The winter had been long, cold days and snow covered ground had made it seem like six months between deer season and opening day of turkey season. In Tennessee the season starts on the Saturday closest to April first and the date that year was in late March. March had been wet and cooler than usual resulting in many of those overcast cloudy days with fog early and wind in the afternoon.
Opening day of turkey season dawned as far less than what we turkey hunters would consider ideal. Temps in the lower forties, cloudy skies with ten to fifteen mph winds caused many hunters to stay in bed and wait for a better day. Being a seriously addicted gobbler chaser for so many years would have me at my favorite spot as the cloudy sky finally gave way to light. No gobbles to be heard for the first hour, using the run and gun method of trying to get on a bird produced nothing for another two hours. Mid morning and not only had I not heard anything remotely like the sound of a gobble but no sightings of anything other than deer who had reappeared after going underground last fall.
About ten o'clock I decided to move to farm number two where I knew of a deep bottom pasture with a creek running through some narrow meadows. I figured there should be some protection from the wind and maybe, just maybe, some birds would be feeding in those meadows. If nothing else I knew where there was a very comfortable place to sit down and eat a snack.
The drive to farm number two was only ten minutes and the walk to the creek took another twenty or so. The creek wasn't very wide at the spot where the big cedar tree stood with only a few feet between the trunk and where the bank sloped off. In that space was a huge flat rock and on the slope of the bank down about two feet was another flat rock sticking out to make a perfect foot rest. There are still the remains of rock fences on that farm and just behind me was a fifty or so yard section that had survived time. I always wondered if someone had placed the two rocks there that made such a good seat many years ago or if it was just a work of nature. Either way it was a perfect place to sit and I was no stranger to it or it to me.
I don't know why ordinary food like beans, crackers, cheese, etc. taste so much better when eaten outside in a hunting atmosphere. Over the years I've quit trying to figure it out and just enjoy it as I was doing on this cold windy day in March. I was about halfway through a can of pork n beans when I heard the worst turkey calling I had ever heard.
Across the creek from me was a narrow forty yard meadow that ran between the creek and a fifty yard wide thicket. When I say thicket I mean briars, bushes, you name it, that no one could walk through. The meadow and the thicket ran about seventy-five yards down the creek to my left and emptied out into bigger woods that I didn't have permission to hunt. The terrible calling sound was coming from somewhere between me and the big woods, my guess was near the end of the thicket but it was hard to tell with the wind blowing. Finishing my beans and curious as to who might be on the property I turned my attention in the direction of the sound. The calling continued for a few minutes and I decided to let whoever it was know that I was there; actually no one else had permission to be where I was, so I took the box call and let out a loud and long series of yelps. To my amazement they answered back immediately! Before I could answer back they were coming toward me demonstrating the worst calling sounds I had ever heard. To even more confuse the situation the idiot was coming straight through the middle of the thicket. Wawk wawk wawk wawk, who is this idiot and why in the name of all that is reasonable is the fool coming through that thicket?
It took a few minutes but when the awful sounds became non-stop and were now straight across from me in the thicket I concluded that this was indeed a real hen. While looking and trying to see her I caught just a hint of movement to my left behind three shoulder high cedar trees standing out in the middle of the meadow. Turning my head ever so slowly allowed my eyes to zero in on what every turkey hunter is looking for and there were three of them. Three nice full fans being displayed by three nice long beards. This is when I guess experience comes into play because these are the times when you either kill a bird or you go home and mull over where you messed up. All those years of experience had taught me to do absolutely nothing other than to sit still and very very slowly get my gun in a position to shoot. The gobblers were still a few yards out of range but with the hen now past me on the other side and continuing on through the thicket with her awful calling skills she would drag those boys right past me. Seconds seem like hours but ever so slowly and never breaking strut all three worked their way in range. I had to wait for them to spread out a little but one of them finally surged ahead of the other two. Bad mistake on his part and he paid the price.
Turkey hunting is a never ending process of learning, learning the birds, learning the hunting ground, and learning you. There was never a decision to make as to whether or not I would hunt that day. The decision of going to a likeable spot, sitting down and relaxing, enjoying a simple snack, all put me in a position to take advantage of a situation that would have occurred whether I was there or not.
Come to think of it life is a lot like that, when we choose our spots carefully, relax and enjoy them then we find ourselves in a position to take advantage of the good things that happen to come by.
ZG
