I am a turkey hunter. The older I get, the worse the affliction seems to have its control over me.
As a turkey hunter, spring gobbler seasons generally gain most of the attention and excitement from me and other hunters. As a person who travels to many states during the spring for turkeys, I get it. The fall season can be overshadowed by the thoughts of deer — especially large bucks during the craze of the breeding time known as the rut. I get that as well.
But for me, if there is a turkey season open, I must go — simply for the fact often stated that you can’t punch your tag sitting on the couch. You may have a tough time punching a tag in the woods as well, but at least your odds are somewhat greater.
Here is a prime example of simply showing up that turned into a hunt I won’t forget any time soon.
With an invitation from a dear friend to join him for a day or two of hunting at his family farm in Ohio, I walked into the woods with no real idea if there were any turkeys around. I had a few reports from bowhunting friends of mine that stated they either heard them calling at first light or saw them being, well, turkeys, from their elevated stands. That is about all I had.
I chose an open flat of hardwoods that dropped off into a creek drain and then opened back up into a brushy hillside. There were signs of some old scratching, where the turkeys had scratched in the leaf litter for bugs, seeds or wild foods in the form of nuts or soft mast such as fruits.
I was excited to see the scratching, although I could not determine how old the sign was. It didn’t really matter; I was simply on a scouting mission anyhow. I thought until a turkey answered my calling.
I was blind calling, meaning I had no clue if there was a turkey within 100 miles of me, when I heard a response. I continued to use my box call to create some urgency in my calls, alerting all critters that wanted to listen that I was a lost turkey. The calls were working, as I heard several turkeys responding.
This went on for a good while until, I assume, the mother hen gathered up all her flock and then yelled back at me in a tone that only a child of a mother would understand. She was not happy with me or her flock for talking to strangers.
The woods were again quiet. Tomb-like quietness fell over me and the hardwoods. A random whitetail doe walked across the flat, and she even glanced my way with a scowl.
After 20 minutes or so of no activity, I caught movement across the creek. With my binoculars, I spotted a mature gobbler standing on a log. I was left to assume he enjoyed all the turkey sounds and the show.
In a last-ditch effort, I dropped the box call and picked up a call I only use on occasion — rare occasions. I made a series of gobbler yelps and even managed to squeak out a “kee kee†— a sort of whistle-sounding call often heard in the fall.
I heard responses and things happened rather quickly. In a matter of minutes, a young gobbler ran on the flat I was sitting on, and in doing so, I checked off the line item of “turkey†on my Thanksgiving grocery shopping list.
I am, after all, a turkey hunter.
Chris Ellis is a veteran of the outdoors industry. His book “Hunting, Fishing and Family from The Hills of West Virginia” is available at . Contact him at chris@elliscom.net.
