Post by MountainMan on Apr 30, 2006 16:00:15 GMT -5
I had to work on a project for work until 1 a.m. the night before. By the time I got the coffee maker set and lights turned out, it was pretty much 1:30. 4:30 a.m., the alarm is going off--I almost got back in bed to stay, but I managed to make myself dring some coffee, shower, and get my gear together. By the time I emailed the project I had completed to my boss and drove to my parking spot, it was much later than I wanted: 6 a.m.
I threw on my turkey vest, followed by a napsack, and then grabbed my gun. I climbed down 100 feet of ridge or ravine and waded the creek, then shucked off my soggy boots, socks, and pants. My rubber boots, new socks, and camo pants came out of the pack and on me. 6:20 a.m. and a hint of light over the top of the mountain.
I then started climbing the mountain. 40 minutes and 500 to 600 feet of elevation later, I reached my bench and took a breather. By this time, it is light out and birds are singing. I start moving toward the end of the bench where the powerline cuts through. My marked route is just below the lip of the bench.
Along the way I find fresh turkey sign—the first I’ve seen all year—and LOTS of it! I hear crunching and moving in the leaves ahead and wonder if there are turkeys or deer. It comes charging toward and just as I see them 50 yards off, the dogs see me and start barking. Two black mutts and a brown boxer. I hiss “Git!” as quietly as possible and act undeterred and they move off down the mountain, but I watch my backtrail to make sure I’m not followed. Still, I figure any turkeys nearby are alerted.
I reach the end of the upper bench and catch my breath again. I hear one or two faint gobbles out toward the power line cut, so at about 7:15, I start picking my way through the boulders and rock slides down toward the lower bench and the power line cut. When I’ve descended about 200 feet, I can catch glimpses of green and know that the powerline is about 150 yards ahead and another 100 feet below me. It’s 7:25 and I can hear gobbling—LOTS of gobbling.
I think that the bird is on the far side of the power line and off to my left. I realize that I am still in my short sleeve shirt, so I hunker down behind and blowdown, throw off my vest and pack, yank on my long-sleeve shirt and headnet, pop a diaphram call in my mouth, slip my gloves and vest back on, and hide the pack under the tree trunk. During this time the bird gobble twice about thirty seconds apart off to my left, then waited a couple of minutes, gobbled twice about thirty seconds apart right ahead, didn’t say anything for another two or three minutes, then gobbled off to my right and a bit fainter.
I realized he was moving away and I needed to hurry. Slipped on down slowly listing to his gobbling continuing off ahead and right as I moved down a hogback to the level area. I pick a tree about 45 yards from the powerline and ease up to it. It’s now about 7:35. I give a series of about four soft yelps and get a gobble back, ahead and slightly to the right. Not sure about the distance. A couple minutes later a gobble more to my right and fainter. He’s still moving away!!!
I yelped more plaintively and heard a couple of gobbles straight ahead and guessed he was no more than 100 yards off, louder than any gobbles before. A few seconds later I hear another gobble off to the right and further down the mountain. It’s two birds, not one moving away! I quickly make sure I am all situated with my barrel pointed toward the louder gobble. Then I hear another set of gobbles off to my left a little further away than the closest bird, followed by the one straight ahead. A third gobbler! But the one straight ahead seems a little louder and I know in my gut he’s coming my way.
A minute or two later, I think I glimpse through the trees and brush a little dark brown movement in the power line cut about 60 yards away. My heart is racing. Another two minutes and I see movement in and through the thick stuff ahead. Then some blue and red. The top of a turkey head moving fast in my direction from straight toward the powerline! He clambers over a large tree trunk about thirty-five yards away and heads toward me at a dead run.
I have little to no doubt that it’s a gobbler, but I don’t want to shoot until I actually see a beard. Finally, when he hops over a large downed limb between us, I see a beard flop over with him.
At 25 yards, I let fly with 1.75 ounces of Heavy 13 #6’s out of my Mossberg 500 with a Kicks .665 choke. He flops.
Just then, another bird runs in from the left and starts jumping on and flogging my bird. I realize almost right away that he appears taller, a bit larger, and his beard is longer. I don’t want to move while this big boy is here—don’t want him to learn from the fate of my bird. The show continues, and them my bird rights himself and takes about three drunken steps and starts flopping again. The flogging continues, but I decide I’m not going to risk losing my first turkey. I pump and the new, bigger bird putt-putts and moves away. When mine stands up again, the big boy starts to go back to kick him around some more, but finally scurries off when I actually stand up. At fifteen yards, I hit him again and the flopping stops.
After doing a little dance and saying a prayer of thanks, I tag him and get him into my vest. 7:45 a.m. Wow, that was fast!
I was surprised that the first shot didn't lay him out flat. When I paced off the yards later, though, I found that I missed seeing a 2.5" sapling between me and the bird. My shot pulverized the trunk, chopped the tree down, and still had enough to knock down the bird. I think I'll keep shooting the Heavy13.
Climb back up to my pack, then back down, put in my deke and jacket that were in the vest. I try working my way back up to the upper bench by another route, hoping to find a less hazardous way. I determine one does not exist. It takes me a full hour of sliding down slopes and clambering over boulders and rock slides to get back up the 300 feet to my bench.
Three rests and 2.5 hours of hiking and wading after I tagged the bird, I arrive back at my car. I realize that I missed out on tagging the bigger bird, but I don’t regret it one bit. After all, I spent four full hours of mountain climbing to get this bird off this public land, and he’s my first solo gobbler. I’ll try for the big boy or the third gobbler later in the season.
My first solo gobbler:
Stats: 6.5" beard, 3/4" spurs, 19 pounds.
I threw on my turkey vest, followed by a napsack, and then grabbed my gun. I climbed down 100 feet of ridge or ravine and waded the creek, then shucked off my soggy boots, socks, and pants. My rubber boots, new socks, and camo pants came out of the pack and on me. 6:20 a.m. and a hint of light over the top of the mountain.
I then started climbing the mountain. 40 minutes and 500 to 600 feet of elevation later, I reached my bench and took a breather. By this time, it is light out and birds are singing. I start moving toward the end of the bench where the powerline cuts through. My marked route is just below the lip of the bench.
Along the way I find fresh turkey sign—the first I’ve seen all year—and LOTS of it! I hear crunching and moving in the leaves ahead and wonder if there are turkeys or deer. It comes charging toward and just as I see them 50 yards off, the dogs see me and start barking. Two black mutts and a brown boxer. I hiss “Git!” as quietly as possible and act undeterred and they move off down the mountain, but I watch my backtrail to make sure I’m not followed. Still, I figure any turkeys nearby are alerted.
I reach the end of the upper bench and catch my breath again. I hear one or two faint gobbles out toward the power line cut, so at about 7:15, I start picking my way through the boulders and rock slides down toward the lower bench and the power line cut. When I’ve descended about 200 feet, I can catch glimpses of green and know that the powerline is about 150 yards ahead and another 100 feet below me. It’s 7:25 and I can hear gobbling—LOTS of gobbling.
I think that the bird is on the far side of the power line and off to my left. I realize that I am still in my short sleeve shirt, so I hunker down behind and blowdown, throw off my vest and pack, yank on my long-sleeve shirt and headnet, pop a diaphram call in my mouth, slip my gloves and vest back on, and hide the pack under the tree trunk. During this time the bird gobble twice about thirty seconds apart off to my left, then waited a couple of minutes, gobbled twice about thirty seconds apart right ahead, didn’t say anything for another two or three minutes, then gobbled off to my right and a bit fainter.
I realized he was moving away and I needed to hurry. Slipped on down slowly listing to his gobbling continuing off ahead and right as I moved down a hogback to the level area. I pick a tree about 45 yards from the powerline and ease up to it. It’s now about 7:35. I give a series of about four soft yelps and get a gobble back, ahead and slightly to the right. Not sure about the distance. A couple minutes later a gobble more to my right and fainter. He’s still moving away!!!
I yelped more plaintively and heard a couple of gobbles straight ahead and guessed he was no more than 100 yards off, louder than any gobbles before. A few seconds later I hear another gobble off to the right and further down the mountain. It’s two birds, not one moving away! I quickly make sure I am all situated with my barrel pointed toward the louder gobble. Then I hear another set of gobbles off to my left a little further away than the closest bird, followed by the one straight ahead. A third gobbler! But the one straight ahead seems a little louder and I know in my gut he’s coming my way.
A minute or two later, I think I glimpse through the trees and brush a little dark brown movement in the power line cut about 60 yards away. My heart is racing. Another two minutes and I see movement in and through the thick stuff ahead. Then some blue and red. The top of a turkey head moving fast in my direction from straight toward the powerline! He clambers over a large tree trunk about thirty-five yards away and heads toward me at a dead run.
I have little to no doubt that it’s a gobbler, but I don’t want to shoot until I actually see a beard. Finally, when he hops over a large downed limb between us, I see a beard flop over with him.
At 25 yards, I let fly with 1.75 ounces of Heavy 13 #6’s out of my Mossberg 500 with a Kicks .665 choke. He flops.
Just then, another bird runs in from the left and starts jumping on and flogging my bird. I realize almost right away that he appears taller, a bit larger, and his beard is longer. I don’t want to move while this big boy is here—don’t want him to learn from the fate of my bird. The show continues, and them my bird rights himself and takes about three drunken steps and starts flopping again. The flogging continues, but I decide I’m not going to risk losing my first turkey. I pump and the new, bigger bird putt-putts and moves away. When mine stands up again, the big boy starts to go back to kick him around some more, but finally scurries off when I actually stand up. At fifteen yards, I hit him again and the flopping stops.
After doing a little dance and saying a prayer of thanks, I tag him and get him into my vest. 7:45 a.m. Wow, that was fast!
I was surprised that the first shot didn't lay him out flat. When I paced off the yards later, though, I found that I missed seeing a 2.5" sapling between me and the bird. My shot pulverized the trunk, chopped the tree down, and still had enough to knock down the bird. I think I'll keep shooting the Heavy13.
Climb back up to my pack, then back down, put in my deke and jacket that were in the vest. I try working my way back up to the upper bench by another route, hoping to find a less hazardous way. I determine one does not exist. It takes me a full hour of sliding down slopes and clambering over boulders and rock slides to get back up the 300 feet to my bench.
Three rests and 2.5 hours of hiking and wading after I tagged the bird, I arrive back at my car. I realize that I missed out on tagging the bigger bird, but I don’t regret it one bit. After all, I spent four full hours of mountain climbing to get this bird off this public land, and he’s my first solo gobbler. I’ll try for the big boy or the third gobbler later in the season.
My first solo gobbler:
Stats: 6.5" beard, 3/4" spurs, 19 pounds.
