Getting out of bed at zero-dark thirty
is most likely the hardest part of turkey hunting – at least for
me. I mean what reasonable person does that? Uh, that didn't
exactly come out right I guess. Anyway, last week on Wednesday I
managed to get up at 4:30 AM and stumble into some clothes. I fixed
a pot of coffee and filled a thermos to take along, downing a piece
of peanut butter toast in the process. I took along the last
chocolate chip cookie and a banana. As I turned onto the ridge road,
I could see stars set in a black sky that was turning to a cold blue
above a hint of gray along the horizon. The Canucks on the BBC were
jabbering about the Boston bombers and how those poor people by the
fertilizer plant down in Texas were getting short shrift by the
press; I switched it off – enough for awhile.
I turned off the headlights as I pulled
off the road onto my friend's field road and headed across rough
country to the back gate of Grouse Hollow Farm. I used the kid
gloves technique to close the truck door and to lower the tailgate so
as to not make much noise. I sipped hot coffee and listened. I hate
to use the word perfect too often, but it was just that, perfect.
Cool with not even a breeze. Song birds were coming alive, tweeting
politely at first and then more urgently as they began their day. As
always, there were crows, first one and then a raucous chorus. I
heard the bawling of cattle and then a milking machine start
somewhere far off followed by the “beep beep beep” of someone
backing up a big truck or something.
The first gobble was far off. Probably
across Proksch Coulee. It was quarter after 5. I wished I were
closer to that one, as the tom must have been desperate for
companionship. It gobbled and gobbled. A few minutes later one
joined in, closer to me, but still clear across the ridge I think. I
poured more coffee and ate the cookie.
I was thinking about driving back the
way I came and trying to get above one of those love crazed birds,
when one announced that he was awake down on a point near where I
was. I set down the coffee and grabbed Wilma and my turkey gigbag
and cushion and headed that way.
When I had a better idea of where the
bird was calling from, I decided to walk down through a deep hollow –
as a short cut – to a spot along a field where I could put out my
decoys and get set up for an ambush. I worked up a sweat getting
back up out of that hole, but the tom was still talking.
I posted a couple of Carry Lite hen
decoys on the edge of an old corn field and made my way back through
the brush to a big stump I noticed. I got covered up. I checked and
loaded my .10 gauge turkey special. I tried a lonesome hen call. I
waited a few minutes and tried it again, louder and waited some more.
The woods around me were just starting to turn green. Some plants
were like iridescent lights as the sun started to filter through the
trees from the ridge across from us. I took a couple pictures with
my phone. I tried calling again. There are mosquitoes. One bit
through my glove. I recently read where if man were to go extinct
that in 50 years all life on Earth would flourish, but if insects
disappeared, all life would be extinct in 50 years. Maybe so, but I
have a theory that if we just get rid of mosquitoes, we could
probably put up with going extinct over a few eons. Those remaining
years would probably be more pleasant without all that whining.
Anyway, my play with the dastardly winged Twilight wannabees was
interrupted by another animal I think we have too many of –
coyotes. I heard a howl from probably a quarter of a mile or more
away behind me. It was almost instantly answered by what sounded
like half a dozen howls down in the hollow I had just crossed. I
waited holding Wilma a little tighter. After a bit, I tried calling
again. I wanted a turkey, but I would have considered a coyote a
suitable second place trophy for this hunt.
Anyway, nothing, no one, nobody, nada,
nuttin' honey showed up – except more mosquitoes. I checked the
clock and realized I would have to hustle to walk back the half mile
to the pickup and get down the ridge and off to work. See why I
don't use perfect much? The birds didn't cooperate, there were
coyotes messing things up, and of course those buzzing vampires were
less than pleasant to deal with. Still it was pretty near perfect
and the memories and story will improve with age.
Until next time, get out – the
neighbors have found a few small gray morels. We have rhubarb and
asparagus coming up. Things have to be getting closer to full, head
on, spring time – except for maybe the sleet that fell later
Saturday and the frost on Mother's Day. Our Colorado mountain kids
were here this last weekend. Ben and his friend Drew drove in on
Thursday – my birthday (don't ask) – and Mark and Whitney came on
Sunday along with their friends the Timmermans. It was great to see
them all if only for a couple of days. Enjoy.
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