dhaverstick
Lil-Rokslider
I had a little luck last Saturday at my farm in south-central Missouri. My expectations weren't too high when the day started due to several years of poor hatches and hearing little to no gobbling as of late. But you can't kill turkeys if you don't hunt them so I was at the east side of our middle hay field way before daylight waiting for somebody to talk to me. I parked my truck near the family graveyard and it was not lost on me that I was fixing to walk the ground that my father hunted as a boy, and his father before him, and his father before that. It is a bond I have with the land that cannot easily be put into words. As I contemplated this, I loaded up Sweet Rachael, my 20-gauge flintlock, and put on all my Big Boy clothes for the day ahead. It was 30 degrees when I left the house and with the predicted wind speeds, I knew I would need them.
After getting my steps in going up and down the ridges chasing a couple birds early in the morning, I decided to make my last stand for the day at the lower end of our middle hay field at a place we call "The Punkin Patch". It got this name on account of my dad having a food plot there most years and one season my niece talked him into planting pumpkins in it. A boxcar wouldn't hold all the game my family has killed at that location so I figured it was as good as place as any.
Missouri's season closes at one o'clock each day so the clock was ticking when I set up shop around 10:30. Dad had disced up the food plot ground the week before and said he had seen evidence of turkeys dusting in the newly-turned soil. I put my decoys out in the broken dirt and backed up against an elm tree about 20 yards away from them. My plan was to call every so often and hope for the best. My breakfast of fried eggs and side meat had worn out a long time ago so I decided I would stay there until I killed a turkey, or noon; whichever came first.
I did my first series of calls and then started reading the book I had brought along. I looked up and around every five minutes or so to see a whole lot of nothing. However, a few minutes after I did my 3rd set of calls, I noticed a hen turkey just on the other side of the food plot and my decoys. She must have just popped out of the ground because I certainly did not see her approach. She meandered around awhile, not paying any mind to my setup, when I got the bright idea of calling to her to video her reaction. So I fired up the mouth call, and the camera to record some interesting stuff. Of course, she paid me no mind either but what did happen was a gobbler fired off just to the east of me. At that edge of the field is a wet bottom and on the east side of that is a rise that leads to a plateau and our neighbor’s hay field. He was on that rise, and after I called and he gobbled again, I ascertained he was coming my way.
By now the hen had turned around and was heading the other way and I just knew Tom would step into the field, see a real turkey, and go after her instead of visiting me. Nevertheless, I checked the powder in my pan, cocked the hammer back on Sweet Rachael, and hoped for the best.
You know how time has a way of slowing down during situations like this? I captured the whole event on video, and later when I had a chance to review it, I was surprised to learn that the longest hour and a half of my life was actually only five minutes in length. Here’s how it played out.
As I waited for the longbeard to show himself, I saw that the hen was at least 75 yards to my left and going away from us. I was pretty sure she was too far away for him to see, due to the terrain, but you never know. Finally, I see Ole Tom standing at the field edge, about 100 yards away to my right, looking for a girlfriend. There was no reason to call since he could easily see my decoys from his position, and he wasn’t looking at the hen, so I just had to wait for him to stroll over for a visit. Here is where the clock started ticking on that hour and a half.
He began walking my way and then he would stop and puff up. Then he would wander about, go in and out of strut, and generally make my heartrate exceed its safe operating parameters. My original plan was to have him come all the way into my decoys and get some great footage of him whipping on the jake, just like you see on TV. However, after about minute 45, I remembered all the times things had went wrong at the last minute while hunting these critters and I changed my plan to shoot him the first chance I got when he was in range. After an hour, he finally committed to my setup and started strutting his way in. I put my front bead on his neck and when he came out of strut I said to myself, “Close enough!” and pulled the trigger. That feller dropped like a rock and I cannot say enough good things about the Colerain turkey barrel on my gun. After I gathered up all my goodies, I stepped the shot off and it was 35 yards. Not bad for a “primitive” weapon!
Gun specifications: A "Pruitt Special" smoothbore made for me by my good friend, John Pruitt. It has a 42" Colerain turkey barrel and a LH large Siler lock. I used 75 grains of 3F, 1 over powder card, 1/4" lubed fiber wad, 1 1/2 oz. #6 shot, and 1 over shot card.
According to these scales, the bird weighed 25 pounds. He had a 10" beard and 1" spurs.
A view of my setup
The turkey's point of view
This is the run-n-gun model of the Ghostblind I used. Even with frost on it, it makes you invisible!
I spent the rest of the day cleaning and butchering the bird and then hunted for mushrooms. I ended up with a good mess of those and Dad cooked us a fine supper of baked rabbit, stuffing, and winter mix vegetables in a mushroom sauce. We watched another old movie and I went to bed with a pretty great day under my belt.
Morels - a turkey hunting bonus!
I count myself very fortunate to live where I do and to be able to experience what I experience. Having it happen on family ground with my father there to cheer me on is just icing on the cake.
Link to a video of my hunt
Darren
