After you read what happened you'll understand why I mentioned luck. I've taken dozens of longbeards, but most have been from blinds of one configuration or another, from brush to mobile popups. In less than ten situations I've been successful by converting myself into a "mobile blind" using my old Rancho Safari Shaggie suit, which I carry in my back pack just in case I run out of options. The second bird I took this season falls into the latter category; I simply had no choice!
First, I'm fortunate to have access to my uncle's farm only 15 minutes from my house. Year in and year out it produces good numbers of Easterns, and I know the place extremely well. Over the years I have been increasingly successful by calling less, minimizing decoy use, and concentrating on funnels where hens are likely to drag unsuspecting toms from point A to point B.
I carry a big Bisongear "Elk" model pack absolutely stuff full of anything I might need for a full day of chasing turkeys; food, water, decoys, calls, and a shaggie suit. This way I am prepared whenever the birds become scattered and "henned up", typically mid-season where I hunt.
My strategy the past several years has been to set multiple blinds in key funnel areas; some on field edges and others in wooded areas along logging roads, benches, or drainage "headers" where birds take the path of least resistance. This gives me the option of sitting near roost zones early, but moving into another ambush spot if the birds sound off elsewhere tipping me off as far as where they're traveling.
The other morning was frantic with me moving about a lot. I moved into a field edge blind before daylight where I had observed a gobbler and hen appear three days in a row. Right on time he hammered out a gobble from the roost within 100 feet of me. Unfortunately a group of black angus cows foiled my plans when they decided to camp out beside my blind with me in it. This prompted a hen to cackle and fly away from me with the gobbler following on a string. Round one OVER.
I sat for another hour, actually, fell asleep once but was jarred alert by a burst of frantic gobbling in front of me. A group of jakes with a two old gobbler in tow were chasing four hens in a circle some 50 yards in front of me. I enjoyed the show through my "wide screen TV" for maybe 45 minutes before they finally disappeared into the woods on the other side of the field.
After a long period of silence I decided to slip over the hill behind me, wade a creek, and sneak toward another blind I had setup along a wooded drainage where I had taken my first bird opening weekend.
As I was about to climb into the second blind I heard a "putt PUTT" just past it. Two longbeards and a hen spotted me and were vacating the small field on the opposite side of my blind. End of round two. Murphy's Law was alive and well ... but my luck was about to change in way I could never have imagined.
After such a long hike down I decided to at least sit in the blind long enough to eat an early lunch and let things settle down some. After 30 minutes or so of licking my wounds my spirits were lifted by the sound of a gobble close by. He was sounding off at a flurry of crow activity overhead. Good, maybe the hunt wasn't over, perhaps he was one of those birds that spooked, perhaps he was alone? I took out a slate call and clucked twice. "GOBBLE-GOBBLE"!! Here he came! all he had to do was walk across the railroad between us and I could see him. But "Murphy" wasn't finished quite yet; a distant sound of a train. You can figure out the rest of that scenario.
Totally disgusted I threw the loaded pack on my back and headed toward the creek crossing on route back to the first blind and ultimately to my truck parked about mile away. After crossing it hit me that the recent rains had washed away the paper towel I had hung in a treed to help me find the shallow spot in the dark, and I had plans to wade the creek the next morning. I pulled a piece of white tissue that I keep in a hip pocket for "emergencies" and began hanging small strips along my intended pre-dawn path. I was hanging a second piece, not more than 30 feet from the creek edge when "GOBBLBULLLLLL". He was close TOO CLOSE. I instantly dropped to the ground and rolled like a steel pipe into a ditch that drained into the creek behind me. I crouched low, slipped my fedora to the ground and grabbed me shaggie suit from my pack. Somehow I managed to put it on although it seemed that every stick and nearby briar wanted to mate with the burlap. With an arrow nocked I was as ready as I could be given the circumstances.
Slowly raising my head toward the last sound I spotted a tiny spot of red through the timber. It was his head and he was coming down the wooded shelf, closing the distance, gobbling as he came at every " caww" of more crows overhead. I was literally stuck with no place to go! Afraid that at any moment he would spot me and I slowly collapsed "spread eagle" FACE DOWN to await my fate. I must have looked like a pile of dead leaves.
He came directly toward where I was laying, so close that I heard him walking near my head. I didn't dare move. Playing dead was not a choice it was a necessity! The sounds stopped. I was virtually in the dark, my eyes were shut. Then, GOBBBBULL!!" I was shaken. The longbeard was literally feet from my head and hammering in frustration. I know I must have trembled at the shock of that sound, SO CLOSE. I wanted him to just go away. Silence, then a single "putt" as I heard him walking back the way he had came. Ah relief, I thought it was finally over. But things sometimes do actually, shockingly, turn around.
With seemingly nothing to lose I slowly lifted my dirt spotted face for a final peak at my tormentor. He was walking straight away, actually beginning to peck at the ground in front of him, and about to put a split trunked tree between us! As the tree shielded me I rose to my knees, pointed my bow arm just pass the tree, and prepared for a desperation shot. Out he popped still with his back to me. I don't remember releasing the arrow, or even if I made I to anchor. The gobbler sprang ten feet into the air with tall fanned and wings outstretched in a slow motion taunt of what was apparently a misplaced arrow. When he came to rest he took off with his head low and both wings held awkwardly. Running in an "S" pattern he looked groggy at best. After a final dash behind a nearby blow down all was silent. No movement. Nothing.
My binoculars revealed a dark form under a log. Could it be? I laid down, waited, and watched. 30 minutes later I stood over him. My arrow was no where in sight, but it had hit him low through the upper "drumsticks" and ended his charade. LUCK? You betcha. But I'll take it anytime, anywhere.
Topic: LUCKY IN KENTUCKY! (Read 832 times)
