes into his rigid vizsla point directly at the incoming turkey while lying beside me.  This is his first real setup I hope he holds long enough for the shot.  His leash begins to pull under my rear; my hand touches his collar to reassure him all is well.  His excitement travels up my arm like electric bugs.  The turkey is 20 yards juking its head to the beat of some music only he knows.  The pressure is on, don’t whiff the shot its Vic’s first.

There is comic style of movement at the base of this oak. The leash is sliding free, the shotgun is in motion my left hand has gripped the forearm.  One eye is on Vic as he rises for a closer view the experienced turkey realizes his mistake as he hits full escape stride, Vic’s leash is free of me as he coils for the spring, I see he is in the safe zone in my peripheral as the bead appears under the beak, my finger compresses the trigger rolling the turkey into a ball of feathers.  Vic at half way stops abruptly snapping his head at me and back at the now still turkey it is as if his eyes are saying “what the heck! That never happened in practice” and then he is on the bird relishing the pungent smell of fresh turkey. 

Vic admiring his first wild turkey and it is a nice gobbler

 

 

 

32.5 Pound Turkey

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turkey-with-remington-1100

As I hoisted the freshly killed turkey, I thought he was unusually heavy, and upon arrival at the shed, I hung him on the scale and to my amazement he weighed 32.5 lb. Must be seeing things, yelled for the wife to double check and she says yes 32.5 lbs.
Thinking this might be the new state record I start considering what to do to get folks to believe me. First, stop – the registration station. Their scale reads 27.5 lbs. What the heck; where did the 5 lbs. Go? Oh well, their scale must be off – my friend runs the local grocery, and he has a certified scale back in the meat department.

Only in a small town, WI can you carry a dead turkey over your shoulder, down the aisle of a grocery store, to the scale in the back and no one raises so much as an eyebrow.
On the way down the aisle the gobbler does not seem as hefty as he did at first, but then adrenaline could be the cause of that perception.
Certified scales don’t lie– he is 25.3 lbs!

Back in my pole shed, I’m staring at the turkey hanging from my scale it now reads 25.1 lbs. What the heck?

It was pouring buckets when I shot this turkey, so his feathers were full of water. Have you ever wondered how much water a gobbler’s feathers could hold?  This one had 7.4 lbs of water.
No real concern, this is one beautiful bird, but so much for my brush with a state record bird.