Charlie Elk

pseudonym of a man

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 the 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 quickly 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 several 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 effort 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 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 to 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 every 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 forever 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 the 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 most extended 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 adequately 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 all 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 then without a single sage grouse rising the brush seemed to require more effort.  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

Beautiful 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. Rather than tell us there were no grouse around he took us into 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 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.

 

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.

 

 

 

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!

Ending up Intoxicated on Wild Turkey in Colorado

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It sounded almost like a breeze moving dead leaves on the tree branches, but I don’t remember there being any leaves on the early spring cottonwoods. As another wave of the fluttering sound reached my ears I realized the sound was not the trees or any leaves; it was a flock of turkeys rustling their feathers, and there must be a lot them to make that much noise at little after 4:00 am.  A few minutes later the first yelps of the morning started.  Apparently, Colorado turkeys wake up much earlier than those sleepy eastern birds in Wisconsin. Sure enough by 4:30 the first crescendo of gobbling cascaded down from their roosts, each like a wave crashing on a rocky beach.  Each time the audio wave began it gained volume as if urging the sun to rise early. My shivering intensified, surprised I was that cold, then I became acutely aware it was maximum exhilaration that had no relationship to the temperature, this is what turkey nirvana is all about, like being drunk on wild turkey, the non-alcoholic kind.

Six years ago, on a now defunct turkey forum, Treerooster and charlie elk recognized each other as fellow turkey nerds.  We discussed things like the length of the turkey’s memory, how they find food, the effect of ground temperatures on behavior, what the snood means, why two- dimensional sight works, techniques for tree-roosting all night with turkeys; OK you get the idea.  Fortunately, the forum had a private message option allowing treerooster and charlie could make hunting plans.  And when charlie got enough preference points to draw a spring license he was on his way to treerooster’s hunting turf in Colorado.

Our optimism was high we waded across the dark river back to the truck. We had roosted at least 15 toms and jakes on this eve of Colorado’s opening day of spring wild turkey season.  Wake up was scheduled for 3:00 am to make sure we could take our place among the roosted turkeys well before sunrise.  A treerooster nugget of wisdom – “Turkey hunting extends your life, each day of turkey hunting is the equivalent of 2 or 3 days of “normal life.”

There’s something about 15 or so roosted gobblers that make the lack of sleep and morning grogginess recede into the background of one’s conscious mind.  Gazing up at a half dozen roosted turkeys highlighted against the moonlit sky I wanted to give treerooster

treerooster sometimes likes to spend the night in the roost trees.

 

two thumbs up for his accuracy last night casting the correct GPS  coordinates.  Clearly, he has done this many times, and that is why I told him that I would hunt the way he hunts.  And he is a one of a kind tree-roosting aficionado, sometimes he actually sleeps in the tree with the turkeys; Prefers to setup, not 200, 100 or even 50 yards from roosted birds, rather, right in the middle of them.

There was a certain surrealness sitting under roosted turkeys expecting the morning light to brighten and instead, it became quite dark after the moon set as we waited for the first glimmers of sunrise.  However, the turkeys had no inhibition and continued to call and gobble to each other.  They did not seem to care there were coyotes on the prowl, raccoons screaming out their mating calls; every sound caused all those anxious roosted birds to turn up the volume. Treerooster was supposed to do the calling but any calls we’d have made would be the equivalent of spitting in the ocean due to all the actual turkey noise.

Is there such a thing as sonic boom gobbling?  Had anyone asked me this question before my first-morning hunt in Colorado I would have thought them crazy.  But, not now. A couple of mallards came flying through the trees, and one of them quacked, this caused such loud gobbling that it caused the ducks so much turbulence they almost fell out of the air.  Laughter would have erupted from me had my ears not hurt so bad, never before did I wish to turn down or remove my hearing aids on a turkey hunt.  What had been 15 roosted gobblers was now apparently 50-70 raucous male turkeys surrounding us on all sides. In almost 40 years of turkey hunting, I have never experienced anything like this.

When the hens snuck up from behind on my five, I became concerned if I didn’t get a tom out this huge group I’d have egg on my face and some explaining to do. Hen turkeys are notorious for messing up a well-planned gobbler killing strategy. One of those hens got so close she could have rested her beak on my shoulder when she yelped.  I swear I felt her spittle on my cheek.  If she putted, no one here noticed and none of the turkeys noticed the deer that almost tripped over my boot.  Thankfully, the deer did not notice me, perhaps due to all the ruckus from turkeys.

 

Treerooster and charlie with Colorado opening day Rio wild turkey

More gobblers flew down; it was quickly getting crowded here on the ground. Finally, the one who had strutted back and forth from one end of the limb to the other launched and sailed in.  Lesser turkeys scrambled out of his way, for a brief moment he disappeared in the dawn’s light.  As his head came around the other side of some wispy brush I made a quick check for any other turkeys in the area, the roar of the Benelli caused a literal explosion of turkey wings clawing at the air and every sound these large birds can make filled the woods and the surrounding grassland.

In almost forty years of turkey hunting, I’d never experienced anything like that Colorado morning.  We ended the

charlie carrying Rio turkey from the kill site.

hunt intoxicated by overdosing on a whole lot of wild turkey. The non-alcoholic kind.

Hip boots are required for access.

 

Crossing the river with the turkey while using a  walking stick to stabilize footing on the shifting sands.

 

Pause to soak in the hunt and wide open scenery.

 

Treerooster’s very comfortable camp.  Where charlie managed to arrive the day before right after treerooster got is setup.

 

Hey treerooster, thanks for the best of the best turkey hunting experiences.

 

Reflecting at the End of Spring Turkey Season 2016

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The hen makes gentle clucks from a treetop behind me, odd perhaps, but this is one of the last days of the 2016 spring turkey season.  For the most part, the hens are now sitting to incubating their eggs.  The made morning rush is giving way to deliberate calm.  At least on the part of the hen, not so with gobbler booming in the morning to my front.  He is not in the mood to let go of his dominance or mating drive.

As the rays of sunlight begin piercing the woodland, my mind wanders over the passing days. Reminiscing about a turkey season before sunrise light shaftscompletion; who would think that is possible? This morning I’m having trouble shaking the feeling of melancholy, it’s typical at the end of a season to feel a certain reverence, but it’s not quite over yet.  As the rays of sunlight begin piercing the woodland, in spite of the hard gobbling tom, my mind wanders over the last passing days.

Gobble gobble at the hen’s soft clucks.

It all started by accompanying my grandson on his youth hunt, the memory of those seven long beards coming in while he caused and earthquake in the magnitude of 3.6. The moment of consternation when he missed one of the biggest turkeys I’d ever seen afield that quickly gave way to a warm, confident feeling he’s on the road to becoming a hunter.  He saw that insight that keeps us all hunting for just one more of those sights.

Gobble gobble the hen softly clucks.

My good friend Kody from Alberta, Canada, here on his first ever, heck he was the first Canadian ever to hunt spring turkeys in Wisconsin. Kody on set upOnly two days to hunt but we crammed a full array of turkey hunting experiences into those days.  This gobbler ushering the morning could very likely be one that Kody set up tight on; it’s in the same area.  If only Kody could have hunted one more day.  No one can predict the actions or behavior of turkeys; they are so random.  The melancholy feeling set in after Kody departed for the airport so I setup in the field point where we had a close call with several different turkeys.  I called a few times and let my mind wander savoring the memories of hunting with Kodyhunt’s highs.  Suddenly the sight of two toms walking towards the decoy jerks me back into focusing on the now.  With twotwoturkeys tags still open in my pocket, the last day of the fourth Wisconsin season, I realized the tom’s heads were going to intersect which would allow me to kill them both with one shot. A feeling of frustration enveloped me as stood over the two dead birds; why didn’t, couldn’t this have happened when Kody was here? No predicting turkeys.

The hen’s wings caress the air as she flys off roost to her nest, and I take over her clucking.  The tom does not seem to notice any difference and gobbled right back. 

Last week Rye, my Grandson from Texas came to visit, he’s seven and wants to hunt so bad.  With his help, we set up a pop-up blind, and then he had a blast randomly sticking out the decoys. He called his little heart out, dang, no turkeys showed up only some crows.  A couple of years ago I gave him a crow call to use on Texas crows, so I told him to order those crows to go away.  Well, I don’t know what he said in crow to make those crows go so wild. Whatever his calls meant to the crows remains a mystery, we were soon witnessing 25-30 crows darting about trees around us, screaming and diving at the blind.  Had it been crow season we’d have had to eat a bunch of crows.  As it was, he just blew that call with more urgency and laughing between breaths.  Oh yeah on the way back he begged to carry my gun, it’s all about fun, so he was my gun bearer.

Gobble, gobble, yelp, cluck.

Those last calls were a whole lot closer with some mind clearing directness bringing my attention fully back to the present, the shafts of sunlight are lighting the woods glistening through the rising mist. The canopy is thick late in the season limiting visibility for that turkey and me.  The early morning wet dampened the woods allowed me to move quietly and get real close to this gobbler, him and I have a little contest to settle.  The hen quietly flew off to her nest some time ago, so I took over her clucking without the old gobbler realizing the change.  His gobbles had an urgency to them now at times he sounded like he was moving away and the next sound like he was in range, but I had not heard him fly down yet.  Oh, of course, he is hopping from tree branch to branch trying see me through all the leaves.  The gobbling sounded closer and farther depending on which direction he pointed his beak during the gobble.

For a moment all went quiet and then the tell-tale thud, he is on the ground and my gun is pointed at exactly that location.  I cannot see him only his feathers are making noise as they shake and rattle with his movement.  The turkey is in range all I need to do is see him.  Tension has a way of building in these situations; I dare not move, or the turkey may periscope me and then fade away as he did on so many other turkeymornings this season.  The gun is comfortable on my knee as I grip the striker for one last cluck while hoping he is not looking directly at me.  There is no reaction to my cluck; all is quiet until that red, white and blue pulsing bulb of a head appears as if floating up a little draw in the hillside, it’s all I can see moving along.  The turkey’s body is not visible only the head; it’s in range… At the blast, the bright head disappears being replaced by a wing tip skidding down the draw.  I race to grab him to avoid joining his slide all the way to the bottom for retrieval.

A genuinely fine bird, double beard, 1 3/8” spurred gobbler.   Heck, they are all fine birds I just love turkey hunting.

spurs tongue teaser call

Grandson on The Wisconsin Youth Hunt

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“Grandpa I see turkeys coming.”

“Where son?”

“Coming down the hill behind us.” Boy, does he have a good game eye, a gaggle of turkeys was weaving its way downhill in our direction.

As excited as we were to get started turkey hunting on Saturday it seemed life was conspiring to keep us from it.  The game of turkey hunting is supposed to commence in the early morning dark and span the day, and that was not the way the 2016 Wisconsin spring wild turkey hunt began for us.

10:00- Found us set up in a small woodland bordered by some Ag fields. A lot of hunters would prefer setting up a blind and spread of decoys in an area like this. My grandson, like most young hunters, prefers to be outside a blind rather than in one.  Within a half hour, the craggy bark of that old tree bit into our backs making the idea of moving very appealing.  Or was it the lack of the turkeys? We moved, several miles away.

Nugget the turkey decoy. Keeps it interesting for the young ones.

Nugget the turkey decoy. Keeps it interesting for the young ones.

10:45- We left the parked truck to hike across a prickly pear littered sand barren field, clearly an area that did not look like it would hold any turkeys, at least to the casual passerby. Down an embankment along the edge of a swamp with too much water for easy walking we headed up to a hillside step and for no other reason than there were fresh turkey scratchings everywhere we setup Nugget, (yes, he named the new decoy).  We situated ourselves in a decaying blow down.  Walker on my left.

Walker turkey 04092016

A tom like this gets the most seasoned hunter’s heart beating overtime.

11:10- Walker’s picked those turkeys out, and he knew immediately they were gobblers with a gang of jakes bringing up the rear.  With all those turkeys meandering a line towards us his excitement was quite contagious.  I must admit my heart skipped a beat or two when it becomes clear exactly how big the lead gobbler was, and he was heading directly towards Nugget.

For some reason, turkey decoys don’t usually work for me.  In spite of all those past failures a few days ago I purchased a Scheel’s decoy that had been on sale for $17.89 figuring Walker would like it.  Apparently, the lead gobbler liked her too because his focus was on Nugget and seemed not to care in the least there was a trembling 13 year old trying to get a bead on his pulsing head only 12 yards away.

For me, it was an eternity from the time that old gobbler stopped, extended his head high to get a better look at Nugget and the roar of Walker’s 20 gauge.  Then inside the scream, NOOOOO… as those big wings clawed air carrying that very large turkey up above the trees and out of our lives. Shots at turkeys do not come much more perfect than that, how could he miss?  Outwardly, I whispered, “your turkey nuggets flew away, stay still and be ready.”

The following turkeys had scattered at the shot.  Turkeys have short memories and can’t rationalize what happens, they just react.  In short order, my calls calmed them down, and they started to stroll back to us.  Now you must understand the turkeys have calmed, but my grandson is still shaking from the first encounter, there is no doubt he is rationalizing the situation.

They're back...

They’re back…

Four turkeys move back into shooting range if Walker was shaking before; this time, it’s an earthquake allowing the turkeys to bust our position and retreat.  Again I call to them, for some reason, my turkey calling calms the turkeys but still does very little to calm Walker.  Six turkeys come back in range to mill around clucking and purring their contentment.  But as turkeys are prone to do given too much time they bust us and fade away again.  At this point I remind Walker about how much fun this is, he agrees grinning ear to ear.  I ask him if he is hungry for some turkey nuggets, of course, he replies.  Then let me know when you are calm, and I will call those turkeys back, again.

After about 15 minutes Walker assures me he is ready to try again.  Soft yelps and purrs waft thru the woodland soon the turkeys eagerly answer, and I amp up the calls causing the toms to do about faces and march in; who can blame a 13 old for all his excitement, we had no blind, so there was nothing between the turkeys and us.  We were sitting on the ground, so when those birds were in close, they looked down on us.  Heck, I know some veteran turkey hunters who’d crack too.

It was important to figure out why my grandson missed that first gobbler, so I measured the distance, exactly 12 yards.  Later at the gun range he never missed a turkey target at that range and then it occurred to me;  the target was just a turkey head, not the whole bird. I forgot to tell him to make sure he picks out only the head when he shoots at a live turkey.

How I Kill Afternoon Gobblers, the lessons of many years

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The thing about afternoon turkey hunting that gives hunters fits is the lack of, or significantly reduced gobbling. Spring turkey hunters have a tendency to assume if they hear no gobbles, there are none in the area. I started regularly killing afternoon birds when I realized toms make other more subtle calls which I needed to be closer in order to hear.

After I spend a morning camped out on my rear, some 2015 first turkey at kill site (13) (640x469)afternoon strolling/trolling feels good. Fortunately, a walking turkey sounds very much like a walking human, so long as the human stops, pauses, slows down and does not walk in a straight line from here to there and if the person makes turkey sounds it becomes even more naturally convincing. Old-time hunters used to call this moseying, not run and gun.
In my area of west.central Wisconsin public land offers the most productive afternoon turkey hunting. The nesting habitat is better than private so hens will be more likely to be loafing, nesting, laying and uninterested in the toms.Nesting turkeys prefer more open, almost park-like woodlands for

Nesting turkeys prefer more open, almost park-like woodlands or edges of short grassy fields. Rarely will hens nest in brushy areas that diminish visibility.  The incredible eyesight of a  turkey is its number one defense. Clearly, it is not in their best interest to get into places of reduced visibility; this makes for ideal trolling conditions.

Trolling for turkeys involves moseying along making turkey calls. Think of it as if you were moving along searching for a buddy calling out their name occasionally.  In this case, we’re looking for a gobbler who in turn is looking for company. So the hunter should yelp (hey anyone here?), cluck (I’m here, where are you?) purr with leaf scratch (yum this is tasty, and I’m content).  Keep in mind the response may be a gobble, but more likely it will be a single course sounding yelp or cluck.  Hearing the quieter turkey sound indicates, of course, the turkey is probably close by, so setup immediately and try to engage in conversation with the bird. Don’t be afraid to call, err on the side of more calling rather than less.  Keep it soft and conversational matching the mood of the turkey with just a bit more urgency.

Another all too common springtime afternoon situation is the gobbler or gobblers strutting in a field with disinterested hens. The gobblers are openly competing for that lady’s attention, but well guys it can be frustrating, to say the least.  Like nearly every other hunter I’ve tried sneaking along an opposing edge of the field, setting up and calling to the gobblers as they get more excited with each of my calls.  Only to have those disinterested hens lead them off to parts unknown. Oh, well, what’s new in turkey hunting?

In this situation, I try, the edge set up and call first.  Not sure why, it rarely works, it’s just that starting with the least aggressive strategy first seems to make some sense.

My experiences continue to demonstrate the fall turkey hunting tactic of scattering or break up the birds usually works better.  Depending on the position of the field turkeys I wait for them to get into a position that gives me a chance of separating the hens and gobblers.  The goal is to get them to run or fly off in different directions.  Ideally, hens one way the gobblers go in another direction.   Most spring turkey hunting articles conclude when turkeys are bumped they leave the county, and the hunt is done there for the day or week, this is not true.  Years of fall turkey hunting have taught me flocked up turkeys rarely move off more than 300 yards and most of the time much less than that.

During my young hunter days, I would rush the flock by running, yelling and occasionally shooting just make more noise for a better scatter.  Somewhere along the line a little more wisdom developed in my head, my running skills declined or a combination thereof, not sure which.  Nowadays I “walk” the turkeys out of the field then setup to call the gobblers back.

How walking turkeys works.  The field hens are more alert to my approach so as soon as they detect me moving in, they start moving towards the cover.  The strutting gobblers are distracted competing with each other and ideally don’t notice the hens moving away at first.   When the gobblers are looking/facing away from the hen’s direction I then yell or whistle.  Toms then start of drift out of strut peri-scoping their heads up at this point it’s time to blow the whistle again in a solid, loud blast, wave and move directly to them.  Since turkeys are birds that don’t “think” more times than not they keep going the direction their body points. As soon as the birds are in the cover, I move in and setup. Wait about 20 minutes before calling.  If the turkeys start calling before that time, answer back.

Scattered turkeys will usually respond within about 45 minutes from the start of calling.  Spring gobblers are known to respond faster because they are more vocal and driven with urgency. Keep in mind the gobblers who walked into the cover at this point are eager to reunite with the hens they abandoned.

Good hunting.

Field Turkey

 

 

Pheasants to a Last Minute Gobbler on New Year Eve

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December 31, 2015, found Vic and I coursing through a likely pheasant field. Wild pheasants in Wisconsin can be very hard to find especially on the last day of the season. Most pheasant hunting here is a put and take proposition. The DNR’s yearly stocking is usually done by the 2nd week of December. The last pheasants released are anemic and short lived due to predators getting easy meals before the onset of severe winter.

Vic learned to hold turkeys by the neck so figures all birds should be held by the neck.

Vic learned to hold turkeys by the neck so figures all birds should be held by the neck.

Turkey dog Vic has turned out to be an accomplished upland game dog. He can change tactics to match the requirements of hunting conditions. For a couple of afternoon hours, Vic coursed around me in his effort to force a pheasant or 2 to rise at my feet. One rooster nearly ran into my legs before flushing a few yards in front. Pheasant number 1 of the 2 daily limit.

Tired and wind burn we headed back to the truck. There was a brush line containing some bulldozed brush piles. Vic earnestly began working a scent trail that I thought was the most likely rabbit. He came to a rigid point at one of those piles. He had worked hard so I thought I’d humor him by kicking the pile to flush the bunny.
Well, these “bunnies” had multicolored iridescent feathers, long tails and all 6 of them cackled as they broke off heading to different points of the compass. So startled was I target panic set in as I fired three rapid shots to no effect. “I can’t miss all these pheasants of last season flush” raced to my mind. “dang it, pick a target you fool!” Luckily I did and the biggest and final rooster of the year crashed to the ground. With a limit of pheasants in the bag, single digit temperature, a brisk wind, and an hour & half of daylight left I pondered whether or not to try for a turkey at the buzzer, and this was the first year in decades it looked like we were not going to get a Wisconsin Slam.

Super secret Wisconsin wild pheasant location

Super secret Wisconsin wild pheasant location

The Wisconsin Slam sounds easy, just get a turkey each season of the year; spring, summer, fall and winter. Due to mrs. elk’s chronic health condition my time afield was more limited than normal. And mrs. elk prefers eating pheasants, so we spent more time out pheasant hunting than turkey hunting.

On the way to our super secret pheasant field, a small pod of gobblers had crossed the road onto private land just before the old creek bridge. First time I’d seen turkeys in that area so what the heck, time to investigate. It was only a 5-minute drive back there.
As I drove slowly across the bridge, I scanned the fields, no turkeys, when I looked into the creek valley black blobs were moving in the water. What the heck?  I cursed myself for not having the binoculars in the truck. Stopped to study those blobs with squinted eyes. The blobs materialized into a flock of turkeys wading in the water. Not exactly where they’re expected to be.

Turned around to park the truck about a half mile at the public parking area. Vic and I dumped the orange to change into snow camo jackets, slipped on the turkey pack and headed towards the creek keeping Vic on a heel. A glance at my watch revealed about 45 minutes of 2015 season time left.

The turkeys were there, in the creek heads submerged much like feeding ducks. They do this in the spring to eat invertebrates, first time I’ve seen this behavior in the winter.

The 2015 turkey season continues ticking down as we stalk in closer. As Vic catches their scent as he becomes more eager by the second to do his job. On release, he tears down the ravine in a blur snow powder and yipping. The turkeys take to winged frenzy cackling and clucking as they go water drops are clearly visible dripping off their beards while others have icicles hanging causing a mirage of diamond spears protruding from their breasts.

The beard is ice covered from feeding in the creek.

The beard is ice covered from feeding in the creek.

This late in the day I feared the gobblers might just go to roost. However, in late season turkeys prefer roosting together and with toms on opposite sides of the creek, one group would most likely want to rejoin the other before roosting.

Half of the turkeys flushed out the creek

Half of the turkeys that flushed out the creek, the other half went the opposite way.

Picking a setup was tough, the wind was icy especially for Vic; he has very little hair, so something sheltered was a must. That put us below the field sitting against a tree on the slope towards the creek below. Visibility to see any incoming turkeys was more limited than I like.

After 5 minutes, of course, aggressive calling Vic started trembling. At first, I thought he was cold but no, he was on point, head laying across my lap staring intently to my right. Then I heard it- prrt putt, prrrrrt putt, if I can hear that sound the turkeys are close. Slowly I turn my head and came eyeball to eyeball with a frozen bearded gobbler. He backed away putting; his head darted behind a tree, and my body twists to get the gun on him just when another gobbler sticks his head up to see what all the putting was about- Boom!

Vic smelling success

 

Vic charges to our prize and flushes more previously unseen gobblers. It always surprises me when the gunshot does not scare them. About 15 minutes left of season 2015 so we reset to end the season with a nice gobbler in the bag, a leftover tag for tag soup and best of all memories of gobbling, yelping and roosting turkeys against the red sky sunset.

The last gobbler of season 2015 on Dec 3, 15 minutes before the buzzer.

The last gobbler of season 2015 on Dec 3, 15 minutes before the buzzer.

Take The Wisconsin Slam Challenge

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There’s no better place to hunt turkeys

Vic, my turkey dog, a Vizsla (member of the pointer group), and I begin our fall hunting adventure together, typically setting up where Vic scattered a flock of turkeys. Vic lays next to my left leg with the look of happiness only a dog can express at a glance. As the scattered turkeys start their lost “kee kee” whistles looking to find each other in order to regroup, we know that’s my cue to start lost yelping and assembly calling.  In the case of scattered gobblers, coarse yelps, and aggressive purrs can bring them back into the gun. 

The woods is filled with turkey calls. Vic the turkey dog can't understand why we're waiting.

The woods are filled with turkey calls and Vic, the turkey dog, can’t understand why we’re waiting.

I love it when the woodlands are filled with the sounds of turkeys whistling and yelping at each other and back at us. Vic and I then become part of the flock, talking back and forth. As the conversation continues, Vic stiffens on a laying point towards the direction of the approaching turkeys. My gun will be up at the ready. There are two tags in my pocket and with a couple of gunshots, I’ll be hoping to validate those.

Turkeys are not just another upland bird to be flushed and shot. You can certainly do that; it’s legal. However, to a traditional turkey hunter like me, turkeys are special birds that require more finesse to tag. After all, what other upland game bird can be called in?

And there is no better place to hunt turkeys than in Wisconsin. The combination of seasons, habitat and the fact I can take my dog along in the fall make it turkey hunting heaven.

Summer gobbler Vic's first hunt. Beginner's luck?

Summer gobbler Vic’s first hunt. Beginner’s luck?

The Wisconsin Slam

Summer turkey? Wait you can’t shoot turkeys in the summer.  There is only a spring and fall season, right?

Most think of Wisconsin’s two turkey seasons; spring (April 15 to May 26) and Fall (Sept. 12 to Dec. 31 —  closes during nine-day gun deer season then reopens at the end of deer season).

But if you check the calendar, the fall turkey season dates overlap the official calendar dates of summer and winter. Summer officially runs June 21 to Sept. 22 allowing one to bag a summer turkey in the fall season, and winter officially starts on Dec. 22 giving Wisconsin fall turkey hunters a 10-day opportunity to shoot a “winter” turkey.

It was about eight years ago when it dawned on me that Wisconsin hunters can shoot a turkey during each of the four calendar-based seasons of the year: spring, summer, fall and winter.

Think of it as “The Wisconsin Slam” — taking a turkey in each of the seasons. Who do you know who has accomplished this? No trophies are awarded, and there is no official recognition. It’s all about the personal satisfaction a turkey hunter who understands turkeys and their year round behavior gets from this distinction.

Bar none; Wisconsin is a unique stand-alone wild turkey hunting state offering thousands of tags over the counter that in some units do not sell out by season’s end.

Why pursue a Wisconsin Slam?

The Wisconsin Slam is fun motivation to get out turkey hunting during a time when you might be distracted by something else to do or hunt. The “summer” and “winter” turkeys are harder to bag and offer a fun challenge. The vegetation is thick in the summer making the turkeys harder to find and see.  Winter season is the opposite — there is no vegetation, so the turkeys are easier to find, but that means it is also easier for the turkeys to see the hunter and his dog.

Being able to hunt in all seasons of the year is a uniquely Wisconsin hunting opportunity that so many hunters are overlooking. The spring season is the most popular but I’d like to see more hunters take advantage of hunting turkeys during the four seasons of the year. Need more incentive?  Summer, fall and winter turkeys are more tender and taste much better than the spring gobblers who are the survivors of winter starvation.

Extend the season winter turkey hunting with your dog

Extend the season winter turkey hunting with your dog

Not only can you complete a Wisconsin Slam but the state offers a variety hunting flavors.

Want to chase turkeys in miles of forests? Head to the northern big-woods. Want to try mountain turkey hunting? Wisconsin doesn’t have any “real” mountains but western Wisconsin does have some mighty steep bluffs. Marshland and river bottoms across the state can provide hunting with the feel of southern swamp turkeys, minus the large reptiles. Don’t forget to try southern Wisconsin for some prairie turkey hunting.

I’d argue that no other state offers such a myriad of turkey hunting opportunities.

Another important dimension to Wisconsin’s wild turkey hunting happened when turkey dogs were legalized for the fall turkey hunt season starting in 2011.  It is widely believed hunting turkeys with dogs is a new method; however, turkey dogs in North America are one of the original turkey hunting practices which date back to the founding of Jamestown in 1607. A small contingent of turkey hunters are now bringing the sport of turkey dogging back.

In spring, gobblers advertise their location by gobbling. In fall, this is not normally the case which makes finding the turkeys more challenging. Thus, a turkey dog comes in handy during the fall season. A turkey dog’s job is to find the turkey flocks then flush them in different directions while barking or yipping to let his master know where the action is. When turkeys scatter in different directions, it is easier for the hunter to call the turkeys back together while setup with their dog at the point of the break.

Hunting with a dog in the fall brings the excitement that makes spring hunting seem tame by comparison. When turkeys respond for gathering they do so with gusto, gobbling, purring, kee kees, yelps — you name the call, and they do it. Many times a group of gobblers will not only gobble and purr they’ll fight with each other as they come back.

Turkey dogging also extends the time of contact and interaction with wild turkeys. The first contact is when the dog is flushing or breaking up the turkey flock this is particularly rewarding for the hunter who enjoys the flush of wild birds. The second contact occurs when the turkey answers your call. Yes, turkeys talk to you. Then of course, hopefully, the interaction brings the turkeys in close to you and your dog. A trembling dog close by your side adds to the excitement of the incoming birds as you know you have trained this dog with the skills required. It’s fun to share the excitement, and there’s no better place to do it than in Wisconsin.

 

After breaking up a flock Vic sets up with anticipation of the turkeys reappearing.

After breaking up a flock, Vic sets up with anticipation of the turkeys reappearing.

Wisconsin’s turkey management plan

Wisconsin Turkey Management Plan

Wisconsin Turkey Management Plan

The Wisconsin Wild Turkey Management Plan, a product of coordination between the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, key stakeholder groups, and the public, is available on the department’s website.

People can view an electronic copy of the plan by searching the DNR website, dnr.wi.gov, for keywords “turkey management.”

The Wild Turkey Management Plan will guide decisions regarding the allocation of turkey permits, the structure of our spring and fall hunting seasons, the use of Wild Turkey Stamp funds, and many other aspects of turkey management in the state through 2025. The current plan reflects recent scientific research and changes in turkey distribution and hunting tradition. The management plan was guided in part by input received at 12 meetings held statewide in April and May 2012, as well as an online survey available during the same time period.

Article appeared in the Wisconsin Resource Magazine in August 2015.  Written by charlie elk.

Pearled Head Gobbler

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Dang it anyway, I had just moved towards a hard gobbling turkey which I thought was the conversational turkey that abruptly left me to chase those four late departing hens.  As gobbler and I conversed, I had missed detecting the four hens still on roost above our heads until they flew down at 7:00 yelping their way off in the opposite direction with my tom in tow.  And now!  I hear gobbling coming from my original setup spot.  So much gobbling that surely if I had not gotten seduced into moving a beautiful turkey would be wearing my tag right now.

Here I am on day 3 of my hunt during Wisconsin’s second mini-season.  The morning dawned quiet and still even though the evening before I did a lot of audio baiting so I knew there would be birds nearby.

From some of the treetops on the opposite ridge, I heard what I thought were feet shifting on their roost branches and the ruffle of feathers.  No response to my owl hoots.  Gobbling has been sparse so far this spring in spite of the beautiful weather.

I setup down the ridge from the turkey sounds then around 6:00 a turkey gobbled in answer to my soft clucks.  Soon the sound of a dull thud as the tom apparently just let go and fell to the ground.  A series of walking clucks got him fired up gobbling and strutting as he moved towards me.  As I prepared for the anticipated upcoming shot, those hens mentioned earlier sailed off their roost, and my gobbler turned in pursuit gobbling his merry way after them.  Moving seemed a reasonable strategy, it always does until 20/20 hindsight takes effect, like gobbling coming from where you just left.

As I called more, gobbling started up all around.  A real turkey hunter’s dream morning, still, clear, mild and turkeys coming to life everywhere.  Picking the correct side of the tree in anticipation of which gobbler would arrive first was my most pressing issue.

The first group of 3 toms fought, strutted and picked their way along the top of the ridge to my right.  The offered shots were marginal and quickly became worse when a fourth unseen turkey busted me causing all them to move out and spooking the rest of the incoming turkeys.

All that action and now I’ve one more chance if I can get the left behind turkey to come in.  He was hung up gobbling his head off.  I moved around the to the other side of the large oak placing my back to him hoping my calls would sound like a hen giving up and walking away with the other turkeys.

Turkey noise stopped, and the only thing I heard was rustling in the leaves to my right.  Ever so slowly I turned my head just enough to see the tom in my peripheral vision, he was mere feet behind at 4 o’clock.  No breathing or blinking for me as he suddenly cut loose a thunderous gobble and walked past in the wide-open woods.

Nothing but air between us, I dared not move as he slowly continued to amble past me.  His feathers audibly rustled with each step that finally took him behind a large tree trunk out of sight.

Being right handed I had to turn for the shot, gun up at the ready for the tom’s reappearance.  It took forever; I started to think he’d heard me and walked straight away keeping the tree screening us. Oh No!

Oh yes!  His pearly white head emerges 12 yards off the end of my barrel, his eye straining to pick form out of the gnarled tree bark. My gunshot sounds as slides his neck out, beard dangling in the opening.

2015 first turkey at kill site (13) (640x469)

Double Tongue Gobbler

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The height of the red oaks provided the turkeys a long glide path.

The height of the red oaks provided the turkeys a long glide path.

The wild turkeys flew down before shooting light this morning in Wisconsin’s unit 3 area.  First the hens pitched off their roosts at 5:15 hitting the ground running like they had somewhere to be.  They must have nests they needed to tend to.  The gobblers sounded off and pitched off roost shortly after and that’s where things got interesting.   Their fly downs were more like long range glides carrying them well out my sight and hearing range.  In the “big” woods of areas of Clark County this makes for a challenging hunt because the toms just keep ranging further out all day long while giving the hunter little indication of where and which way they are heading.  These toms had a lot of altitude off their red oak  roosts so I figured they would have glided out a ways, I took a compass bearing and headed in the direction they went.

A lone gobble slices through the morning silence, distant, as in, across 2 creeks and in the middle of the swamp.  There are dry islands in the swamp but the water is too high for causal wading out to them. The trolling box call is put away and replaced with a Tongue Teaser.  After a couple of yelps and bionk clucks a  gobbler joins me on the trail staring intently in my direction about 40 yards away.  Oops, busted and game barely started. Big wings clawed for air as he took flight to parts unknown.  Where  there’s one turkey usually/sometimes there are more and now it’s  past time to get setup.

I select two different Willlowridge tongue teasers calls one built from purple heart and the other made of chestnut are placed in the go position ready for some very robust aggressive calling.  On mornings in the big turkey woods I have learned aggressive calling works best to bring in turkeys.  Once they get interested a hunter needs to keep them hooked with no slack in the audio line, for if slack is allowed toms will usually get distracted and throw the hook.  At this point in the game I’m thinking that distant gobbler or the one who flew away are the best chance.

Alternating between the calls I cast out course yelps, aggressive purrs and clucks for about 15 minutes elicited a  gobble which I answered immediately and continued cutting his gobbles off midway at each gobble.  The gobbles were getting closer and I must admit I was playing around more than really expecting the turkey to travel all that way across the two creeks to me.  Before I knew it, not only did the gobbler arrive but he brought a gobbling buddy.  Both turkeys went in and out of  strut as they closed the distance, I continue to cluck whenever they could not see me.  Only one turkey gobbled the other just strutted along silently.

As the toms cleared brush entering the open red oak woodland they did their final strut and pirouetted.  When the fans blocked their heads the tongue teaser gently slid onto my lap as my Remington rose to target…  Unfortunately for his buddy, the silent buddy offered the first clear headshot and I took it.

 

Purple heart and chestnut tongue teasers closed the deal.

Purple heart and chestnut tongue teasers closed the deal.

 

 

Sunrise Wild Turkey

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Moon giving way to morning.

Moon giving way to morning.

Every hunt has a certain ebb and flow, plans are made, altered and when it comes to wild turkey hunting altered again.  Turkeys are random birds being there one day and somewhere else the next. A turkey hunter is never sure… this was the case last night when a good buddy called  to tell me about a gobbler he heard while fishing on the Mississippi that afternoon. When a turkey’s location is offered during the last week of Wisconsin’s turkey season you’d be wise to pay attention and change plans accordingly.  An active late afternoon gobbler is likely going to roost nearby.

My buddy got fed up with Wisconsin’s licensing scheme and  quit turkey hunting a few years ago.  He has no desire to turkey hunt after the first 2 weeks for which, he was never drawn or he’d forget to apply. A late season turkey tag would just interfere with his beloved fishing.

During the fall this buddy loves to bow hunt deer so I had given him GPS coordinates to a particular spot where I figured he’d have a chance at a dandy buck.  While fall turkey hunting Vic the Turkey Dog and I would see this 12 pointer,  after just a couple of hours my buddy killed his first trophy class buck.

He felt he owed me something in return and  knew I would be interested in his turkey report including the coordinates.  Besides he figured I was the only one crazy enough to  climb that  huge bluff in the dark from river level.

My hunting plan ebbed and  at 4:40 AM: I found myself at the base of a 500 foot bluff thinking just maybe my friend was playing with me. There was no turkey talk going on, a beautiful but silent morning 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.

To catch my breath and figure at things I setup on the most comfortable tree of the season, the sun just a red beam 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 and into fighting purrs. Nothing. Let out a series of lost yelps and kee-kees. Quiet.

The most intense sunrise ever?

The most intense sunrise ever?

About 6:10 burning red light reflected off the morning clouds, the sunrise light is filtering and dancing in all around throughout the woods, magically gorgeous and I know not from where he came, the most outrageously beautiful strutting turkey I have ever seen; bathed in the glow of sunrise. His feathers caught and shimmered those colored rays of light back at me as he pirouetted on his toes in a manner that would make any ballerina jealous. I gazed intently over the  barrel, usually a natural thing at times like this, but it seemed so out of place on this morning…..

There are times when the quarry has conducted itself admirably and  you’ve hunted well.  Isn’t that reward enough?

Tough to Hunt Gobbler Led to Ghillie Suited Grass Setup

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You all know this gobbler or at least have met/heard him.  He sits on his roost proclaiming himself king for the day.  He wants all the other toms to back off and leave all the hens to him.  Because he is stuck on gobble every hunter in the areas thinks Mr. Loud Mouth will be an easy mark only to find out this bird is king of hunter avoiding strategies.  My advice is when you meet this turkey find another to hunt or you’ll find yourself addicted to killing this particular bird.  You find yourself getting up earlier and earlier in order to head him off while each time for some not so obvious reason or maybe an obvious reason you can’t figure out due to the additional sleep deprivation.

grass setup closeup (1024x766)

Ghillie Suit hides the human form.  Make sure it is made of natural materials they reflect less light.

Anyone who knows me, knows I can’t bring myself to give up, so my sound advice above goes right over my own head which leads me to unusual or some would say desperate tactics.  Such is the case in the following tale of the grass setup.

This turkey out gobbled every turkey in the valley making him impossible to ignore.  He seemed to have a easy pattern and at first glance I thought he would be wearing my tag in short order.  However, his habit of leaving the roost and walking to the upper field ended the first time I setup there; he walked down hill.  Must have seen or heard me, odd all the other turkeys flew or walked into the upper field.  Next morning I arrived earlier and snuck into woods middle ridge, it stayed quiet except for the wing beats landing in the field.  Then after my 2+ hour wait he started gobbling at 6 O’clock and stayed on roost until 7 before dropping the ground and sprinting up into the field gobbling all the way.  His zigging and my zagging went on for days.

Then I remembered my grass ghillie suit.  A disappointing apparel purchase mainly because it was very hard to move in.  It picked up every sticker and snagged on every piece of vegetation.  I realized that would not matter since the field was freshly planted and the 12 inch high grass strip would provide sufficient cover to lay in.  There was one particular fold in that field where the turkeys moved through out of range of any edge setup.  With only 2 days left to fill 2 tags I smirked at how well this idea would work.

grass setup 2 (1024x493)

View the approaching turkeys see.

Morning dawned on me lying on dew coated grass wearing an artificial grass boonie hat dressed in a grass suit with gun resting along my right side.  Sure glad only turkeys are out in those early mornings.  Someone from normal society might try and lockup a camo painted face grass clad hunter.  Some things are just too hard to explain to those outside the know.

The target turkey sounded off and stayed on roost while a hen moseyed along staring at me.  I had called on a tongue teaser call, she came to point of call.   She purred and stared looking for the turkey she had heard.  A hunting buddy had told me a story of how he moved while hiding in some logs during a fall hunt thinking he messed up his chances when all of sudden the flock of turkeys came over to investigate.  He figured they were expecting to see movement and his movement looked turkey like to them, he shot his bird.  So I moved my head and the hen immediately came within a few feet of me continuing to purr.  The two us played this game for at least a half hour.

The turkeys were within and never showed any concern as I laid still watching.

The turkeys were within feet and never showed any concern as I laid still watching. Bagged a second gobbler from this setup the next day.

He appeared without warning, I had been distracted playing with the hen and not paying attention of the gobbler’s approach.  The gobbler stood at attention staring at me and the fading away hen, she moved up the field past my head out of sight.

The gobbler moved to a 45 angle a few feet from my feet looking down at me.  My plan, as had happened on so many other open area setups was to wait for him to strut,  pirouette until his fan blocked his vision, rise up with gun pointed and shoot as he came out of strut.  Sounds easy, that is, until the gobbler is not in the mood to strut and looking down on you.  Come on, there is a hen please strut your stuff….

As the gobbler resumed stiff legging closer it was very apparent he was not going to strut.  My fingers found the shotgun’s grip, fumbled the safety off as the barrel aligned with his beak.  Pink mist filled the air with the headless turkey flopping on his back, he felt no pain.

Second Turkey using Grass Ghillie Suit.

Second Turkey using Grass Ghillie Suit.

History of Ghillie Suits

The word ghillie is an old Scottish term for a special kind of game warden. Ghillies were tasked with protecting the game on their Lord’s lands from poachers. From time to time, the ghillies would stalk the game by hiding in the grass and lying perfectly still. They would wait for unsuspecting deer to amble by and then leap out and grab it with their bare hands. Ghillies would then haul their prize back to the keep so the Lord could shoot it in the castle courtyard in a “mock hunt.”

 

Grass setups work to get tough gobblers in close.

Grass Ghillie Suit setups work to get tough gobblers in close.