(Authors note: I am hoping you can stand another turkey story, this time of year near the end of the various seasons you can hear many such sad stories at bars, taverns, 7-11’s and other places where turkey hunters gather to cry in their beer and Big Gulps)
I could see him but he couldn’t see me. It dawned on me that I was enjoying this a lot. To sit and watch your quarry, prey, opponent (what was the dang turkey to me anyway?) when you often felt they held all the cards and usually had you at a disadvantage is oddly satisfying. I was sitting as usual in a not so comfortable seat at the base of large tree somewhere in the Appalachian mountains. The terrain is of course bordering on awful. Steep hillsides that only get worse as you try to make your way uphill. O yes, it is almost always uphill to get in the neighborhood of a turkey. (You almost never get to walk downhill, why is that I wonder?)
This turkey had done me a favor and actually gobbled several times on the roost. Turkey hunters know this situation well. The gobbler sits on his limb just at daylight telling the whole world he is the bull of the woods. He gobbles at crows, barred owls, Piliated woodpeckers, sometimes he gobbles on his own, just because he can. You, the hunter, sit in hearing distance and think this is going to be easy. Because of his raucous clamoring you will slip within a couple hundred yards of his address, give a few simple yelps, and he will come marching in to be dispatched with one quick shot. Oddly enough, it doesn’t always go that way.
Sometimes after becoming hoarse from gobbling so much on the limb the mulish turkey flies down and starts a vow of silence he took at some Buddhist monastery he visited on vacation. He won’t answer your calls, or gobble at the crows, owls, woodpeckers, or the slamming of Volkswagen car doors, any of which he would have triple gobbled at fifteen minutes ago. Why? The answer is only known in heaven.
Knowing all this and being the wise, experienced turkey hunter that I am, (sarcasm intended) I decided to wait him out. Again, you experienced turkey hunters know this scenario and have been here more than four times. (More like dozens) The popular advice is to exercise patience. The turkey is there. He has heard your calling, he has almost surely not been spooked. The idea is stay put, not go running off to find some other turkey that may be more responsive to your calls. If you stay rooted in your spot he may eventually come by to check on the hen he heard calling earlier.
The upside is you don’t have to move and face climbing hillsides that would leave a young deer out of breath. The downside is that you just have to sit and wait and wait and sit. You can move a little to get off of the rock or tree root that you have been sitting on for the past hour. The best you can do is try to get comfortable and relax. I find this a good time for a little nap and this helps pass the time while waiting. You cant’s move and you cannot snore. (At least not very loudly) I have always liked the idea of napping and being awakened by a close gobble. This has happened a few times but not nearly enough.
Somewhere during this stage of the dance, half dozing, I became aware of the gobblers presence. We have discussed here before that male turkeys do an unusual form of communication known as “drumming”. This vocalization does not come out of their beak but is somehow done by inflating air sacs on the lungs and then vibrating them to make a weird, low decibel moaning like sound. It is not very loud and is often difficult to determine exactly where it is coming from. With the state of my hearing these days I knew if I was hearing it, he had to be close!
All I could do was sit still and strain my eyes back and forth in hopes of catching a glimpse of the aforementioned turkey. A Bluejay flitted past me and then a Towhee followed him. Looking down the hill I caught another flicker of movement about forty yards away. Just below the crest of a little roll on the hillside I saw the top of a strutting gobbler’s fan moving slowly from left to right. Now I knew his head was below that little rise in the terrain, if I moved a little to ease my gun up he would not see me. As I slowly, slowly, started easing the shotgun up in that direction I noticed something else. The route the turkey was taking was making him descend slightly down hill which would take him out of my view. I decided to risk a very low, soft call on the diaphragm call I had been chewing on for the last hour. At the call the turkey’s fan stopped for a few seconds but continued on. No gobble, no advance in my direction. All the turkey had to do was turn slightly and take two steps up the hill to get invited to dinner at the Case household. As you are probably suspecting, he did not. The gobbler continued on his way and walked out of my life.
Did I carry this turkey home? No, and in some ways I’m kind of glad. It was a long walk back to the truck, especially with twenty extra pounds on your back. I called him in, I got to see him, maybe that is enough. It’s turkey hunting, I love it, I hate it. I’m going again tomorrow.
Larry Case