Bjrogg is so totally right, especially in the turkey world, the ladies run everything and the gobblers don't even pretend to be in charge!
Up at 3:30 this morning, slugged back cold coffee from the day before while a new pot brewed. Proceeded to put on the camo overalls and get the shoulder straps adjusted and then tried to put the shirt on over....'nother cup of coffee. Could not find my wrist guard or a set of finger tabs to save my sorry life, so I threw my hands in the air and grabbed the shotgun.
I drove to the end of Schroeder Road and the Forest Service gate was open and without a second thought I drove right on through and up the road almost a mile. Parked and slipped the keys into an inner pocket of the vest, and proceeded to hump uphill to gain altitude and get into the roosting zone. I was at a spot where I had hunted deer for many times. I found it several years before on a wild goose chase after a gobbler that wouldn't shut up nor come to me! Not sure why I had not tried turkeys there afterwards, maybe the humiliation of being led by the nose over hill and dale was humiliating.
I was a little late and I could hear birds gobbling in the roost on the next ridge over and higher in elevation. I sucked heaps of clean cool air into my chest and pushed my way to the top of my ridge where it met with their ridge.
I leaned into a big old ponderosa pine and made my asthmatic lungs heave like a demented pipe organ while trying to listen for gobbles coming from the roosts. Nothing. Just nothing. I guessed that they had bailed out of the roost and were low enough that the woods and the terrain were masking any calling. I moved forward quietly and with deliberation. Once I felt I was as close as I dared, I opened the zipper pocket and pulled out the handmade granite slate with the ponderosa pine knothole pot behind it. Tattoo dave found the stone slabs here in the Black Hills last spring and collected the knothole from behind the 2016 Black Hills Primitive Archer Turkey Camp to make the call.
Batter up and the first pitch was quiet and easy. No answer back from the birds. I put a little more heat on the next series of yelps an still no answer. I pocketedd that call with the count 0 and 2, moved downhill another 50 yards. The trees opened up and there was sign of feeding from other birds, so out came the slate and cedar pot that tattoo dave sent me two years ago. I decided for a breaking curve ball and let go a low sliding repeating purr that ramped up to a couple of yelps. Three gobblers swung on that one from three different angles, all lower in elevation than me and at least 200 yards out. Suddenly, we had a ballgame!
I moved downhill through thick cover for about 75 yrds. Two of the three gobblers out front of me called sporadically, but the one to my right had gone dark. 'S all good, I whispered to my self when I found an opening and a fat ponderosa to sit against. I settled in and pulled out the two slates from Dave, the box call from buffalogobbler, and a jointed cane suction call that was softer and sweeter sounding than any wingbone call, sorry to say I cannot remember who I traded with for that call, but my love for it is not in question.
I gave a couple pulls on the suction yelper and when the gobblers responded hot, I hit them with that boxcall made from 300 yr old American chestnut. Both sounded off and Silent Bob from off to my right blew the needles out of a stretch of doghair pines! He was asserting his dominance and had cut the distance to less then 40 yards, but down the hill and out of sight.
I butt-scootched around the tree since I shoot right handed and twisting for an over the right shoulder is simply not in my game plan. A purr on the box call, and a couple putts from the cane suction call and he blew his vocal chords out again!!!
I dropped all calls and just as I reached for the shotgun I heard him pump and drum. He was less than 20 yards out and just the top of his tail and a bit of head showing. I was frozen watching him ruin his primary flight feather tips dragging them through the pine needles, dirt and duff. Three quick steps and he would shiver his tail, rotating it for the obvious pleasure of his expectant lady friend. He stared me right in the eye as he closed the gap quartering from right to left. At 15 yds he started behind two 4 inch tree trunks and some scattered doghair. My right hand scooped up the gun and brought it to my cheek in one smooth motion.
Nothing but the beak and half an eye exposed from behind the tree, he stopped. He had me fixed with Darth Vader Sith Lord Dark Side evil eye and I could feel the last breath in my chest turning rancid with carbon dioxide, but I was crucified in his gaze! If he didn't break that eye contact, it was going to be me dead. The words of Yoda came unbidden to my mind, "Do. Or do not. There is no try."
With all my effort I soft purred with my mouth, "prrrrrrrit, pit, prrrrrit pit". He shook the earth with the fury of his gobble and took a step forward. The snap of the safety was covered in his thundering roar, only now his head was down where it was obscured by grass. But the spell was broken and I was breathing like a locomotive on an 8% grade.
"Hey!" I said and his head popped straight up above the little red bead at the end of the barrel and ol' "Pecker Wrecker" spoke the benediction. Darth Gobbler's head went up like the Death Star. At a mere ten yards I hit him with every pellet in the load, the wad, and probably scorched him with powderburns!
Looking back, this would have been good for an archery set-up. I would have set the decoy downhill from me 10 yards. At his approach, I had a good screening of cover for the draw, and the 10 yd range would have been a pretty decent chip shot for the score. If I had not felt comfortable with the shot as he came out from behind the screening pines, a few more steps and he would have been past me and staring at the decoy with his fan blocking view of me...and again, screening for a smooth draw.
Is what is is. I still have that archery tag to fill by the 21st. There are still birds out there. This assisted suicide 2 yr old bird tipped the scale at 18 lbs, plenty big for our smaller bodied Merriam's turkeys. We will see how this plays out from here.
High points:
1) Public land
2) self guided
3) self called
4) absolute fair chase, no cheating with long range risky shots (had I not taken the shot at that distance, I may have been sexually assaulted by this horn-dog!)
5) No hiding in a blind.
6) Not a speck of meat damaged and I will eat everything off him, legs, wings, heart, too. The neck and back, being lead free, will be fed to our larger birds at the Black Hills Raptor Center. Sadly, our reat horned owl, Icarus, passed away this last winter. She LOOOVED wild turkey neck and I suspect she ate a few in the wild. Wing primaries and secondaries as well as tail will go to fletching. The beautiful black feathers from the back/cape will become a handmade custom feather duster. Toenails and spurs will be cleaned up, polished, and added to a necklace.
7) All the calls were made by people I love and respect from Primitive Archery
