Four-thirty came early but we were ready. The night previous Alex and I set out our gear and made arrangements to meet my nephew, Zach, for a three guys in a blind back on the home farm.
It was a quick twenty minute drive. We arrived at the home place meeting Zach who was all set to go, he had the Ranger fired up and ready for equipment transfer.
We made it to the blind without incident. Traveling up the road full of washed out ruts that sent my father over the ridge on his tractor 5 Memorial Days ago after successfully planting our food plots. (That is another story, he survived after rolling 25 feet over the edge and through a barb wire fence. More on that at a later date. It was five years ago but it still is too soon to talk about). The road has a nasty attitude so you are thankful at every passage. On a positive note, it keeps unwanted guests out.
We walked the quarter mile back to the blind at a pace I was sure close to world record. Trying to keep up with 19 and 21-year-old athletes is not a recommended daily routine for a 57-year-old. How can their strides be so long? I trailed the young 6’ 3’ and 6’ 6 inch guys wondering how in the world were we all going to fit in the blind?
I looked forward to hunting with these two. They like the outdoors and like each other’s company. I knew exactly where I wanted to be, it was here and with them. The blind was surprisingly comfortable for three 6 foot plus guys, two that were in shape and one not. I set up behind both of them to take my seat and enjoy the show not only in the blind but out of the blinds window also.
It did not take long and the birds were talking to Alex and Zach. Three different toms had a stimulating conversation as the boys clucked and yelped their way into their hearts. At least we hoped so.
For two hours, they talked and we could tell they were moving around us but nothing would come in. It was pushing 8:30 and I know both of those young men had made a call to Grandma for breakfast. We seldom make it through a hunt in the vicinity of Grandma’s kitchen and not take a trip through it. This day was no different. The conversations with the birds over, the stomachs empty. The choice was easy. Within 20 minutes we were all around the kitchen table with plates full of breakfast.
That concluded our Saturday morning hunt. The weather was unusually warm. The digital reading on the dashboard read 80 degrees and it was only mid-morning. I can count on one hand how many times I have turkey hunted in weather this warm. That hand would not need any fingers to count the turkeys we have harvested with weather this warm. How do the boys down south deal with this?
Full stomachs and early mornings lead to only one thing. A quick nap.
It was early afternoon and the weather was still in the 80’s (Early May in upper Wisconsin this is unheard of). The sky was clear with a gentle breeze. Where would the birds be now? Not enough breeze to push them into a low spot. The cover in the woods was building fast and the leaves were budding giving some shade but the extra foliage would not work well for a strutting tom.
I looked out the window at my yard and saw a list of chores longer than my 12 gauge. Spring time. A delicate balance of turkey hunting and yard work. This weather put me behind. I had hoped for colder less grass and weed growing accommodations that would allow for more time afield and less time “a-yard”. It had to be done there was no avoiding it. 80-degree weather was not turkey hunting weather anyway. I decided I would let Alex know I would be spending this afternoon in the yard catching up.
Did I ever mention I have zero will power? I told Alex my plans. Chores at home for me but he should hunt since he was home from college for a few short days and had a tag to fill. But you can stay here and help me if you want I added lightly.
He said firmly “The choice is simple. Hunt or Chores? Hunt for both of us. I only get to hunt with you for a few days a year Pops.” Why he calls me “Pops” when he tries to make a point I haven’t figured out. I probably never will but it makes me smile.
I did not even protest, I grabbed my gear and piled in the truck. What a wimp. I am sure it is in one of the stages of addiction. The denial stage or making a deal with yourself stage. I promised myself we would scout only and if nothing talked to us, I would be back in the yard in 1 hour.
The first place we went to look was close to a mile back across newly planted cornfield on top of a vast hill, I was sure being on top of the hill made me closer to the sun and that was why I was dripping sweat and out of breath when we stopped at the edge of the field.
The large field was bordered by hardwoods with a deep valley that had been good to us filling two tags last year. No answer today. We called again and again no results. I looked at Alex and then looked for my truck. It looked like a toy matchbox truck it was so far away in the distance. The heat waves were rising from the black dirt reminding me of the desert, only instead of sand it was rows and rows of newly sprouted corn. How could I leave the truck without a water bottle? I have left without water bottles before for good reason, they would be frozen by the time I could open them. Not today! That decision was punishing me now.
We made it back to the truck and I said, “Three more spots to check, in air conditioned comfort.” Alex agreed. The next spot was a visual recon only and yielded nothing. Disappointing since we have seen birds there regularly and harvested one the week previous. Oh well, we had two more to go and I was on a date with a rake or a shovel or some other blister making device.
The next stop would take us down a field road right next to the edge of the woods. We had never harvested a bird on this plot and I nearly bypassed it in my haste. We slowly drove down the field road and saw nothing at the turn-around point near the woods. Alex rolled down his window and said “shut the truck off. Let me call from the cab.” I didn’t complain. How would a bird know if we were in our cab or in the woods? He wasn’t through with the first volley of yelps from his slate call and the valley lit up. Five different birds gobbled back.
We looked at each other and without saying a word opened up our doors and went to the back of the pickup to put on our vests, get our guns and look for a place to set up.
The alfalfa was already at our knees and made a soft rustling sound with an occasional moist snap of a stock like the crisp breaking carrot stick only softer and quieter. We quickly crossed the narrow contour alfalfa field and made it to the old fence row that separated the edge of the hill and the field into a narrow pasture. Only 25 yards wide but it ran the length of the woods. Nice use of a tough to farm piece of the property I thought.
The fence row ran east and west toward the valley that was holding our birds. The valley was deep and full of oaks, maples, the white stripes of the birch trees broke up the deep green and gray of the other hardwoods. The valley was deep but narrow and ran north and south.
We walked the edge of the fence line. It was much noisier than expected, last year’s weeds were dry and brittle underneath the new growth. We sounded like we were walking on corn flakes. The fence ended and gave way to about 25 yards of tall grass before a steep drop into the valley. We selected 6-inch poplar with the leaves starting to cast a little very welcome shade. That would be just about right. Alex was excellent with the call and I had him set up facing the valley. I thought that would be a logical place for a bird to appear. We would be sitting back to shoulder perpendicular to each other. My view would cover a small finger of trees that would cover a bird if he was to try and circle us. If that happened Alex would have to swing around to his left and take that bird. I would be able to see it but it would be an unnatural movement to swing my gun in that direction. We had a plan, we had birds, but did we have the location and enough cover? After all we had all four this morning and came up empty.
We had sat like this a long time ago when he was just 12, my mind drifted back to that hunt. He shot his first turkey that day. He looked at me and whispered “Are you ready? I am going to start to call.” He gave me a funny look. I am sure he was wondering why I was smiling. I was still thinking of that day he shot his first bird.
We chose not to bring a decoy, the grass was too tall. It was going to be up to Alex to bring them in.
The shade felt good and the light breeze made it almost comfortable. Alex called and called and they answered but did not seem to be getting any closer. All five seemed to be standing their ground unwilling to give up their shady spot in the valley for a chance to meet a hen of their dreams. They did not like to move in the heat either I thought. Then one gobble seemed a bit closer, we looked at each other and pointed in the same direction. Again, the tom answered and again it was closer. One guy decided to break ranks and see the bird behind the pretty voice. We made some last second adjustments I moved my gun into easy access if a bird was to appear. Another loud gobble, he had to be close. We whispered in unison. “He is really close.”
We could see nothing. Then silence. Nothing, just complete disengagement. We sat for 15 more minutes with nothing. The other birds answered but nothing close. Alex said” I think we may have lost him.” “Damn, no way, you had him on a string” I whispered. “Maybe he is just circling us.” I said trying not to be discouraged but thinking he probably saw us before we saw him and ran for cover.
I looked to my right and around to the back checking to see if the bird was slipping behind us and nothing. I was about to shift my weight to get a better look to the back and there it was. A little red periscope poking through the grass. He was at the edge of the woods exactly where the drop off began. “Alex there he is!” I whispered. “Where” he said “Directly in front of you” I said. The bird was not circling at all. Alex still had him on a string coming straight in.
Alex asked “ He caught me with my call in my hands. I cannot move. Can you get your gun up?” He said. “ Yes I can.” I whispered. “Are you sure you cannot get your gun up?” I asked. Alex replied “Take him.” I slowly lifted my gun and released the safety. Alex said he heard the safety trip and knew I was ready.
The tom would not step forward but took one step to his left and let out a nervous cluck. The tom was expecting a pretty young lady at the top of his climb and was not pleased when she was a no show. It was the last chance I would get at seeing this guy again I was certain. The tom was convinced he had been stood up or fooled and was looking to go back to the nice cool valley. He offered a head only shot at 25 yards. Not my favorite shot but makeable most of the time. I slowly lifted the barrel and found the bright red head with his beek pointing to my right. My gun barrel circled and settled on the a dark spot on the birds head. I squeezed off a shot and the bird disappeared.
How had I missed him? You have to be kidding me! I wasted all that great calling. I should have stayed home and got my chores done. I thought to myself. Alex was already standing. “Did I miss him? I think I might have pulled off him to the right.” I said in rapid fire disappointment.
Alex did not seem fazed at the miss but just said “That was cool.” I was not sure if I should be upset by his lack of surprise by the miss or pleased that he was mature enough not to let it bother him. I chose to be pleased. It is part of the adventure. “I could see the wad fly out of the end of your gun” he said with a laugh. Do your shells have red wads?” I said “I have no clue.” I said abruptly dismissing his attempt to change the subject.
By now I was standing too and moving toward the ridge where the bird was last seen. Alex was three steps ahead of me and suddenly turned toward me with a huge grin on his face and his hand in the air. “You got him! You got him! Yes!! You nailed him.” There the tom was, a beautiful mature big bird. The force of the impact had blown him straight back and the terrain was sloping so steep as to not allow a clear sight line to the down bird’s flop. Alex grabbed him and said “He is huge!” Later the statistics would reveal a 25 lbs., 1.5 inch spurs, and an 11-inch beard to be sort of exact. More than likely the biggest bird I had taken. I do not keep good stats and they are far less important to me than the experience of it all.
On the way back to the tree to pick up our calls at the tip of my toe a red wad bounced off into the grass. I said to Alex”Yes, the wad in my shells are red”. I picked it up and handed it to him and we had a good laugh. A beautiful way to spend a hot afternoon with your son. One more special memory we can share thanks to Alex’s persistence and strong calling skills. We have never taken a count of the birds we have shot together. I just know each one is special and when we walk in the woods together or drive by a piece of property we look at each other and say remember when we. . . It leads to smiles and laughs. Come to think of it we never drive past my yard and say “That reminds me of the time we …..”
TAGGED OUT!! WOOOHOOO. Thanks Alex.
Dad.
