Chapter Two: Wherein John Re-Learns Some Very Hard Lessons.
Last night about 10:30 I decide it is time to work the roost again. Before turning in, I looked the gear over and decided to skip the historical accuracy of period clothes and opted for the old fashioned treebark camo jumpsuit and a Mega-fanny pack to carry calls and gear. Never having blooded this flintlock smoothbore, still being loaded from the other day, I decided I would carry that. But not the full shooting bag and powder horn. I intended to have the bird all but physically in contact with my person before pulling the trigger, so one shot should do it. No need to carry extra gear, right? Right! I set the alarm on my phone and turned the sound down as low as it would go.
I was up and making coffee at 4:15. Lena, my near constant companion rez dog from Pine Ridge was up with me and faithfully keeping her food dish company in the kitchen. "Sorry, kiddo, breakfast when I come back. Go back to bed!" She stood, stretched, yawned the most melodramatic and operatic way and headed off to occupy the warm spot I left on the mattress.
I took the longer and easier way up to One Two Eight since the moon was low on the eastern horizon and not lighting my way. I found out yet ANOTHER reason why pre-season scouting is important...the deer trail I know by heart had a several major blowdowns blocking it and I had to fumble through a Marine Corps agility course with fear knowing that at any minute I could encounter a random broken branch with an eye socket! Call it this day's Mistake Number One.
I decided to sit back from the roost a little further and a bit higher up the hill. Not my normal technique, this left a long field of view for the birds to pick me out as they would approach, but I had an old dead tree laying down at my back and several branches breaking up my profile. This way, I could pick and choose amongst the toms to try taking the biggest! I was settled in at 5:11, sunrise today would be at 6:11 and legal shooting time is 30 minutes before sunrise. That gave me a good 30 minutes to rest and relax, listening to the wind blow through the pines carrying the smell of woodsmoke from the forest fire down at Wind Cave National Park. I set out the box call I won my first year at the Tennessee Classic, tattoo dave's slate, and the custom suction call I had just finished for iowabow. My intent was to use none of them until the birds were actually flying down from the trees, lessening the chance that they would spot something "off" or suspicious from their perches high in the starry night.
As usual, the birds across the canyon, across the road, over on private land lit up first. A single gobble split the night like a crack of rifle fire! It was 5:24, right on time. Hens chimed in, more gobbles, some jakes trying out their new pipes and seemingly choking on their sad little attempts at gobbling. My spot in the deep pine duff was comfy. One branch of the dead pine lying on the ground cradled my head at just the right angle. It was a sweet morning until the thought came to me that I needed to prime the pan on my flintlock. It was loaded and would remain so until it was fired or I drew the charge. But for safety, I had cleared the priming from the pan before I left the woods the other morning. And there in my mind's eye was the picture of my shooting pouch and powderhorn sitting side by side on my recliner. Right where I left them. No charger full of FFFFg, not even a FFg shot right from the main horn. No, nothing at all. My fancy wood, steel, iron, and brass construct was as useful as a golf club at a tennis court. Call it Mistake Number Two for the day.
"All in stride, son, all in stride." I told myself. We will just talk a little with the birds when they come down off the roost and get to know them as they work the strut zone. It would be nice to just spend the time with these birds and not be bent on working them for all I am worth in order to shoot. No, this is going to be a nice morning of just talking to the birdies. But as the sun was coming up and it was closing in on legal shooting time, there was still no sound from my side of the road. I could not plainly see the roost trees, so I could not confirm nor deny the presence of birds. Things across the road, however, had reached a fever pitch! Birds were double gobbling, hens were cackling and pitting. It was quite the party over there prior to pitching down. On my side, dead silence.
Knowing I am not the only person to hunt this area, I assumed that someone had hit this roost over the weekend and they had all moved to private land across the canyon and road. So be it. It has happened before. I sat up and loaded all the various gear back into my multipocketed fanny pack and cinched it up. I stood up, stretched, and pulled off the camo mask and stocking cap. I had birds on the wrong side of the road here last year and pulled them across. Maybe I could repeat the performance, in effect loading this roost site for tomorrow morning's hunt! I walked down the hill and right past the roost trees in order to better line up with the flock across the road.
I pulled out the slate and began to give some easy tree yelps as an introduction to the flock. Hens answered and the gobblers were bawling like bulls getting cut for oxen! I upped my ante and cackled a little before adding a series of warmed up yelps. The flock across the road was responding nicely, so I pulled iowabow's new suction call out and gave a few more yelps of encouragement. It must have sounded good because it drew gobbles from the unoccupied roost!!!
Call that one Mistake Number Three. I had prejudged the situation before all the facts were in, too confidant in my own experience. Rather than making the situation worse by continuing to call while the birds on the One Two Eight roost had me made, I simply folded the hand I had dealt myself and slipped quietly into the trees, down the hillside to the hiway. I made it to my Jeep in a few short minutes and was back home making breakfast for myself and Lena before 6:30 a.m.
Recap: 1) Scout pre-season, even if it is just to kick branches and pine cones off your insertion and/or extraction route. No sense trying to maneuver a minefield and risk alerting the flock, or worse yet, injuring yourself.
2) Always walk yourself thru the entire gear checklist EVERY time. It's the littlest things that can trip you up.
3)Just cuz you didn't hear a bird does not mean there ain't a bird. Boy howdy.
Ok, so I pitched a bad game. I made a lot of errors and gave up far too many runs. I don't know why I am using a football analogy, I never watch football. But tomorrow is another game. At least I did not continue my errors so long that I educated the birds TOO much. The woman that first taught me basics in raptor handling told me that every time you step within the sight of that hawk/falcon/owl/eagle/whatever, someone learns something. The bird definitely learns something about you, but YOU need to make sure you learn something too, rather than waste the opportunity.
I guess I will chalk this one up as "no harm, no fowl".
you see what I did there?
