dhaverstick
Lil-Rokslider
After trying several times to lure a longbeard within longbow range behind the house, I gathered up my toys on Monday and made the trip to the Haverstick Aviary and Saloon, located in beautiful northern Shannon County. It is hard for me to bowhunt those birds, so I had my trusty flintlock smoothbore, Sweet Rachael, to help me fend off the feathered horde.
I arrived just after noon, hugged Father around the neck, and changed into my play clothes. I decided that the first order of business was to look for mushrooms since I had been unable to do that on my two previous trips. The creek was finally low enough that I could drive across it, so I herded my pickup south down the fence line and then east over to the graveyard. That area habitually produces morels, and I figured that if none were found there then it would be a waste of time to look anywhere else. I liberally sprayed myself down with Tick-Away, grabbed my mushroom bag, and headed up to the little pond that lies at the east end of the graveyard. My plan was to take my time exploring while keeping one ear open for the errant gobble should it be broadcast. I made a slow sweep around the pond, graveyard, and surrounding area and found exactly zero fungi. I did hear a single gobble over around the mouth of Backhoe Holler which let me know that at least one tom was within a half mile or so. He might be workable, I would just have to see.
I waded the creek at the Granny Field crossing to take a peek in that spot for any turkeys. The crossing had been jacked up for several months due to flooding, so Dad hadn’t been able to get the tractor over there to bush hog. It was pretty grown up when I took a gander and even if there were a whole flock of birds in it, I wouldn’t have been able to see them. I waded back across the water and headed for the Punkin Patch to do some afternoon hunting. I was still getting used to Missouri’s all-day season and my plan was to just hump up in the brush, put out some dekes, and call every so often. That process worked quite well on the season opening morning at that same spot and I had every confidence it would work again.
The Punkin Patch is called that because Dad has a food plot there that he planted pumpkins in several years ago. I put my decoys out in the food plot and made myself a hidey hole against an old elm tree about 20 yards away. Facing north, I could have company come in from the east out of our neighbor’s hay field or from the west off of the ridge between Woodland Holler and Bee Tree Holler. More often than not, birds come from the east. It’s a shorter trip and they don’t have a creek to cross like they do coming from the other side of the field. I wasn’t really particular about their travel route, I just wanted somebody to show up.
I started doing a sequence of championship-worthy calling around 2:15. I had forgotten my Kindle back at Dad’s so I passed the time between calling sessions by resting my eyes. After my third round of calls, I was rewarded with a response on the ridge to my west. He was at least 500 yards away and I figured that he was just giving me a “courtesy gobble” to let me know that my efforts were not in vain. I let a few minutes pass and then yelped a couple of times on a box call. He gobbled again and this time he was towards the bottom of the ridge. The ole guy was closer, but he still had a creek to cross and whole lot of open space before he was within range of Sweet Rachael. I put the odds of a successful outcome at about 25%. But it certainly wasn’t zero!
I shut up for a while and just kept glancing over at the field edge to my left. For some reason, the place where critters most likely come out of the creek and into that field is up a steep bank about 10 feet tall. Which is odd because there are much easier access points 40 yards in either direction. I didn’t figure the gobbler would climb that bank, but he sure fooled me because on one of my glances, I saw him standing there with his neck stretched out about 2 feet looking for the hens making all that racket.
The grass in the field was about ¾ turkey height so I knew he couldn’t see my decoys from where he stood. I started yelping softly, with some putts and purrs thrown in for good measure, to guide him in. He needed to cross 200 yards of open ground to reach me, and he took his own sweet time doing it. He’d stop and stare for a long time before continuing forward 10 yards to stop and look again. My blood pressure was on a steady rise by now and I knew from experience that this was a long way from a done deal.
When Tom got to within 50 yards, I knew things were going to get complicated. There was a big ash tree to my left that had blown over several years ago and it was going to blot out his progress in another few steps. I knew by his behavior that he still couldn’t see my decoys, but I was afraid to call to him anymore with him being so close. He went out of sight and all I could do was check the powder in my frizzen pan for the 10th time and wait for him to come back in view.
After approximately 2 months of waiting, the bird suddenly gobbled. He was still out of sight and I was betting that he still couldn’t see my dekes. Otherwise, why gobble? So I putted and purred softly, along with some leaf scratching, and that was all he needed. I could hear him spitting and drumming as he finally came the rest of the way in. I had my video camera recording the spectacle and I planned to get the “Whole Show” before letting flint strike steel.
Remember when I mentioned how most of the time the longbeards come from my right? Well, I had set my decoys up with that in mind and had my jake on that side. The decoy this bird was going to, however, was an alert hen on my left with a big piece of buck brush between her and me. I didn’t think about her being the draw and I neglected to clear a shooting lane to her. So now I watched the lovesick longbeard doing the bump and grind on his love doll while I cussed the foliage blocking his head. Yeah, I was pretty sure that I could shoot through it and kill him, but I also knew he wasn’t going anywhere and I just needed to be patient and wait for him to give me a better shot. Unfortunately, patience is not my strong point.
View from my hide: I circled the buck brush that caused me issues.
Gobbler's eye view: My hidey hole is circled. The arrow points to the ash log blocking my view.
After another 2 months of waiting, the gobbler finally decided to try a different dance move and strutted a little bit over to the right. His head was finally clear of the obstacle, but he was still in full strut and I just don’t like taking that shot. The logical part of my brain said for me to wait until he was out of strut and had his neck stretched out. There was no need to be in a hurry with him being so preoccupied. However, the lizard part of my brain had waited long enough so when Tom deflated about a quarter of the way, it took over and said, “SHOOT!” The trigger was pulled, the lizard satiated, and Casanova paid the price for his bad decisions.
After I gave thanks to the bird’s spirit and took the requisite photos, I gathered up my stuff and headed back to Dad’s. I took a quick peek at the video I shot and was not surprised at its horrible quality. The camera was pointed mostly in the wrong direction and the “money shot” was missed completely. I have learned over the years that I can either be a good hunter or a good videographer, but I can never do both at the same time. I’m okay with that. I’ll take a dead bird and crappy video any day of the year!
Darren
