Last week was the culmination of the testing of my sanity and the questioning of why I put myself through such self-abuse. I'm sure many others suffer the same consequences so many share the empathy.
This morning had me rise at 3:00 and standing at the edge of the property that I was going to hunt at 4:30. The birds were already starting to sing, the moon was nearly full, and I could see the start of the sun creeping near the horizon. As I started to walk towards my stand I knew that no matter where I decided to setup they were going to work the opposite fence row.I pick a small branch of dogwood for good luck! Fog began to set in and made it very difficult to find my spot. As I got near I heard what I thought was deer get up in the thicket. Little did I know the sound was coming near the top of the tree that I was looking to sit under. By the time I recognized my mistake, it was to late. I never saw the bird, but it sounded like a big bird.
As I was spinning round in circles trying to kick myself in the butt, a woodcock took out from under my feet. A normal person would have crapped themselves, a bird hunter gets distracted and then snapped back into reality. I vowed to look for her later!
Finally through the fog and the new greenery I was able to find my spot. I sat down and started playing mental gymnastics about the "Super Gobbler" that I obviously just spooked from his roost. I licked my wounds by prepping my Penn's Woods slate and glass, and waited for the morning to arrive. What seemed like forever was probably less than a half an hour before I heard my first gobble. Sure enough he was in the upper fence row with me in the bottom. His gobble sounded like he was needing his morning cigarette. Later a couple of yelps from various directions as I decided to give a soft yelp from the slate. No answer, but he could tell where I was at. Though I thought it was still early, I thought I heard them fly down. The gobbler called later and I swore he was sounding closer.
At the same time I see a turkey over my left shoulder at less than 15 yards. I can't see a beard. "Jake?" "Maybe" "Hen?" "Possibly!" Whatever it is, it has me pinned down. As I strain to make out it's gender and maturity, my neck starts to cramp and my glasses fog. The cramp will go away if I relax, but how do I get my glasses unfogged. Worse thing is my gun is pointing the wrong way. As he, she, it stares through the thicket I slide my glove up tight against my body hidden by the 6" maple directly between me and her. Yes, I convince myself that it is a hen. I can't make out a beard, just a hint of red in the head and the body looks like a dull brown, grey. I need to clean my glasses again. I keep thinking about trying the binoculars, but I know that I wouldn't be able to pull it off. It's a hen, I'm sure. I keep searching to my right for the big gobbler that I know is following his hen or hens down over the hill. I clean my galsses for the hundredth time and strain my neck to check on my friend. Yep she's still there! "Is that a beard?" "Can't be." " No, that's a stick!" "No, that's a beard!" "A nice one!!" I need to clean my glasses. Now what do I do?
I need to turn my gun. As this bird continues to stare a hole straight through me looking for the hen it had heard earlier in the morning, I try to move my gun into position. How did it get there, where did it come from? I remember that I did hear a gobbler yelp and I would bet that this was him, but I never heard him fly down. I'm guessing he must have dropped more than flew. Still not having any luck in repositioning my gun, but at least he is still there. Staring! I need to lift the gun more upright than simply turn. The gun catches on my backpack, this isn't going to work. I have to try though. Finally I get the gun into position. All the while I continue to strain through the fog for the gobbler to my right. Now words and sentences can't clarify the time line, but this gobbler has had me pinned to this tree for over an hour, stealing my soul all the while. Every muscle in my body is cramped and "Oh yes!" I need to clean my glasses again. The last little bit of gun movement must have caught his eye, but instead of walking away, he moves closer. I think he thought that I was the hen he had been looking for all along. His chest glistens a blue/ green. There is the color I've been looking for all this time.
When I finally get the gun on him he has closed the distance to less than 10 yards. I squeeze, he runs. He didn't run far though. I don't think he knows what the sound is or where it came from. I've got no chance of getting another shot, he has placed a couple of big trees between us as he walks off. I'm in disbelief. How could I miss at that distance. How can you shoot a gun with multiple small projectiles at a still object at less than 25 feet and miss? I don't know, but I did!!!!
Hours later as I have checked for blood, looked for a dead bird, and replayed the shot again and again, I finally put the pieces together. I kept trying to resee the sight picture. When I finally do I remeber that I didn't see the head. It was completely covered by the sights. I should have held lower. Thank you, Mr. Obvious!!
I'm done, I quit!!!!
...at least til next week.
That was the closest I have ever had a gobbler that I intended to shoot.
Thank you God!!!!
