Dad and I laid the smack on the Rios in Texas this weekend.
The weather forecast called for a calm day Saturday, 45mph wind Sunday, and cold with high winds on Monday, so I told Dad we needed to hunt all day Saturday and get 'er done before the bad winds came in. BTDT many times and high winds can sure shut it down.
Friday eve we drove around glassing several places and saw several toms out in a few fields. Just before dark we headed to a canyon to try and put one to bed. I had one pegged with a few hoots, so Dad decided that's the spot he wanted to try the next morn. I decided to try a wheat field where we spotted a few strutting late that evening.
Saturday morning the fog was really thick, but we eased on through and I dropped Dad off at his spot well before light. The fog slowed me down getting to my spot and the birds were already gobbling when I got out of the truck about 3/4mi from where I was going to hunt. I humped it twds the field and wrapped around a ridge to avoid getting busted. I picked a clump of small trees on the edge of the wheat and sat down for gobble fest. The birds were hammering! There's just nothing like a good ole Rio roost. I gave em a few sweet yelps and they ate it up, but some hens piped up as well so I figured it might get a little interesting after fly down. Sure enough they all pitched out and went right to the hens, away from me. By this time the fog had really set in thick, I could only see about 40-50yds at times. Some of the toms shut down after joining the hens but several were still fired up, so I kept pouring it on them. After a while without them seeming to move, I grabbed my aluminum pot and showered down on them with a few series of cutts and they flat ate it up. I decided to go silent for a bit and see what happened. That was all it took, a few minutes later they hammered back and were definitely heading my way. I gave them a little sweet talk and they fired off about 100yds out, but I couldn't see them for the fog. A few mins later I saw a monster appear faintly through the fog to my left, so I started easing around every time he went behind brush. Shortly after I saw the big tom, the silhouettes of two strutters broke through the fog as well(a beautiful sight to say the least). Those rascals were strung out from 50-60yds out and I could have dirt rolled the monster closest to me, but I decided to hold off and see if I could get them in close. Those crazy rascals just wouldn't commit and eased right on by me to a ridge above disappearing into the thick fog. I tried everything, but just couldn't get them to budge once they got on the ridge. A bit later a small herd of hogs came on the scene and fed inbetween me and the toms. I figured, heck, I can't see them for the fog, so they probably can't see me and these hogs will be a good diversion. I hunkered down and went straight away from the birds and once I got a ways away in the dense fog, I humped it making a big loop to get on the ridge they were on. I decided to stick a hen decoy up on the ridge and back off a bit. I threw out some cutts, but no answer. I was starting to think maybe they saw me or the hogs pushed them out. Then, I heard one fire off. They had started heading away from me, so I poured it on them with cutts and they all cranked it right back up. They started getting closer, then hung up down the ridge at the same place they stayed for a while earlier. I decided to just go silent and see what happened. A bit later I saw two of those rascals appear through the fog and they were headed straight for me. As they got closer, a hen appeared and had two strutters in tow. The two closest toms walked up about 10yds from me, so I checked out their spurs and could tell they were both good birds and one a dang good bird. They both blew into strut and headed up twds Peggy Sue, so I just sat there and watched the show. By now the hen and two strutters were about 35-40yds out, but I just couldn't tell how big they were for the fog. I finally couldn't take it any longer and decided to go ahead and whack the closest tom, so I settled the FF dot on his head and let 'er eat. The big tom piled up at the shot and his buddy took off straight away, so I swung around and just flat missed that rascal. I jacked my last shell in and dirt rolled him about 40yds out. While I'm sitting there with a grin from ear to ear I look to my left and one of those strutters is just standing there watching his downed compadres and when he turned broadside he had a freaking rope, I mean a thick long paint brush. I reached in my vest, grabbed another shell, slammed her home, and piled that big rascal up as well! I got up and walked around observing the carnage and man, they were all studs. That last tom was my best to date, sporting a really thick 11-3/8" beard and 1-1/2" hooks. The other two had 10-3/8" and 10" beards. One had a 1-3/8" spur on one side with the other broken off at 1-1/8in. The 2nd bird had 1-3/16" spurs. 3 stud toms down and now that my birds are out of the way, I get to guide Dad for the rest of the hunt.
BTW, toting all my gear and 3 toms ¾-1mi is so much fun
Once I got back to the truck and sucked down a powerade, a BTD text came in. Dad had pole axed the big tom we put to bed the night before. He said he flew down with a couple hens and it took him until about 9:30 to get the hens to come in with big daddy in tow. The two hens got too close and spooked, but big boy was a bit behind strutting on the other side of some brush. When the hens took off, that big rascal came out of strut, stretched his head up above the brush, and Dad laid the hammer on him. He was a nice tom sporting a 1-3/8" spur on one side and 1-1/8" on the other with a thick 10" beard.
After we ganged up and told the mornings stories, we headed out of the canyon and commenced to cleaning the pile of toms. We finished up about noon, iced down the birds, and Dad said "You want to go grab some lunch in town?" I said "Would you rather keep hunting on this calm, beautiful day or come back tomorrow and fight 40+ winds?" He said "Good point, lets chase turkeys!"
We drove over to a cow pasture where I heard some gobbling in the distance that morning, but didn't have any luck. I decided to go try a wheat field we found some tracks in the previous day. When we got near the field, I eased up to glass, but there weren't any birds in site. We eased across the field and got on top of a big sand dune to see if we could get a response. Dad can't hear very well, so I get to be his ears
After a sequence of cutts, I faintly heard a gobble way off. We beat it down to the edge of the field and sat down next to a big tree about 30yds from the field edge. I threw out some cutts and faintly heard him again. We just hung out for a while calling a bit and hearing him faintly gobble once in a while. I started pouring it on him and he finally started moving. He finally cranked it up, gobbling at everything I threw out, but he was still about 600+yds out. I was pretty sure I knew where he was, in a small clump of oak brush, but I didn't know if he could see the field and didn't want to spook him. I decided to go silent and see what he would do. A few minutes later I finally spotted him top a pile of sand in the brush and a few minutes later he entered the field about 500yds out. It seemed like it took him forever to cross the field, but he finally eased our way. Dad could finally hear him gobbling when he got out in the field a ways, so he was getting pretty pumped as well. That rascal strutted, spit and drummed, gobbled, and danced all around... it was quite the show. When he got about 50yds Dad says "Is he close enough?" I say "No, let him come on." When he finally got to around 30yds Dad says "I can't take it any longer!" He was eat up with tom fever and I was too
He waited for him to turn away and pulled up his gun. He said "Make him stick his head up" so I putted and that rascal didn't even get stretched out good when dad laid the hammer on him. I was so excited I went to jump up and stuck my hand in some thorns, then went to grab the tree and buried one of those long thorns in my palm
War wounds, you got to love it!
The story goes on as we piled up some real nice toms with an xbow as well, but I'll start another post.
My birds all were killed in wet grass and looked like they'd been through a car wash, so I didn't get any good pics, but Dad's were nice and dry:
Dad's big tom from the Canyon:
Dad's field bird that put on the show:
My driest bird, the smaller of the three:
The thick paint brush and 1-1/2" hooks on the big one I slammed:
Hooks on my other bird:
Ya'll have a good one,
loder
