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For the first time in recent memory or at least 6 years, I requested and received a tag for the first season of Wisconsin Turkey opener. Alex drew week 3.

I was thrilled for the first time in 6 years I would be able to hunt with Alex on the First Day of the First season as he has completed college and is home. Alex would call, video and do all the heavy lifting.

Tuesday evening prior to the season opening on Wednesday. Alex and I went to roost the birds and reset the ground blinds that were taken down a week earlier to avoid the 10 inches of wet heavy spring snow. One of our favorite locations near the Mississippi was our first stop.

The plan was to check for birds with an owl call and quickly re-erect the blind. The Owl call drew no response. We had birds on camera earlier in the day. Good size birds. We were a little disappointed in the lack of response but quickly moved on the other blind 16 miles away to do the same. Hopefully with better results. We have filled many tags in both spots in the past, so there was disappointment but not panic.

We arrived at the turn off of our second location. A very steep dead-end road opening up to acres of farm fields, side hills and rock points jutting out to steep life ending falls. We avoid those. Half way up the hill we stop and turn the truck off. Alex belt out an owl call in the direction of one of the death cliffs. One call, one answer. Perfect. Now we need to get to the blind set it up for easy access in the morning and we are in business. We smiled and discussed where he was probably roosting. We thought it would be perfect. The tom was more than likely roosted at the tip of the rock point overlooking the death cliff. If history proves correct our current blind location would be spot on. We felt a little electricity and excitement that only someone who had scouted and found good sign before relate to.

We started briskly walking to the blind we had taken down to avoid the snow. I noticed that even empty handed I followed in Alex’s wake. His strides were longer and he was in better shape. He would stop and look back to make sure I was still with. I remember doing the same when he was 10 and in my wake.

It was near where we hoped they would be roosting and to an open field where we see them strutting. This has been a very productive location. We turned the corner to walk the last 600 yards and froze. We saw multiple black blobs in the leafless trees not more than 10 yards from the collapsed blind. Roosted turkeys.

Now what? We cannot go in and set it up now. We cannot risk pushing them off the roost and certainly we would not be able to do it in the morning. So much for the perfect spot.

We decided to retreat and head back home, dig through our stuff and find another blind. The strategy would be to set up early in the morning in the field far enough away from the birds we spotted as to not to spook them. We would look like a skyscraper in the middle of the field with no extra brush to break up our outline. But it was our best option specifically with rain forecasted to start around 7:30 in the morning. We would position it at the flat point of the field 75 yards from the birds we saw roosted and 45 yards from the edge of the wooded valley that ran parallel to the field.

Wednesday morning! Season 1 Day 1. No hunting since the close of bow season the first week in January. It was exhilarating. We did our homework, had our plan, we were off.
I chuckled a little because Alex could only hunt until 7:15 he had a WORK meeting he had to attend. Gone are the days when a note from Dad to the school office bought you another hour or two of prime hunting. Alex had his business clothes under his green camo. He had his dress shoes in the back seat of his truck with his business back pack. Something I used to call a brief case. We drove separate so he could leave on time and I could stay if I desired.

Things were looking up. We opened the door to go to the shed where our trucks were loaded and ready to go. 61 degrees almost balmy for the first day considering less than 48 hours 10 inches of snow graced our ground. The snow left as abruptly as it interrupted our spring. It left behind newly sprouted greens less than an inch poking up through last year’s growth newly matted down from the weight of the snow.

The drive was a quick one just 5 minutes across a state highway, up the hill and we were there. All of this was advantageous as we did our best to balance hunting life with work life. We were so close to home we could see lights from our neighbor’s homes from the hilltop blind.

The ground was soggy and semi firm as we walked loaded with guns decoys, chairs and blind. Notice I didn’t say stakes. This will be a critical later in the morning. The blind popped up flawlessly, the decoys set in place. A hen and average size tom complete with a beat up non-intimidating fan from previous hunting success.

The nice weather was still holding it was cloudy, with a gentle breeze and no rain!

We were set. We had seen a group of nine Jakes working the area in our scouting missions and a few really big Toms. They were still grouped up. No toms were escaping with their group of hens. The blessings of season opener. We were comfortable in our chairs staring down the field toward the trees we spotted the roosting birds. The morning light was welcoming us to its opener. We strained to see the roosting birds, our angle different than the evening and it took us sometime to find them. We thought we found them but were not sure.

It was now 5:50. Alex whispered to me should I sound my call to see if we can get a response. Before he could put his striker to the slate. A single Tom gobbled from the area of the roosted birds almost exactly where we pictured it off the rock point. Good news for two reasons it was a single Tom not a chorus of 9 Jakes. Nothing against jakes but if toms are in the area we prefer to let the jakes mature and chase the toms around.

A hen answers the Tom with a light yelp. This was NOT where we expected it. The yelp came from just behind my left shoulder. Just outside our blind window on the edge of the woods. We quickly located her and a few others now that it was getting light. We were extremely fortunate not to spook them when setting up. They were 45 yards from out blind on the very edge of the field.

Alex answered the yelp with a soft yelp duplicating her tone and volume. Two more Toms Gobble. Then a blast of 6 or 7 all together. We believed it was the group of we have seen previously. Jakes make hunts interesting and challenging. They call in easy and hang around but the extra eyes in decoys can sometimes give you away. We have witnessed a group of jakes run off our targeted tom. We watched and waited hoping the hen would fly toward us and not down the valley. If she flew down into the valley we would be hard pressed to lure the group toward us and not her. We would then be left with the challenge of calling the entire group up the very steep valley. This would not fall with the limited time frame we had to complete this hunt. We have fell victim to that situation many times.

The hen and her group were getting restless. We watched them wiggle and turn and look around. They were pretty mobile in their roost. The toms were talking to her and she was interested. We eaves dropped on their intimate conversation without joining, hoping they were agreeing on meeting in the field just in front of us.

She took to wing and glided right into our decoy set. That sight does not get old. From their she continued to yelp and peck and talk and we waited and listened. Just then a brisk gust of wind moved our blind and we quickly grabbed it and stopped it from cartwheeling off into the deep valley. The cold front must be coming through that is going to bring the rain this morning.

The unfortunate part of the wind gust was that it pushed the blind into our faces leaving little or no room to raise my gun and pushed the extra shells and Alex’s cell phone on the outside of the blind. The fortunate part of it was it did not spook the hen and she was quickly followed by another hen and we could then hear more birds exiting their roost and dropping to the ground.

We were in a tough spot. Now what? A front row seat in a show you don’t get to participate in? I go to sporting events for that. This is hunting and we want to be a part of it. We slowly and quietly inched the blind forward enough to give room to pull a gun up and reach the items that were exposed. I put my left foot on the corner support of the blind and Alex put a foot on his wall as well. We were secure now but, not overly comfortable.

I checked the time 6:25 plenty of light, and two hens in the decoys doing our calling, now we wait.

We didn’t wait long and 2 more hens and the group of 9 jakes popped their heads over the lip l of the ridge like periscopes and headed straight for our blind to the decoys 15 yards away. “Straight ahead” Alex whispers “Toms coming from the point fanned.” Too far away and at the wrong angle to see beard length but they were adult fans not Jakes.

We were sitting in on an unbelievable show. 3 Full strutting toms with nice beards and 9 jakes along with a big group of hens all cupped around our blind. I raised my gun and began to select a Tom while they were still about 60 yards out. They turned nicely to show off their beards. They were spinning and confronting each other showing off and displaying for all to see.

The three biggest birds began to get into range. I had my gun up and whispered to Alex “I am going to go for the one on the left who was now at 25 yards.” He said “Wait I want to get his on video. “He brought his phone up but it would not focus because of the screen he had to video through. “It won’t focus because of the screen go ahead and take him.” he said. I said ok but just then four jakes stepped between us and TOM BLOCKED me. Really it was like they were secret service protecting the president. 4 jakes fans like picket fences in front of my targeted bird. Alex called to distract them and the field erupted in gobbles. It was amazing every male was heard from. Funny the hens really didn’t act like they cared if the boys were showing off or not. The show went on for another 15 minutes without a clean single shot or with a good background that eliminated the chance of an unwanted casualty. We watched and waited.

The three Toms decide if they were not going to get any attention they were going to go back to where they roosted and start to move out of range.

Finally, a clean shot, but a long shot. I drew a good bead on the far-left bird and squeezed the trigger. Birds ran and flew everywhere. Other just froze and then clucked around. Two birds flew directly to a tree.

One thing I didn’t see was flopping bird. No feathers that accompany the flop. Nothing. I looked sheepishly at Alex. I MISSED!!!!! WHAT A SHOW AND NOTHING TO TAKE HOME.

I shook my head and turned to Alex with an awkward smile on my face and said. “Oh, my I missed.” Alex quickly apologizes and says sorry I should have let you shoot when you had that good close in shot. I just shook my head, not your fault, I could have said NO and boomed him when he was close. My choice my miss. I am used to missing fast flying ducks and surprising startling pheasants. But I am hard pressed remember missing a full strutting Tom.

Some birds were back in the trees a few hens were still 15 yards from the blind oblivious to the commotion. The hens were really in full ignore mode. The big toms were long gone and I fought the urge to runt to the ridge and check to see if I was wrong. Deep down I knew I wasn’t. We have both bagged enough birds to know what a hit looks like and it didn’t look like this.

I was mystified why I missed. I thought to myself what did I do wrong? I cannot believe I blew it. Oh my. I turned to Alex with a smile on my face and a quiet laugh “Wow I can’t believe I blew that shot.” It was kind of funny in a depressing kind of way. Alex adds we might have pushed it a little maybe panicked thinking the big boys were not coming back and that it was our last chance on them. Successful hunting cannot be on a time clock, unfortunately I made decision based on time not on opportunity.

What a show we had witnessed, by far the most fans in front of us at one time. Impressive and fun. It all worked pregame planning, setup, working them in. Everything but the shot. It brought a rush of failures to mind in the many wonderful hunting opportunities I have had. I was summarizing the internal list of misses when a loud gobble startled both of us. Pulling me out of my short-lived misery.

Could this be happening? We scattered birds all over the place and yes some were still in front of us. But really?

Alex turned his head and peaked out the tiny back window of the blind and said with a big grin. A big boy is trying to back door us. Closing fast.

A second chance? There is no way I earned it but opportunity knocks. I was grateful that earlier I fought the urge to run out of the blind in frustration but instead I sat back and reflect on the positives and have some fun at my own expense.

The Tom was closing from the far field and was drawing the reaming hens to him. I was facing the wrong direction but fortunately the previous blind movement thanks to the earlier wind gave me plenty of room to collapse my chair and raise my gun and get stable on my knees as the bird moved his group of hens toward the edge of the woods and into the valley. Alex said “I have the blind secure you should be good.

I had one opening to connect before he was lost and gone with the other three Toms. I squeezed the trigger and I know what a hit looks like and I now know what a miss looks like. This was not a miss. Alex turned to me with a huge smile and said you nailed it. We looked at each other and wondered if what happened was real. It was a fully mature bird with a wide 10 to 11 inch beard heavy 1 inch spurs and weighing around 23lbs. I had him cleaned and in the freezer before Alex made it to his business meeting and minutes before the downpour began.

What a “MISS”-tifying opener. I was very confused and bewildered on the early miss but that it is part of the game.

The third week of the Wisconsin Turkey season was winding down.  I was tag-less and Alex had just recently filled his tag with one of his buddies.  An awesome double.  As the season 2018 season closes Al has been fortunate to be part of two doubles.

This is NOT a story about that.  Nor is it a story about the White Sox of professional baseball.

I called Brian a very close friend of mine and asked him how his turkey season was going.  He hunted the weekend with no luck but said he would go out quickly before work if he had someone to go with.  I took that as a hint but told him I would probably not be able to make it on short notice.  But I would text him if I could figure out a way to go.

Al came home and I said want to go hunting in the morning?  He said “We have no tags what are you talking about?”   I have a tag that starts Wednesday and we both have tags for the week after that.”  He added some other age-related memory comments to emphasis his point but I will not give him the benefit of acknowledgment.

I said Brian has a tag and would like to go but does not want to go alone.     What do you think?   I already sent hin a text and said maybe but I wanted to talk to you before I bring another person on the property.    I said if it is a go I would text him and tell him what time to be ready in his driveway and we will pick him up.

Brian lives 20 miles away but only 5 minutes from the field Al and his friend Brody filled their tags with a double.  We talked about it and thought it would be fun. However, Al just took two nice Toms less than 72 hours ago from that plot.   The chances of another bird being available in that area were slim.   We talked about other options but with additional travel they would not work for a quick before work hunt. It was on the property near Brian’s or nothing. Even though we were less than confident that the property was holding a high quantity of Toms the cameras revealed a nice Tom and a bearded hen that afternoon.

I grabbed my phone and sent Brian a text “See you at 5:15. The hunt was on!”

It was nearly 9:30 pm I hope he wasn’t sleeping.  No response.  The decision was made we will be in his driveway at 5:15.   If his home is dark we turn around and go home.

This was a whole new thing for us.  No guns.  Everything else but guns but we were organized and on the road at 4:45. The garage door opened and let in another beautiful spring morning, 55 degrees a light breeze.  We checked our calls, our decoys, we went with a tom decoy in strut and a hen.  The combo had already stacked up my bird from week 2 and Alex’s double three days earlier.   We put on light weight camo and no heavy jacket, temperatures were set to rise not fall and very little chance of rain.

We hopped in my truck and started talking about how weird this was with no guns.  We knew what property we were heading too but left the exact location open.  We decided as we drove to pick up Brian that we would walk to the tent blind near the ridge.   This blind is tucked under a plum tree and has many mishaps and successes.  Including a “Big Miss” on my part with my bow during archery deer season.  Realistically it was more than one but let us not digress and bring back futile memories. We had a turkey hunt to get set up.   The tent openings face a trail off a roosting ridge, another faced the clover food plot which we have caught them strutting in on a regular basis and the third window is partially blocked with brush but gives a nice look down the long end of the food plot.   The plot is bordered on three sides with hardwoods and the east side with 30 to 40 foot pine trees.  It was an ideal strutting area in the spring and brings in deer all year long.

We also had a tent set up on another similar plot about 200 yards to the south.  Nice plots in the middle of heavy cover.

Our first choice it would be the blind closer to the roost thus fitting to our work schedules better.  The plan was at the intersection of the paths leading to both blinds we would call and see if they would give us a hint on which blind would be better for our quick hunt.  If they were giving us the silent treatment we would stick to the blind closest the roosts.  It will be three men in a blind.  Tight quarters, it will be interesting.  It only took us 7 miles to finalize the plan.  We had 13 minutes to go and it was quiet except for the nervous growl in my stomach.  Did Brian get my text?  Will he be ready?

Driving east we could see the sky start to lighten.   This was going to be a great weather day. Not too hot, not too cold.

We pulled into his driveway and a let out a deep breath there he was all geared up and ready to go.  Coffee cup in his hand and a smile on his face.   I was worried you were not going to be ready.  He said “Helm, why would you say that?”  I did not hear back from you on our text. “Really? I text your right back and said Ok. “ No way” I said.  “Sure did.”  He said. I pulled out my phone and there it was.  “OK”, Damn all that worry for nothing.  How did I miss it?

Move on and get hunting.  “Sorry, Brian yes you did, I missed it.” I should have known better Brian is very prompt at returning messages.

“Where are we setting up?” he asked.   We gave him the quick game plan as we quickly loaded the truck and headed to our designated ditch parking area which is now starting to show signs of tread ware. That’s ok it not a secret we hunt here and everyone knows our truck.

We jumped out and briskly walked up the road ditch to the property.  We let Brian lead the way.  He had helped us drag one of Al’s wall hanger bucks down the same path and knew the way.  He had a fun spring in his step and I promised I would not make fun of he way he dresses when he hunts so I will not describe the hideous way he pulls his bright neon white crew socks over his camo pants, if he promised not to tell anyone we were just using him for his tag.

Both promises broken now we can move on.  Brian is one of my closest friends, we share a minimum of 2 weeks every fall with another of my closet friends Todd hunting in North and South Dakota.  We all grew up together as classmates and teammates.  Sharing success on the football field and friendships off.  A special kind of closeness.   An “in your wedding” type of closeness.  The first two guys outside the family you call with good or bad news.  Two guys that are always there for you.  That also leads to a good share of friendly banter that now Alex would be witness to.   He does that sock thing with us in ND and SD too.  When the locals start to stare when the three of us are in the convenience store Todd and I quickly ditch him and head for another isle.   I am not sure what kind of terrain Brian hunts in that has two white blobs at the end of a camo patch but we gave up a long time ago.  Brian is a marksman and shoots extremely well.  I think he had to become an excellent shot because most of the quarry he hunts sees his socks first and starts running or flying.    He has had lots of practice with difficult shots and rarely misses an easy one.   We hope today is an easy one. We will hide his socks in a tent.

I know it is just his style and if you ask him why he shows off his almost reflector white socks. He makes up some story about wood ticks or bugs or keeping his pants from creeping up.  Todd and I gave up long ago on being the camo fashion police.  Its hunting, who cares what you look like. Unless you can give your friend some grief.

I had a smile on my face when his glowing socks led us down the path and near the decisions point.  We hadn’t even made it to the path intersection and we were welcomed to woods with a not one gobble but three.  They were close and on the ridge.  Another distant gobble rang out to the south.  We gave each other a quick smile and knew where we were going we did not even break stride.

Al dropped the decoys 20 yards in front of the blind and we tucked ourselves in the blind and listened.  We set Brian front and center.  Alex would be directly behind and I would take the spot to his left near the partially blocked window.  That will give Brian a nice swing as the birds come off the ridge to the plot.

Al worked the calls and the birds gobbled back.  The food plot was now fully lit although the sun had yet to officially rise and we would not see the sun for quite some time as it took an hour to crest the tall pines.   Canada geese honked and the whistle of wings for a pair of wood ducks kept us entertained.  Along with Brian’s stories.

We continued a consistent conversation with the Toms outside the blind and Brian insided.  The Toms did not appear to be getting any closer.  Were they still in the roost?  We did not think so.  The gobbles had moved some. A few closer another a bit further away.   Brian kept us entertained with some stories that made us laugh and smile. But no birds were willing to interrupt his stories.  It had been an hour and a half.  Al and I both called he used a higher pitched slate call and I used a raspy one.  Two hens talking to each other, maybe that would change our luck.

Another hen joined our conversation straight ahead of us in the pines.   She was very bossy and loud.  It was fun to irritate her and get her going.  She was getting closer.  I had hoped it was the bearded hen we have been seeing on camera.

No beard on this bossy beauty.  She was the dominant hen if there is such a thing.   She put on a super show.  And then a booming gobble startled us from the south.  From the south?  She kept talking and moving around the decoys.  The Tom kept gobbling. He was getting closer. We stopped calling and let her do all the work.

Now the trick was to keep her near our decoys and not let her move toward the gobbles.  Plus we had three men in a blind in close quarter and she was only feet away looking in our windows.

Brian was all set for an appearance from the ridge.  He slowly moved his gun to the center window.  Rather skillfully without spooking the hen.  We waited.

Will the gobbler show?  Will he circle us?  Had he already circled us. Was he one of the Toms from the ridge?   Did it matter? Lots of questions without answers.  I was on the spot.  I had the only view from the south.  Al was much better at spotting birds but could not see out that window.  We had been dead still for 15 minutes now.   Then a slight movement at the edge of the food plot. A flash of gray in the old underbrush.  Rabbit? Deer?  Turkey! Another hen coming to join the racket?   No!  This was a big mature red headed Tom in full strut.   I whispered to the guys. I see him. He is in full strut and heading toward us.

I have been messed up by pretty ladies plenty of times to know that all it would take is for her to end this would be for her to rush over to him and take him off by herself.

The big Tom was not at all happy to see another Tom and two hens in his strutting field.  He never broke fan.  He was walking 40 yards straight to the decoys and the noisy hen.  I said “Brian he is on his way do you see him?”  “No not yet.” He replied.  Al can you see him? he said “Now I do.. just over your shoulder.  He is coming in perfect Al whispered.  Brian are you ready?”  Al now had the camera on him as he approached.  The hen just had to stay with our decoys and we were in business.   I see him now. Brian said.   Take him when you are ready Al and I whispered in usinson to Brian.   The hen started a nervous yelp yelp yelp.  Oh no, did we whisper too much? Did we move too much?  Was she going to mess this up?  For as much as she helped us she could hurt us just as much now.

The Tom was still in full strut, he was on a string right to the crowd.  He was closing distance surprisingly fast and now was crossing from south window to the middle window. The window with Brian’s gun resting on the bottom edge.

I heard the heart jumping click of a safety being released and a boom.  A big flop and a startled hen yelping even more.  She jumped flew a few feet and landed.  She must of really been infatuated with the tom decoy.

Our laughter and congratulations to Brian finally sent her aloft.

How cool was that!

It is hard to describe the feeling.  Accomplishment maybe, joy for sure, sharing success with your son and great friend is best described as grateful.  How fortunate are we to be able to share time together.  Twenty- four  hours earlier we hadn’t even thought about heading out to try and fill a tag.

Brian did not need our help as he has filled many turkey tags previous. But never when he was on the only one with a gun.  He said “Actually Helm I was kind of nervous.  I saw him for so long I did not want to miss.  I knew you were filming it and if I missed this one I would he heard about it all the way to the Dakotas and back.”

Brian missing a shot never crossed my mind.  The big Tom could not see his socks.  The shot was going to be easy for him.

Brian is TAGGED OUT  …..Woo Hoo!

Brian bags a birdImpressive Footwear

A break in the steamy hot July weather made for an excellent chance to check on the food plots and trail cameras. A light breeze would keep the gray cloud of mosquitos at bay. I lightly asked Abbey my elementary teacher daughter if she would like to come with. She is the middle child, older than Alex who you hear about frequently in the stories on this site and younger than Emily our oldest child. Everyone else in the family was off doing their thing and I expected Abbey to be quickly be doing the same. I was surprised when she said yes.

It was getting near sunset and it wasn’t going to take long but I had a quick pace up the hill to where the four wheeler was waiting I looked back and she was quite a bit behind.   I later learned she was videoing her adventure.

Here is a video of our trip. I hope it brings a smile to your face.

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Sitting back in by favorite chair and the Monday night Brewers game was interrupted by Al busting into the living room.  Just roosted a bunch of birds at the foot of the hill.  ” That’s cool” I said.  ” Any big boys in the flock?””  I think so.” He replied

Tuesday would be the last day of his season.  A season I did not have a tag for.  The week previous Al called in a nice Tom for me.  I was unable to hunt with him for his season this week.  He had no shortage of volunteers his own age that filled my shoes.   If you do not have anyone that can go with you in the morning I can sneak away until 7 or so.  No worries Pops let’s save your hunting time for the next season when we can both carry a gun.   I will have no problem getting someone to go with me in the morning.   Sounds like a great plan.  Let’s plan on going out Wednesday morning.  Where do you plan on setting up on the birds tomorrow?  The discussion led to a set up on a bulldozed road near the foot of the hill.   Good luck, text me mid-morning and let me know how it goes.

The text came in and it read.  No luck.  Birds flew to the top.

That ended his season empty, however in less than 24 hours another week of turkey hunting would begin.   A season that had us both holding tags.  We could hunt together.  My favorite kind of hunt.

Al went to scout for birds as I drove home from work.  He found them at the top of the same hill that had taken his chances away the night before.  Odd I thought, since I had driven past the same area less than 1 hour earlier taking a detour between sales calls for some quick recon.  I was pleasantly surprised Al had found them.

The birds had been roosting on the hill side about midway from the top to the bottom.   If it were me and I had a choice to fly down and walk up or fly down and stay down it would be an easy choice for me.  But I am not a turkey and they proved to be more athletic than I.

The field Al found them in was a newly sprouting soybean field along skinny filed bordered by a wooded hillside to the south a gravel road to the north and each end of the ½ mile field by farm houses.  The field was only 150 yards wide.  The lime green sprouts were breaking through the sandy soil.  The field had multiple slow rolls to it.  We decided we would not bring a tent but hide by some large trees and face the open field.

The morning came quick as usual a gentle light breeze and 55 degree weather greeted us in the darkness.  We parked packed and proceeded to where we thought we could be successful.  It was a difficult choice.  The farm houses made us uncomfortable.  We slid to the middle of the field equally away from each house.  When hunting if you are not choosing for bird locations or making decisions based on when you have to get back to work it is usually a step toward an empty tag.  We chose a suitable tree we both could lean on and dropped the fanned tom decoy and 30 yards out in the field.

It was a beautiful awakening to the day.  Leaves were busting out and the sunrise was spectacular.  Red and orange bursting above the eastern horizon.  Not a cloud in the sky.

Boom a burst of gobble startled us just below the ridge.  YES!  Multiple birds just what we needed.  Now Up or down for the fly down?  Let the hunt begin.  We sat quietly scanning the field edge.  More gobbles and some hen clucks.

Then off to the east we say them coming into the field just where we originally wanted to set up but chose not to because it was too close to the house.  When we look at it in the daylight the homes were very far away but in the dark, we just didn’t feel right.   Wrong choice for a step on the field ambush.  But still good for a call over.  That is as fun as a quick hit.

The birds just kept on coming hen after hen Tom after Tom.  A bonanza!   The hens noticed the other Tom and started our way.  The Toms in the flock gobbled them back.  Wow, competition.   3 Toms strutted and turned, danced and gobbled and would not let the hens leave and they were in no way going to let their group go to the decoy.  The flock would get about 75 yards the Toms would gobble them back and take them to the far side of the field.  The large fans illuminated from behind by the rising sun was an awesome sight even though they would avoid gun range they gave us a show.

All the gobbling and strutting pulled another hen from the north west to the group and behind it a pair of Big Toms.   FIVE big toms strutting in front of us way out of range.

The hens left and the Toms looked for more girls across the road and our two hour show was over our tags still empty.  But our eyes and memory were full.

Back to work.  Next chance to hunt together would be Sat am and Sunday am.

Friday night scouting found the birds in the same field we hunted on Wednesday.  Saturday am weather 65 and humid without any wind.   We decided again no tent just find a tree where near where they came out on Wednesday.

The spot was perfect.  The tree perfect. Now we wait.  The gobbles came as expected we smiled to each other and confirmed locations of the gobbles.  It should not be long now.

The big Toms did not disappoint us and walked proudly out to the field exactly where we were set up on Wednesday!  We had hoped our set up would be better this time, we only set up a hen decoy.  Figuring they were decoy shy.

All 5 of the toms were on full display along with a few hens. WE had been sitting for just about minutes and they came into our personal space.  Not the Toms but the mosquitos.  We had not experienced any bugs to date but with no wind and humid temps they found us.  I could see a gray cloud of bugs surrounding Alex sitting next to me and knew I had a similar cloud on me.  The began to bite through our light clothing and face masks.  We held firm.

The Toms were getting closer but would still not come close to the decoy.  Staying 85 to 95 yards out.  Gobbling and strutting but not willing to get close enough for a shot.

The mosquitos were winning the battle of patience.  It was one of the most uncomfortable feelings we would endure.  Unable to move in fear of spooking and educating our birds and getting drained of our red blood as we sat motionless.

Finally, the Toms drifted slightly North to the road but still in sight and we gave in.   We happily stood and swatted and ran briefly to avoid the cloud of bugs.   The Toms briskly walked over the hill two hens took flight.   It was that bad.  We had tag fillers still in the field and we could not take it anymore.   Bug spray was the first thing I reached for when I got back to the garage and put it in the truck for our next hunt.  Which would be tomorrow morning.  We were done for the day our abdomens and arms looked like dimples on a golf ball.

Scouting time that evening not surprisingly found no birds in the mosquito field and no birds anywhere else we drove to scout.  One of the ways to find out where the birds are, is find out where they were not.  We accomplished that task.

We sat down and talked strategy for the hunt in the morning.   It was decided, NO DECOYs, A tent and Bug Spray.  We would listen and leg it.    We had two tags to fill.

We selected the farm where the mosquitos pushed us off.  There were 5 plus good sized gobblers on the farm.  Educated by us.  But just like many of my educators, when I thought I knew the answers they changed the questions.   Thus, our decision to go with no decoys.   The tent was an add on in case we had to wait then out and had some mosquito spray failure.

Al donned the tent on his back, I the chairs.  We stood by the pickup and listened.

The gobblers still wanted to be noticed by their lady friends and belted out a predawn blast to let the girls know where they were roosted.   But so, did we.

We smiled and looked at each other and confirmed we had heard the same gobbles and agreed where we think they were roosted.

The location we believed the birds were roosted was the rock point where I had harvested a nice bird just 3 weeks previous.   The nice part was that the leaves were out now and it would be harder to for us to be busted as we set up our tent.  The bad part is that we were a long way from that point and the sun was racing us to the horizon.  Time to leg it.

It was another beautiful morning a warm eastern breeze pushed against our faces.  Some wild lilacs were in full bloom and the sweet aroma drifted into my nostrils the alfalfa field we had to cross was wet with dew and mid-calf in height.   Quiet but wet.  Our pace was quick and we heard a few more gobbles as we crossed the field and started along the oak and maple woods to the rock point.  It was getting lighter and the gobbles closer.  We picked up our pace, we were still a couple of hundred yards to where we both knew we wanted to set the tent.

We stopped short and decided it was too light and it took too long to get to our destination.  WE dropped the tent and chairs and decided to go for a group of aspen just at the edge of the rock point and alfalfa field.  It was brushy and would lend us cover and be fairly close to where we really wanted to be.  We heard wings rustle and another gobble.

We mouthed to each other the birds are down.  But we were not in position.  This was not good.   I was concerned Hunter Identification 101 class number two was about to begin.

We briskly walked to the aspen group and looked for a tree to sit against.  Then AL’s hand flashed. A stop sign.  He froze in mid step as did I just a few yards behind him.  He saw the birds.

Here we were in a two point stance in the middle of a tight bunch of aspen. He whispered back to me I see him he is walking this way.  WE stood still for at least 10 minutes and I could see a bird over Al shoulder occasionally the red head and the tip of a fan but nothing else a bit far off.  We waited.  I giggled to myself, how long is he going to keep is foot in that position, he looked like a statue of a walker in mid stride.  I had to do something to amuse myself.  I could only see an occasional glimpse of feathers over his shoulders.  Then I saw him slowly start to raise his gun.  The gun quietly reached his shoulder and was seated perfectly against his cheek.  I heard the click of the safety and the boom of the 12 gauge.

I flopped him! Dad there is another one to the right of him take him!  I saw the bird flopping and struggled to find the bird he was directing me too.  The flopping bird was a distracting. It seamed like minutes but it could have only been seconds when I finally saw the bird he was telling me about.  I took 4 quick steps the left took aim and shot. The bird moved slightly but not smoothly toward the ridge I think I hit him.  Al shouted shoot again. I did.

The bird disappeared over the ridge.  The next thing I saw was Al sprinting to the ridge and over he went.   Out of sight into the brush.  I heard him yell, you got him!!! He is big one! Huge spurs.

Woohoo!!!!  We got a double!!!   We did it again!!!

It was our third double together.

5:45 am class dismissed.

Tagged out times two.

It was a quiet night, I was bouncing between TV channels stopping frequently on game 7 of the World Series. The house was dark and peaceful broken only by a quick bark from “Pistol” our 2 and half year -old lab. Who was quickly scolded into silence.

It is unusual to be home alone with just the TV, I had completed all my evening calls. Sheila was working and her flight left her stranded in Chicago. She is always my first call and gave me the update on the girls. Abbey and Emily always call and share their day. We treasure these calls, it keeps us close. The girls call Sheila, Alex our son calls me. The girls are more consistent. Guys will be guys if we connect fine if not, no big deal. We talk football, classes and lots and lots of hunting.

Alex’s conversation that evening led to a discussion about hunting. He advised me tomorrow morning GET IN THE WOODS. He is always a strong advocate for getting me into a stand.

The food plot cameras are set to send photos to him in Duluth almost 200 miles away keep him up to date. It is a great way stay in tune with the hunting land when a long college football schedule keeps you out of the woods.

The rain and snow that evening kept me from going out this evening, but I was up for a quick hunt before work.

I quickly gathered my gear and set it out for a speedy departure in the morning. I was not sure what the weather would be like so I prepared for the snow, rain and wind. One more quick look at the World Series and I was off to get some sleep.

My phone buzzed as I entered my bedroom and it was an “instant message” from Alex. What the heck was this? I never get and instant messages from him. Usually just a text message. This technology stuff, so many ways to get to you, so few ways to hide. After some heavy lifting on the technology side I finally was able to get to the message. It was a video. I saw the big arrow and clicked on it.

The video lurched into motion. It was a video of a very young hunter shooting a gun from a duck blind. He was pretty small and the gun was very big. He pulled the trigger and it knocked him right over backwards. It made me smile and I thought it was funny. I knew Alex would like a video like that and thought it was cool he would share it with me. It made me remember when it happened to him. The memory raced back.

We were in the duck blind he was only 12 years old shooting a 20 gauge pump that fit him well. The hunting was spectacular we had ducks and geese locking in on our spread and the hunt was on. I was using a 12 gauge automatic with 3.5 inch shells for geese.

We were a foot picking up ducks and fixing the decoys and just like every waterfowl hunter knows when you have motion in the spread in come the birds. A low flying flock of Canada geese were locking in and on their way. We dove back to the blind. Alex was by my chair and I was nowhere near a shooting position and nowhere near a gun. I said “Alex grab my gun when they get close take em! He quickly grabbed my 12 gauge that was ready for the geese with 3.5 inch shells packed double B loads. I froze in positon and watch him pull the long gun up to his shoulder. I stayed motionless as I heard the flocks wings wrestle with the wind above. They had to be in range soon I thought. I saw him pull the gun up to 11 o’clock and it barked. The impact, the angle and the gun to kid ratio knocked him right over backwards. I rushed to him to make sure he was ok and told him he made a nice shot. “You waited perfectly until the birds were in the best possible positon.” I reassured him. It was hilarious. I cannot even remember if he hit the bird. I laughed a little bit at the time but only after I made sure he was physically and mentally ok. We never talked about it much. It was just tucked away in the recesses of my hunting memories. I wonder if he remembers?

The smile was still on my face when I moved the image on my phone and saw the attached message to the video that I did not see right away. “Dad remember when this happened to me?” It made me laugh out loud in a pitch black house with no one to share my outburst. I went to sleep with a smile on my face thinking about how each one of our hunts bring lifelong memories. Often not because of the game taken but the people you are with and the situations you end up in.

The morning came quick. I opened the garage door and was greeted by moist humid air and 39 degree temps. The snow had retreated to fog, but it was a light fog that did not hinder the hunt. I jumped in my truck and headed south 20 minutes to the food plot we had worked. I was still thinking about the video Alex sent as I sat in my truck in the ditch next to the path that led to my stand. A school bus roared by. I was greeted by this same bus prior to another hunt that did not end so well for me. But this time it was later in the year and it was still dark. All was good I was not late. I was ready and the walk to the stand was uneventful and quiet, the leaves were moist and did not crack under foot.

I thought this is going well. I am sprayed down with scent blocker, got in very quietly to a very comfortable ladder stand I received as a Christmas present. There was little or no wind. It was starting to get light. A flock of ducks raced just inches above the trees on their way to the swamp behind me the whistling of their wings made me smile. What a great sound. It was also natures alarm clock. It means we are minutes away from shooting light.

The food plot was clover and heavily grazed but the moist weather helped it along this fall. It was very green even in the low light. Obviously last night’s snow had been beneficial even though it had melted away. I was looking at the plot making mental notes on how to expand it and noting  that this spring it will need to be reseeded. This plot was equipped with a camera that sent the photos to Alex’s phone. I do not imagine a college kid will be checking his phone at 6:15 am. I purposely walked in front of the camera to let him know I was on the plot and in a stand. If it made his phone burp and wakes him up. Ha one for Dad.

Light was gaining ground and it revealed a cloudy sky withholding a beautiful sunrise, a favorite of mine when I am in this stand. I guess I would just have to look at the ground like I am supposed to when hunting from this blind instead of gazing in to the sky. A flash of grey entered my vision form the right edge of the food plot. For sure a deer. For sure a buck. I could see that from the very start. He was moving slowly into range. His beautiful white rack stood out in the morning light. I was in awe in how quiet and smooth he moved. He caught wind of the scent I had left hanging above a scrape that was in front of the camera. He walked right to it and stood and grazed and sniffed and bobbed his head. He was facing directly away from me. Affording me absolutely no shot.

Let the mind games begin. Is he a shooter or not? I think I may have passed on him before early in the season. Pass once, pass always? There were a lot of bigger deer in the woods. But this one was right on the x. If you drew it up on the white board as the game plan for a perfect opportunity he was just about there. The mind games kept coming as the nice 8 pointer enjoyed the clover and was posing nicely in front of the camera. No, I won’t shoot I thought. I took the pins off him and looked at him again not through the sights. He looked bigger. I put the pins back on him. I repeated this semi embarrassing movement more times than I will admit in writing. All I had was a beautiful view of his back side and no good shot. What was I going to do? Wait for a bigger one? I was going to be gone for a week and gun season was quickly approaching. I wish I could text Alex and let him tell me. If he was awake and looking at the camera.

The deer was in front of the camera for 15 minutes now. The photos had to have made it to him by now. I could not text him. I would move too much and besides it was my tag and my decision. Grow up and make it. To date I had only arrowed one other deer a nice 10 point that was on my wall. Getting this one which would not make the wall but would double my success rate. Which by the way is not very good for the decades I have been hunting. Was I willing to add a possible miss to the long list of misses? Let me rephrase that to the double digit list of misses. My record is miserable. Kind of like a losing playoff record in the sports arena. You are very fortunate to make the playoffs, there are many, many other teams wishing they were in the playoffs but when you do not win it all it can be viewed by some as a failure.

I was on the clock, what was I going to do? It was a good buck. I had made a decision or at least sort of made a decision. I decided if he walks straight away or walks to the right around the tree and does not offer me a perfect shot I will pass. I was only going to shoot if he quarters to the left and offered a perfect opportunity. Only a perfect shot in close range.

He stood and grazed for a few more minutes. I enjoyed the show. The morning was in its full glory. The birds were chirping the geese were honking and I was still waiting for his next move. And then he lifted is head and sniffed the scented cotton swab I had hung in the tree. He looked left, he looked right and then took a step. The first step was straight away, I felt a twinge of disappointment. That told me I really did want this deer. His next two next steps called my bluff as he stepped left and offered a perfect quartering away shot. The whir of the bow string sung by my ear and the solid thud of a spot on lung and heart shot smacked into the side of the nice buck. He mule kicked and briskly walked off into the thick brush. I watched him disappear. I thought I could see him lay down just 15 yards off the open plot.

I sat in my stand and enjoyed the morning God prepared for my enjoyment and sent a text to Alex. I wondered if it would wake him up. My answer to that question was abrupt. No text this time. My phone buzzed and I answered it. It was Alex, His first words were THAT IS GREAT!. I was wondering if you were going to shoot him. I was watching the camera. Way to go. He is a good buck.

We talked and laughed and planned a strategy on when I should go recover him. It was almost like he was sitting beside me. Like we were both in the duck blind 9 years earlier only this time he is reassuring me that it was a good shot. At least I did not fall over backwards.

Tagged out!!! I do not get to say that very often.

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.

No birds, just deer.  Funny when you are deer hunting it’s no deer,just turkeys.

With no birds gracing our setup.  We picked up and decided to cover some ground to see if we could run into something.   The woods were starting to green up the “baby leaves” on the oaks. The leavers were  small but perfectly shaped, a light lime green  not yet dark green in full working order of dark green.  I think my girls would describe them as “cute”, or “cute little leaves’.   Any way the woods were  green.  The evening rains have given way to clear pastel blue sky.  The small leaves held remnants of the evening’s rain and the woods took joy spilling it on us we slithered through underbrush.   The old leaves underfoot were mushy and quiet.  Nice for getting to our destination  a small opening at the bottom of a very steep ridge.  

We approached the ridge and I looked at Alex, he is 21 and in excellent shape.  Me, not so much.  We going straight over?  What about the path I cleared last year?,  It was easy walking,  angled into the side hill with an easy steady grade.  Kind of winding like a road up a mountain.

“No let’s go straight over,  we can follow the deer path” My son said.

My mouth said,  “Ok”. my mind said, “Really?”  At least it was down not up, always looking for the positive.  I understood the logic.   More steps more chances to get busted before we get there.  I thought what about the fat 56 year old bowling ball bouncing his butt all the way down when he takes a misstep?   I am sure my son thought of that too.  A win win for him.  Over the ridge quick and surprise some birds or split a gut laughing at the old guy bounce.   I get it.
Which leads me to some questions.  Do old deer or old turkeys take different paths for different reasons compared to the young ones?   I am sure some old deer’s knees hurt just like mine.  I am sure some trophy dude has overstayed his visits to the food plot.   I might have to consider this the next time I set up stand.  Or not.

At mt limit

-Mark

Football practice had ended and it was 8:30 as I drove home.  The start of another season of volunteer coaching.  The high school athletes and coaches energize me.  Optimism, organization, and opportunity to give back to a sport that positively influenced my life.

Usually if my “work day” ended at 8:30 I raced to “my chair” chased any interlopers off it and chilled, grabbed the remote. My family heckles me because I like to scan the guide and I am in no rush to settle in on a program to watch.

Not tonight and not after a practice and for sure not after chasing a rattle snake off the property the night previous. The rattle snake incident kind of stopped progress in the ‘straighten up and put away’ department last night so there was plenty to do.

The evening was perfect a glowing red sunset a light breeze and 72 degrees as the sun set.  Mosquitoes were the only opponent and their bite was far less threatening or annoying compared to a rattle snake.  Funny how your perception changes with experiences you endure.

I rolled up the hoses, watered the plants, added chemicals to the pool and covered it.  All the while cautiously looking at the ground for an unwanted visitor. NO SNAKES by the pool.   A good night, the only bites were mosquitoes.  For some reason that seemed successful.

I went to my truck to get my brief case (backpack now) and strolled triumphantly through the garage to enter the house.  An empty house, Sheila, my wife, was still on her trip and Abbey, the partner of last night’s adventure, was off to teach school in Cold Springs, MN. for a few days.

I looked forward to the quiet.  A quick microwave meal and my chair would be empty and waiting for me.  Yesterday’s story already written and the blog had started.  No more stories to worry about for about a week or two.

I entered the house and stepped back to the garage to shutoff the light and close the garage door and I saw it.  No way!  It slithered toward the door, I saw the head and knew right away it was not a rattle snake but for sure a bull snake.  I sprinted for the pool where I left my rake and ice chipper.   I left the weapons there for quick access if I needed them by the pool.  The battle ground  of the last snake adventure.  Again, I am running for weapons.  Rake and chipper in hand I must have been a sight.  A fat old dude running across the lawn with yard tools as weapons, spear like.  I was glad it was mostly dark so the neighbors could not see me or the Sheriff would get a call figuring I had gone over the top and ready for a rubber room.

Back to the garage and it had only moved a few feet.  Odd I thought.  I used the rake to hook it but the now he was on the move and heading for the steps to the house.  Great, I scared the animal in to my kitchen.  Quite the hunter and defender of the fort.  The second stab at him with the rake stopped him. He was about 4 feet long at least and he was trying to get behind the step and was succeeding.  I had rake in one hand and  the chipper in the other as the snake moved up the rake like climbing a rope.  I stepped on the tail and used the chipper to lever the big boy out of his hopeful place of safety.  It is surprising how much force it took to remove him and it was not working. I would get two inches,  reload and lose an inch.  There was no way I was going to let this thing into my house.  I reached down and grabbed the tail and pulled and pulled and eventually it relented  I dropped my ice chipper to the ground and quickly separated the head from the body.  So much for a relaxing night.

I was in the process of disposing of the body when I opened the door and hiding near the frame was a mouse.  Ok what next?  I grabbed my death rake and disposed of him as well.

When I finally was able to reach my chair I thought why all of a sudden are there so many snakes?

I have lived here for 26 years and had only a handful of encounters. I thought about it.

If I was hunting snakes, I would not be able to see two possible trophy snakes in back to back days if they were white tails.  Am I just lucky? Then it came to me.  Luck has very little to do with seeing game if you do your homework and plant a food plot.

What is different this year compared to the 25 other years?  A late flood, high water from the Mississippi has pushed all the animals to higher ground.  We live on a sand hill overlooking the Mississippi.  A pattern change for sure, I see it all the time when hunting.

What else? Food.  For the first time we put out solar lights around our pool.  Light equal bugs, bus equal frogs, frogs equal snakes.  Food plot food chain.  That explained the rattler.  The bull snake was certainly hunting the mouse, that when I saw him was paralyzed with fear.  He did not want to move in fear of being detected and becoming a Bull snake snack.  I have bird food and dog food in the garage in open pails.  Mice eat grain, snakes eat mice.

The food chain food plot.  A chain that needs to be broken at my house.  I am getting too old for this.

At my limit.

Mark

P.S. Did I mention in my last article the another reason why Abbey was so noisy?  When I ran into the garage to get the death rake and killer chipper a Bat flew past her head?  She hates bats. I feel like I live in a zoo.

Well, if this was Elk season you would know how this day ended.  But it is not.  It is Sunday July 31st.  A quiet Sunday.  No events, no games, nothing scheduled. Relaxing, an unusual sit back and let the day happen type of day.

The family was asking questions about when I was going to start this blog thing.  I said, “August  would be good.”

August was always the time that my interest in hunting peaked, town team baseball was winding down and I buying  hunting magazines on the road trip on the way to upcoming fall football games. .

So, Sunday July 31st was staring me right in the face.  I decided to grab a sprayer and spray some weed killer on the beans in one of the food plots.  Innocent enough.  Walking the rows of beans that needed the help, I thought what is so interesting about this blog?  Why would people want to read this?  My first thought is some people might enjoy the peacefulness of it, I sure do. Another though was seeing some of the soybeans already eaten to the ground by the deer was fun.  People who hunt know that working on  food plot is not exciting but it is rewarding in its own way.  No adrenaline rush, just a walk with a mission.  And so that is where my entry of blogging was going to end, at the end of the bean plot,  but my day was not complete at the end of the last row.

The day was winding down and I had snuck out to set another camera on a different food plot.I decided then to take an evening swim.  A nice relaxing close to a nice relaxing day.  My daughter,Abbey, joined me but she opted for the hot tub not the pool.  I settled in the pool. The sun was setting and it was a very peaceful evening.  The theme for the day for sure.  Abbey had and enough and said she was going in. I said. “ I will be right behind you in about 15 minutes, I will try not to drown.”

I left the pool and started to pick up, moving floating items off the pool and to a designated storage area near the hot tub.   Note my designated storage area (Note: not the ideal storage space by my wife. She prefers I do a better job of securing the items.  That was just for the record. )

I walked with my hands full to the edge of the concrete and gave the “floaties” a toss. Now you understand why this is not up ‘to code’ so to speak in the clean up hand book.  But it worked tonight.  Sheila was off flying for American Airlines and all I had to do was put the items close to the right area for day.   After the gentle toss  I heard the hiss of insects an odd hiss not quite right I thought. But it did not register as alarming, just annoying really.

I went to get another batch of ‘floaties” and deposit them in the temporary resting spot and I froze.  Dropped the items and sprinted to the house yelling for Abbey.  “Get your camera! Get your camera!  (phone).”  I was excited, alarmed and curious.  “Come with me”, I yelled. “ I need you to take a picture of this huge snake.”  I armed myself with a rake from the garage and marched to the pool wondering where it had slithered off to.  It was going to be easy to spot. it was a good 4 to 5 feet long and fat, really fat , like well fed recently eaten type of snake fat.

Abbey, a 23 year old girly girl, reluctantly came along.  Good thing snakes  number one sense is not hearing because Abbey proved why she is seldom , like never invited on hunting trips.  She is a beautiful young lady ,  but quiet is not in the description paragraph that makes her beautiful.  She was very loud and kind of scream talking. If she was texting I am sure there was an OMG, or some other abbreviation or Emogie in the conversation. All you parents with young ladies know exactly what I am talking about.  The rest of you can just be thankful.

I proceeded confidently with rake in hand to get this big boy off my concrete and possibly in the dirt if it came to that.  My first attempt at snagging it failed and it fell off the edge of the concrete next to the recessed hot tub steps.  An easy target,  I slammed the rake onto the coiled snake a Bull snake,  I had experience dealing with these snakes a semi frequent visitor to the neighborhood.  The pile of snake was bigger than I expected and the rake bounced off kind of like hitting a bouncy ball with a hammer.  My wrist stung as the force of concrete stopped the energy generated from my excitement. What a wimp I thought.  I watched the snake coil and strike at the rake.  Then I heard it that odd hissing again.  But now I could see where it was coming from and it was not hissing at all.  It was a rattle.

An indescribable feeling came over me.  A mixture of fear, adrenaline rush, and a wake up call ran through me.  This is serious because this is NO BULL snake.  I was less than a quality alpha hunter from this point on and the snake retreated to a corner of the recessed area I could not get my rake into.  There was a reason big animals get big.  He out smarted me.  This will be a common theme to my blog.

I was left to making calls to the Sheriff’s office to see if they would remove it.  They passed it on to the local DNR wardens.

I was happy to communicate with someone who was an expert.The DNR confirmed it as a rattle snake.  They also confirmed I was NOT to kill it.  It is protected in Wisconsin.

It was NO BULL snake and that is how my quiet Sunday ended and my first blog article started.

Thank You Abbey for the pictures you are a brave young lady.  Brave , not quiet.

See a video of the rattler here.   The picture of the snake near the hot tub shows my wet footprints in relation to the snake.

-At My Limit
Mark