Primitive Archer
Main Discussion Area => Shooting and Hunting => Topic started by: JW_Halverson on May 08, 2015, 09:25:03 pm
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A number of forum members are converging on the Black Hills of South Dakota in order to pit themselves against some of the oldest, wiliest, and most frustrating turkeys on the face of the earth. We have not had a decent hatch in 4 years and what gobblers we have are mostly a pretty call-shy and well educated bunch of hard cases. Nonetheless, we shall throw ourselves at them with vim and vigor! Not with much common sense or goodjudgement, most likely.
I am starting the post so we will have a place to post pics and tell our individual stories. Iowabow had a good time last year and we are hoping he goes home with more than just stories. Soy is struggling to make it in from Minnesota, fighting against an outbreak of bird flu that is bent on wrecking his job and main source of revenue. Meanwhile, Primitive Tim continues northbound in his Scooby Doo Mystery Machine, utterly UNDAUNTED by the weatherman's threat that we are facing a spring snowstorm and snow that may be measured in FEET! I wonder if his tie dye will work for or against him as a form of camoflauge.
I've been working in the kitchen non-stop for several days making meals that we can simply reheat and eat. We will be dining on venison stew, chili, carnitas and other hearty fare. I am hoping I can feed them so well that they don't feel the humiliation these crusty old gobblers are gonna be handing out like mini Snickers bars at Halloween.
Keep a weather eye out, turkeys...and you birds, too!
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I am going to wreck some turkeys!!! >:D
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Good all.
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Looking forward to pictures!!
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How is turkey hunting in blizzard conditions?
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Well, Pat....lemme tell ya, this little grey duck stayed in bed this morning! We have received more moisture in the last 24 hours than the rest of the whole year before now! I got 8 inches of wet, sloppy, slush (I hesitate to call it snow).
This is going to be tough on the hens. Most likely they have all abandoned their nests and will lose this clutch. This coming week, the hens will be more active again and bossing the toms around like Tiger Moms. Not only does hunting this week sound bleak, but losing a good hatch this year exacerbates an already bad situation.
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Sorry to here that JW....................
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Should I be bringing my snowshoes for the hunt? ;D
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Sounds like that will be a hoot Turkeys or not with that group gathering. Good luck. :)
Pappy
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Soy rolled into my driveway some time Monday evening last...I was still at work. We sat up and told "outrageous truths" until pretty late. I let him help feed our little American kestrel and he thought it was pretty cool stuff. Nest morning, long before the chickens had even settled in to sleep, much less gotten up, we were out of the house and out to the One Two Eight Roost where we set up and talked to some gobblers on the roost. Somehow, they left the roost silently and we never had so much as a sniff of their butts disappearing! Oh, the joy of getting humiliated by a bird with a brain the size of a shelled pecan! He and I drove off a few miles to another place and tried working some other gobblers, but they were pretty henned up. Plus, we had gotten a lot of snow the weekend before and we were soaked to the skin and went home.
On Tuesday afternoon I got a call on an injured great horned owl and Soy was 'voluntold' to come along. We found her next to a road construction cone, likely had been hit by a car. He got to see one of our largest and fiercest avian apex predators up close and personal! Being a real lover of the outdoors and wildlife in general, he was soaking it in pretty fast. I was glad to have the help along.
He helped me pack and we headed out to camp north of Custer, SD and a few miles straight west from the Crazy Horse Monument. We were busy setting things up when we looked over and saw a sight that was frightening. It was a flatlander out of his natural environment! A genuine abo rock knocker by the moniker of Iowabow. Apparently I had failed to be vague enough with the directions to the camp and he found it with no problem. Shortly after that, my friend and tattoo artist, Mikey showed up. With many hands, the camp was set up in record time. I fried up some steaks and red potatoes in order to save them from having their bellies rub a blister on their backbones. Based on the belching and sighs, they were not dissatisfied.
Next morning kyle_wayne (a very infrequent poster, but frequent lurker on here) showed up with a buddy he and I know from the Rendezvous scene. A bit later, we looked up to see the skinniest, funniest looking sasquatch cub staring thru the pines at us with a bemused look on his mug. Apparently this was not only a cub 'squatch, but one that was just beginning to become an adult. I could tell, because he was obviously out searching for new territory to call his own. His big hairy feet had dried gumbo clay from the Badlands clinging to them all the way to his knees. We invited him in and fed him. Young 'squatches will eat about anything, I am here to tell you! After a few thousand calories into the youngin, we got his story out of him. He had left Florida weeks ago and had wandered thru the Tennessee Classic, Indiana, Iowa, and into South Dakota. He looked a lot like Primitive Tim.
The gang was all there, the weather was pure, unmitigated crap most of the time with wind and rain chasing our butts up and down the ridgelines. Any chance the sun came out, we were slinging gear out to dry on any handy bush or stump. We stayed up far too late, got up far too early, and failed to take afternoon naps. The turkeys were as uncooperative as a 3 yr old throwing a fit in a candy store! Primitive Tim got shot in the knee with an arrow, but that is his story to tell. Many of the folks had never met before, but were fast friends by the time camp broke up. It was a rare pleasure to be camp wrangler and cookie for this bunch of guys.
I want to thank each and every one of them for coming out and pitching in to making this a memorable week in the woods. Now I am gonna let those that are willing to tell their stories.
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Sounds like a great time to Me Jdub ! Nothing like sharing a fire with Friends - Old or New. Bob
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You are the man JW. What a great idea. Sure am looking forward to the others tales of this adventure.
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You are the man JW. What a great idea. Sure am looking forward to the others tales of this adventure.
I think more you should do this. Find a piece of ground to hunt and invite a few of the folks from nearby or farby, and have a good time! We PA folks seem to get along pretty well in camp when we stick to the ground rules we abide by on this forum.
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A few great guys here. Awesome group of people.
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In bed no later than 1:00 a.m. and up by 3:30 a.m. Any guess why I fell asleep standing up between Mikey and Soy?
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So I drive through the night from Illinois so that I wouldn't be late to this hunt and when I show up these dudes look at me like they never seen a Floridian before and they start slinging everything in sight at me. I got hit with arrows, bolos, and even snowballs! The snowballs hurt the worst though. I'm thinking this is some kind of yankee western welcoming and starting to second guess the idea of continuing west. After the harassment ended they kept me well fed although they wouldn't let me sleep anywhere near them and made me sleep in my van which was fine by me cause every person in that camp snored like a herd of bison, shoot, I could hear them in my van 200 yds down the hill. When I got there it was sunny and 65, the next day it was nothing but overcast and cold. That ain't my scene so I decided to go into hibernation. The next morning at 4 AM it sounded like a troop of baboons was banging on my van. So they dragged me out to sit in the cold and crawl around sneaking up on nothing. Iowabow kept hearing something "gobble" but never did a turkey show itself. I knew it was too cold way up here for there to actually be any turkeys. It didn't sound like no turkey I ever heard. So after barely escaping frostbite we return and I go back into hibernation. I wake up on the last day when the sun comes up and they're all looking at me like I'm a turkey. Long story short, I get clubbed and carried off and I wake up in a warm pot of water that's just getting hotter. I ain't about getting eaten by no cannibals so I tear out of there like a hyena with its tail on fire and they all just laugh at me. I try talking to them and they all laughed like it was just a joke. brb not funny. Iowabow wants to do one more hunt so I tag along in hope of getting some footage of a decent hunt. After getting us thoroughly lost he says he thinks turkeys will come by here based on no reasoning at all. As the sun gets lower it just gets colder and I'm about doze off but the nippy air wouldn't let me doze. Then out of nowhere a spirit starts crashing through the woods on the ridge behind me. I sit still by my pine tree and scroll through snapchat on my phone and take a selfie. Iowabow looks at me and I give him a look that says, "Yo turkey hunting is the worst thing ever." Finally after hours of sitting quiet he gets up and decides it's time to give up on that evening. He then looks and me and expresses how he had gotten cold. Me being upset about his inability to call a turkey in I grin and tell him that I wasn't cold at all and that he's a weenie for getting cold. I proceed to tell him lies that will make him feel insecure about himself on the way back. Iowabow was all turned around so I led us back to camp since all he knows how to do is wander around in the woods. He even pulled out this silly little compass that I'm pretty sure was pointing SSW. Either way it don't matter since a compass is useless anyway. When we get back JW has laid out a delicious spread and I gorge myself. I didn't even use utensils. I just ate like an animal and got the food in my mouth as fast as possible before anyone else could steal my food. I can't even really tell you if JW is a good cook or not since the food barely touched my tongue. The texture was good anyway. I go down to my van to sleep off the copious amounts sustenance I've consumed. I threaten Iowabow that if he dare wake me in the morning for one of his silly turkey hunts then I'd strangle him and ship his body back to Iowa where they'd use him as fertilized in a corn field. Needless to say nobody woke me up. When I did wake up everybody was gone. The cars I was parked next to had all disappeared. Well good, I thought. I'm gonna get out of these impoverished hills. Then they all show back up. I don't even know what they were all doing but i don't want to know either. So I just kept sleeping and they packed everything up and when they were done I offered to help them. Jajaja! tents are dumb, van camping is where it's at! So yeah that's pretty much what happened. Don't listen to anyone that says any different.
(https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CFbJtZGVIAENpdi.jpg)
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:laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:!
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Trying to hunt with shaggy the camera man was a real challenge and at one point I had decided to just give up and let my spirit go to the great turkey hunting grounds in the sky. What proceed this frustrating event could only be compared to parenting a distance cousin with ADD. On the way out for the first hunt I was ask so many questions I lied about where we were going to hunt and drop him I the woods and proceeded down the road but started feeling sorry for Soy and returned and picked them up. Poor Soy volunteered to hold his hand as I reassured Palm Tree Tim that he would not be eaten and in fact was not going to die as we moved through the woods in the dead of night. After sneaking to an overlook and getting set for an ambush Soy and I looked around but couldn't find the beach boy anywhere. Rather than continue the hunt we started searching only to find a frozen floridian balled up in a fetal position and hidden in a rock crack. Blue, freezing, and clearly suffering the effects of hypothermia we brought him to consciousness just in time. Realizing the dyer state of his condition we abandoned a perfect location to save his life. We realized his van was the only sanctuary where survival in these parts would be possible for a cape man.
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In bed no later than 1:00 a.m. and up by 3:30 a.m. Any guess why I fell asleep standing up between Mikey and Soy?
Heck J-Dub that sounds like my typical around home turkey hunt. Too late to bed and too early to rise. Difference being I can nap back at home, these ya-hoo's wont give you that time Im betting!
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In bed no later than 1:00 a.m. and up by 3:30 a.m. Any guess why I fell asleep standing up between Mikey and Soy?
Heck J-Dub that sounds like my typical around home turkey hunt. Too late to bed and too early to rise. Difference being I can nap back at home, these ya-hoo's wont give you that time Im betting!
Oh, there was plenty of napping...with a capital K! Freaking chain gang busting rocks and ooga-boogeying all afternoon! Every once in a while they would pick up some random scrap of disreputable gravel off the ground and howl like werepoodles about some "amazing point" ....Ooooh, it's a Kladatchinan whangslunkle, look at how bifurclumpled the hurglefunkt is! The others would get this glazed look like an orangutan in a string theory seminar, nodding their heads and scratching their groins. Then they would go back to their individual pieces of sandstone, feldspar, or half baked clay and beat away at it out of frustration, mumbling and muttering away to themselves as they bled from every finger.
As for "Primitive Tim", what can I say about the Cape Man? Didja know his area code for his phone is 321? As in the final countdown for a rocket flight to space? Yeah, he comes from Cape Canaveral! Home of some of the highest technology in he country! Primitive, yeah right. He slept in his "VAN", which we figured out was just a reject solid fuel booster rocket housing on wheels. Yeah, that's primitive, Cape Man!
As for him eating without utensils, thinking we would believe this was part of his "primitive charm", his grandmother called ahead of time and told us not to trust him with anything sharp or pointy. Sure enough, he has these little scars all over his face in straight lines of four each. No forks for him!
As for the snoring, he was wrong! There was no snoring in camp. That was farting. I swear those men breathe in thru their noses and out thru their backsides! Especially the King of Korn, iowabow.
That photo of Primitive Tim being slung by a pole and carried off is no exaggeration. It happened. Just not like he said. That "pot of hot water"? Well that was a bathtub, something apparently he does hold in true primitive regard! I AM a kickbutt cook in camp, but there are some ingredients I refuse to handle!!!!
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Oh, my! I hate it when transplanted Floridians give a bad showing for us Natives. ::)
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Oh, my! I hate it when transplanted Floridians give a bad showing for us Natives. ::)
Transplanted? You better watch it! I'm 3rd gen Floridian! And I'm giving Florida as good a name as it has ever gotten!
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Pictured me cooking and JW praying it turns out ok.
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Good thing I got a cast iron stomach.
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Can't get any SWEETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTER than that.
I'm going to remember next spring. Can't get any better than bows and spring gobblers.
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You better bring your BS armor this is a tuff group.
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One of the last mornings greeted us with fog, drizzle, and cold. It generated mixed feelings. On one hand it was cold and damp with no hope in sight of relief or comfort. On the other hand, the moisture would dampen the forest floor and the litter upon it, our footsteps would be muffled and our movements hidden in the fog.
We moved out into the forest and in chopped, terse phrases rapidly sketched out a plan of attack. We chose to split our forces and take two routes in on the suspected enemy position. Both units would move independently and be autonomous scouts. Militarily, this is folly. But we were unlikely to run into return fire and need to call in reinforcements or backups. This was gonna be a turkey shoot!
Iowabow and kylewayne were going in with a small hook to the right, a more direct route at the position. I was to take a wide hook to the left, hustling over a more wide open ridgeline, but longer route in order to block their retreat deeper into the Black Hills National Forest. Our targeted victims had the advantage of being more mobile, with better knowledge of the terrain, and being in significantly better physical condition. But we had the brains. Ours approximately three pounds of reasoning, educated, adaptable logic! Theirs a mere ounce and a half of instinct and hormones, it was breeding season after all! REPEAT: A turkey shoot!
I broke left and moved out at a dogtrot, leaping downed ponderosa pines, dodging wet saplings ready to shower me with overnight rain, and gaining ground quickly. I soon picked up a well used deer trail that led me along a fence and up the ridgeline, avoiding the thickest brush and forest. I made excellent time and found myself in what I believed to be "the pocket". The pocket is that elusive final bit of territory on all sides of a turkey where you are close enough they can't ignore you, but far enough away and with sufficient cover between that they cannot make you out. But sunrise showed the enemy to have moved in the night, or possibly going to roost later than we believed after shifting position.
Not a problem, they were across a sharp hogback ridgeline of granite from me and I could pick up and hustle closer without fear of being seen. The hen was a miser with her calling, but giving up just enough to telegraph her position. I made the most of it and called very sparingly, just enough to guide me in like a laser locked smart bomb.
I had several setups as she moved her small flock around after flydown, feeding and breeding. I stayed in that 40 yard bubble as we moved and counter moved on each other. One single hen did the talking for the flock, but a gobbler would now and then chime in. They were crossing back and forth over the ridgeline as they wandered and sometimes on my side, but out of sight, sometimes on the other side and I could get a small saddle between us to make their path as easy as possible.
But she was a smart and dominant old matron. She kept her poultry platoon in tight formation with no stragglers or bunch quitters! She was a seasoned first sergeant keeping her butter bar lieutenant gobblers in check, safe as houses. I figured working the boys was off the table as a tactic, and went for her ego. If they wouldn't leave her for me, I would get her to come to me!
I stopped yelping and whining at the gobbler's odd rattling calls and instead cued off her every utterance. She'd yelp and I'd quickly jump in and interrupt her with a hotter yelp. A putt from her would get three putts from my calls, a series of yelps would have me shutting her down with a louder and hotter series. I was not letting her get a word in edgewise. If the gobblers were good men that were unwilling to cheat on her, I'd make myself out to be the nastiest skank in the woods and make her wanna run me off!
It got pretty raunchy in those woods, I threw out things from slate calls, box calls, and wingbone calls that no jake should ever hear! It was XXX calling at it's best! But DANG, she was stalwart prude. There was no getting her to come down off that high horse of hers and square off with me. We worked thru at least 5 set-ups where I would have a shot at under 20 yds if they only came around or thru a visual obstruction. Some of the screening cover was a curve in the rock wall of the ridgeline, sometimes a clump of doghair pines.
The last setup had them less than 20 yds away. Close enough that I could make out the sounds of the birds scratching in the pine duff searching for bugs, grubs, seeds and seedlings. I laughed to myself and thought, "fix bayonets, boys, let's charge them!" I decided to back it down to soft purring, clucking, and gentle flock talking like I was one of the crowd keeping in touch with the others. We'd pretty well used up all our moves in this "dance off", and my last option was to hope my feeding calls would make 'em think I had hit a pocket of extra tastey morsels. Maybe they would wander over to share in the bounty.
We held our individual positions for a good half hour. My heart and lungs recovered from exertions, allowing my brain to process better, to stop playing catch-up and start paying attention. The hen sounded good. True and blue, good variety of calls, all of them pretty realistic. But the Tom's call was beginning to unravel in my mind. It was a little high pitched. The rhythm was too quick and mechanical. More and more I began to pick it apart, to analyze it and find fault. I became convinced I had just worked a couple of turkey hunters into position and we had a stalemate!
We had a rock outcropping between us, and scooching back a little allowed me to stay even further back from an accidental shot to the face. The morning coffee was really kicking in and I stood, stretched and prevented forest fires in my immediate vicinity. But my sudden silence was stirring the other hunter's curiosity and they upped their call rate. I gathered my calls together in my belt pack, shifted my pack into position and readied to slip out safely without messing them up. But I couldn't resist a last parting call. Out came the purpleheart lidded box call and I hit it hard with that "shave and a haircut....TWO BITS" rhythm. I had done that earlier in the week when Iowabow and I had sneaked in and set up on Mikey and soy. It says "turkey hunter" to a human, but doesn't really spook a real bird. Great way to clear up any confusion between parties.
Silence. Just the dripping of rain off the ponderosas. The occasional 'yank yank yank' call of the nuthatches, and a pair of crows off in the distance haw-hawing over something they found funny. I could imagine two hunters leaning in to whisper, trying to figure what the heck they had just heard. Now, I knew it was not iowabow and kylewayne because neither was carrying a gobbler call, so this had to be some unknown party. I started to ease over the ridgeline quietly to put some distance between us. At the top, my boot slipped on a loose rock and it rolled off the ridge making a loud crash. My eye followed it and there was a shocking sight I had utterly dismissed as impossible.
Yup, boss hen was 15 yds away and she was followed by 4 red headed birds! Likely the gobble calling was only a jake, his voice not yet fully changed and into his sweet Irish tenor range. There I was, fully exposed for what I was....the invading enemy in the heart of their sovereign lands. Busted, busted fair, and it was all on my shoulders.
Later that same day, kylewayne and I got a set on some birds and again it was hens with jakes. We've had poor hatches the last few years and numbers are down. Shooting a 4 yr old bird is not going to change future populations, but popping a jake takes a breeder out of the equation for the next few years. Normally, a jake is not an unethical choice, but for now they are all getting a pass from me. I don't need to kill a bird at all costs. As much as I want the fletching, wingbones for calls, as well as a little tender stir fry gobbler, I want them around next year breeding the hens.
Yeah, I did it all perfectly. Located, set up, worked hard, good position, but in the end it was my overthinking that did me in. Maybe one of the gobblers was an adult and fair game, maybe not. By busting them, I lost the opportunity to find out for sure. Bested by a bird with a brain the size of a shelled pecan.....again. Like walking into a gunfight without even a knife.
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Another wonderful story. Beautifully written. But that's not exactly how it ended. Could the author, Paul Harvey, please now tell "the rest of the story"? Including the pine cone?
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We will leave my friend, Coney, out of this. Coney is the only friend I have now. You have all let me down. When I was scared and alone, who comforted me? Coney
When I was without support and succor, who was there at my side? Coney.
When I was desperate and reaching out for anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, who was at my side? Coney, the pine cone.
Shut your dirty mouth, you flatlander, you hypo-copper-crit*!!!!
Hey everyone, ask Mr Iowaboy about his one of a kind, custom made, ALL COPPER TURKEY CALL!!!!!!!!
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Jw was welll....lost and Kyle and I had to find him in the woods just before dark. And yes it was a pine cone that gave him comfort during this tragic time while he was lost in the hills.
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I will readily admit that there was a difference in opinion as to exactly which GPS navigation system was correct. There was literally no sun, moor, or stars to go by and I was all for heading in the direction I was sure was south (which it was). Iowaboy wanted to go North and pointed in that direction (which it was). Eventually, I agreed to follow his lead. After all, I had busted my butt chasing a real flock of turkeys while he was wandering around in a mud bog looking (so he claims) for something knappable (what? Like a goose turd? Yeah, I guess that's pretty abo.)
Had I followed my ridge, I would have ended up hitting the gravel road east of camp, instead, we found the logging trail and followed that to the gravel road north of camp.
As for Coney, the wild pine cone I found and nursed back to health, and then released back into the wild successfully....let's just say the chance to look into his eyes and see the gratitude was sufficient for me.
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Now it has gone from hysterically funny to scary. Thanks guys for the lift this morning. What am I saying?
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Too funny Guys ! Bob
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In all seriousness, folks, this was the highlight of my year since I was not able to go to the Tennessee Classic. Instead, I invited a little of that Classic atmosphere to the Black Hills.
You can pull off an event like this, too. A little planning and a lot of good intentions can make it happen. Aim for something like 4-5 people for the first time and it's pretty easy. Maybe break the ice with a weekend burger burn and bow bust! Make shavings and memories, then start inviting friends that have expressed interest in making a bow. Let's become evangelists and win the hearts and minds of people everywhere. Seriously, if more people treated each other like we do on this forum, we might be able to move forward!
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Jw my best memory was the turkey hunt on the second day on a morning hunt. This hunt started the night before when we were jeep scouting areas and listening for gobbles from the side of the road. After trying a couple places we rolled down a hill with a large bowl in it to the right. We got out of the car and stood together getting ready to call when directly in front of me at 50 yards was a flock of turkeys making there way up the hill and into the bowl. I grabbed jw by the collar and yanked him to the ground. He looked at me with that I am lost in the woods and confused look (foreshadowing a future trip) I whispered to him the location and number of turkeys in the group. Anyway we put those birds to sleep and returned the next morning. Running a little behind in the morning as we located a dropped into position on the knob of a hill. By the time we started calling it sounded like the birds were on the way away from us so we got up and took a couple steps only to have birds coming in on us. I dropped to a knee and jw stood motionless and slowly moved his hands behind him to call with the box call. In came a young Tom and a hen. With lots of brush I had cover to start drawing my bow. I pulled back found my anchor but the bird keep moving from one opening to another without stopping maybe 7 seconds went by without having and clear shot. Finally he stopped at 20 yards in a 5 inch opening that I shot right through.
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💘I LOVE COPPER 💘
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0514152226.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0514152226.jpg.html)
And Decoys
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0516151156a.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0516151156a.jpg.html)
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Jw my best memory was the turkey hunt on the second day on a morning hunt. This hunt started the night before when we were jeep scouting areas and listening for gobbles from the side of the road. After trying a couple places we rolled down a hill with a large bowl in it to the right. We got out of the car and stood together getting ready to call when directly in front of me at 50 yards was a flock of turkeys making there way up the hill and into the bowl. I grabbed jw by the collar and yanked him to the ground. He looked at me with that I am lost in the woods and confused look (foreshadowing a future trip) I whispered to him the location and number of turkeys in the group. Anyway we put those birds to sleep and returned the next morning. Running a little behind in the morning as we located a dropped into position on the knob of a hill. By the time we started calling it sounded like the birds were on the way away from us so we got up and took a couple steps only to have birds coming in on us. I dropped to a knee and jw stood motionless and slowly moved his hands behind him to call with the box call. In came a young Tom and a hen. With lots of brush I had cover to start drawing my bow. I pulled back found my anchor but the bird keep moving from one opening to another without stopping maybe 7 seconds went by without having and clear shot. Finally he stopped at 20 yards in a 5 inch opening that I shot right through.
Yeah, I seriously doubt that those 9 turkeys only 50 yards away, with no obstructing woods or terrain, didn't see us drive up in a blue 4 wd Jeep, see us get out and slam the doors, stand there in the ditch taking a leak! No, they were thoroughly oblivious to us, which is why Mr Iowaboy was thinking clearly and violated my personal space, dislocating several cervical vertebrae by doing a reverse hangman's chokehold and throwing me to the ground on the wet spot we had created! >:(
Note how he talks about how difficult the shot was. Notice how he doesn't even mention they were 40 yards away and at a dead run? Notice how he does not give you any indication of the results of this Hail Mary play???
Let it be known, far and wide, across the land and across the seas, where so ever this may be read, down thru the ages and yea, even unto the 7th generation....Mr. Iowaboy was the only person in this seven man camp to MISS A FREAKING TURKEY!!!
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I believe mr iowacopper is part mountain goat...following him up shear cliffs over bolders the size of houses,through cuts and valley's that would require a full arsenal of climbing gear for the average man was no obstacle for him...me on the other hand found myself with boath my arms doing the pinwheel as I was sliding downhill towards certain death off a thousand foot cliff when out of nowhere copper man stiff arms me in the chest knocking me to the ground where he promptly pinned me in place....
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Sounds like a blast. I need to put that on the list as well.
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I believe mr iowacopper is part mountain goat...following him up shear cliffs over bolders the size of houses,through cuts and valley's that would require a full arsenal of climbing gear for the average man was no obstacle for him...me on the other hand found myself with boath my arms doing the pinwheel as I was sliding downhill towards certain death off a thousand foot cliff when out of nowhere copper man stiff arms me in the chest knocking me to the ground where he promptly pinned me in place....
How much did he pay you to concoct that story. Back in camp, the way I heard it, you stubbed your toe and HE fell down!
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Ok so everyone doesn't know about the copper thing yet but I will tell this story in due time. For now all will have to wait for me to take pictures to help explain all this ccccccopper cursing and defiling of my name.
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I believe mr iowacopper is part mountain goat...following him up shear cliffs over bolders the size of houses,through cuts and valley's that would require a full arsenal of climbing gear for the average man was no obstacle for him...me on the other hand found myself with boath my arms doing the pinwheel as I was sliding downhill towards certain death off a thousand foot cliff when out of nowhere copper man stiff arms me in the chest knocking me to the ground where he promptly pinned me in place....
quoting mrs. Iowabow sometimes the tallest tales are the truth Mr. JW. And yes I'm a big Hero.
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Soy was quite the trekker he was a good KID.
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J dub got the 411 on a good spot to hunt from a little pair of hooters
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0512151839.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0512151839.jpg.html)
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0513151138a.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0513151138a.jpg.html)
They were right!!! We were surrounded by gobblers...none of which were willing to hang out but what a morning in the snow listening to no less than a dozen sounding off!
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0512150559.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0512150559.jpg.html)
(http://i1082.photobucket.com/albums/j380/thadsoy/0512150616.jpg) (http://s1082.photobucket.com/user/thadsoy/media/0512150616.jpg.html)
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Those "stool pigeons" are eastern screech owls and resident educators at the Black Hills Raptor Center. One common grey phase showing off her natural camo next to the bark, and the other is a less common red phase screech owl. The grey phase is colored much like a timber wolf with grey, black, brown, tan, and white all grizzled together. Consequently, she was named Big Bad Wolf. the red phase naturally had to be named Little Red Riding Hoot.
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Well as promised here is the most disrespectful gift an ABO hunter could ever receive. The only sound possible from something as sacrilegious as a copper turkey call is a guttural grunt as acid starts moving up your esophagus the very moment before you toss your cookies. Well at least the mouth piece is antler so it's not all bad.
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I dunno, soy and I got gobblers to answer that call like crazy before you got here!
HAHA! IOW-ABO-W HUNTS WITH A COPPER TURKEY CALL! HAHA!
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Great stories, love them. Thanks guys for sharing. :)
Pappy
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Great stories, love them. Thanks guys for sharing. :)
Pappy
precisely.
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Listen, this idea of inviting PA friends out to hunt with me was purely selfish on my part. I got them to spend their hard earned money and vacation days to drive across country to hang out with me, entertain me, sit around a makeshift table with me over a meal, laugh at my inane attempts at jokes, and generally make my life a little bit better. All I did was promise to give them a place to do it, and put some time into cooking the meals ahead of time. They did all the rest.
Seriously. Consider hosting your own PA mini-gathering. Even if it is a burger burn in the backyard while folks scrape wood or beat on rocks. You can't believe what it does for your heart and soul! No wonder Pappy is such a great guy...he gets to be uplifted by about 500 folks coming out to cheer him up at the Classic.
If you want pointers on the mechanics of organizing one of these mini-events, shoot me a p.m. I can give you all kinds of little tips.
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I dunno, soy and I got gobblers to answer that call like crazy before you got here!
HAHA! IOW-ABO-W HUNTS WITH A COPPER TURKEY CALL! HAHA!
Te he he >:D
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Great times! J.W. is that a Cottonwood tree stump? man, I need to get a couple of big hunks of the bark. Tim, are you heading out towards western Montana? Stop, in, take a shower, have a beer, use the rest room, say hi to my deer, and turkeys, and Andy the Cat, that owns me. Seriously, stop in Thompson Falls, Mt. and say hi, and have a beer, or cup of tea, coffee, lighter fluid, benzene, or a soda. I don't have any sodas, but if that is what you want, I will get some. I didn't know you lived in the Cape. I would have stopped in and said howdy, before I came out here. I am now in my Happy Place. You are welcome to stop for awhile. I wanted to stop and say hey to J.W., when I passed through "Vapid City", but Andy, said if they have a dog, I am going to stop, so I had to keep driving. Anyway, glad you got to meet up with J.W. and the rest of the misfits, that sign in on here, now and then. Sounds like you had a ball. I will have to show J.W. how I call turkeys here. It's, cracked corn, and Here, turkey, turkey, turkey, I have use my leg to move them out of the deer food, unless a deer, is smacking them. No hoofing, up dark, dangerous, steep, icy cold, slushy, mountains, and dripping wet under growth, and other silly, turkey hunters, each calling each other in closer, and closer. Should I ever decide to violate the safe zone of my property, it would not be difficult to harvest a turkey of my choice, but it is not that difficult to harvest one farther, up the mountain, or other parts of the area. One rancher, let a turkey hunter, camp out on his property, and he was doing his best for about three days, and was constantly being frustrated. The rancher, finally went up to him, and asked him if wanted to get a nice tom, and he excitedly said yes, so the rancher, put him in his truck, and drove, back towards, the ranch house, and stopped by the fence, and there was a flock of about twenty or more birds, right next to the fence, and the rancher, asked him if any of them suited him. Anyway, thanks, J.W. and the rest of the gang, for an entertaining read. Sorry, you didn't replenish your feather, and wing bone larder, but there is always next year. Just don't tell J.W. that Hoot Owl tastes like chicken. :D
Wayne