Published: May 14, 2009 10:51 pm      

Final day journal

I tiptoe as quietly as possible along the dim trail that leads into the big timber. I spooked three turkeys off their roost last week and I don't want that to happen again. This is my last chance for one of these birds. It is the last morning of the turkey season, and who knows if they will be here next spring?

All is quiet. Sun not yet up. I'll stop here and just listen; no owling. I think they might be leery of my store bought owl call. I'll play a smart game today. No decoy; they might see me put it out. I'll just sit here far away from their roost and listen. I won't give them a chance to know I am here. They will have to make the first move.

Nice, wide pine tree; damp leaves; comfortable seat; no noise. Every bird in the woods is singing now. Sunshine was forecast again, but at daylight the cloud cover is still there, just like it has been for days. No toms gobbling. Maybe I'll hear one today. Just one. Come on. Come on.

Was that a cluck? Right here 70 yards left? Yes. There it is again. I can't believe they roosted on this side of the ridge! My luck! Too close to them again and one of them probably has seen me. But the cluck didn't come from an alarmed bird. There. Another bird sounding farther left. I'll wait and see what happens.

Pretty out here now. I'll take Lurey one of those big wild magnolia blooms. Big wings flap and I hear feet hit the leaves. Now another one is cackling on a limb. Another cackle and it glides down. They are close. Here goes. I cackle loudly with my mouth call and whip my hat hard against my pants leg several times. Two birds yelp back now and I give them soft yelps with the tiny walnut wood box.

    

Fruitless chatting

 

They cluck; I cluck; they cluck; I cluck. Nothing comes. One of them has a deeper cluck. Might be a gobbler. Now another turkey is coming from straight ahead, putting and clucking. Sounds like a hen . I hear steps far right; almost behind me. A big bird appears and heads straight for the approaching hen; the noisy one.

It's a very big bird, but I see no beard; no red or white on the head. Must be that big hen I saw weeks ago. My gun is up but the bird is getting farther away. I cluck softly and it stops. Still can't see a beard, but man that is a big one. It fades into the brush toward the vocal hen.

The wind is coming up. The scheduled front is here. Northwest wind. Cool. It's been a cool, wet spring. The turkeys are quiet. I think it's over.

About time to go. This about wraps up another season. It's been a good one. A lot to do at home this morning. Work waiting. I'll sit here just a little longer and call a few more times. More clucking sounds echo off the great beech trees from the far side of the ridge. But the wind is higher. I think I am imagining the sounds.

Must go soon, so I put away my calls and stand and stretch. It's just 7:30 so I tiptoe over to the ridge top and step down a few steps on the other side. I don't hear any clucks, so I ease forward toward a big tree to sit a while longer and enjoy the woods and the sounds. Another step and a turkey flushes; then another and another! One putts as it flies. Darn! That was a bird I was hearing all along. I should have assumed it was. They were just 80 yards out and heading my way.

Won't I ever learn? The birds know my tricks better than I know theirs. They are toying with me like a puppy worrying an old shoe. They are having fun with me. They probably want me to be a better opponent. I've been too easy for them to fool.

Starting to rain. Now it’s pouring. My little camo umbrella gets me to a covered shoot house. I set out a decoy. A jake comes to my calling and then nothing. The rain slacks. Now defeat sets in and I decide to leave.

    

Late surprise

 

I head out to the gravel road. As I reach it I take a peek before stepping out. Shazam! A huge gobbler! He doesn’t see me and he is stepping into the woods on my side of the road heading straight for the shoot house I just left. I tiptoe back, put out one hen decoy and climb in.

His path will take him straight to my setup. Duck soup. I can taste baked turkey and dressing. I give a couple of low clucks and then a short series of yelps. I can picture him raising that white head and listening.

But 30 minutes has passed and now an hour. What happened? There is no answer. There never is it seems. Spring gobblers don’t have to explain. They may not even know themselves.

On the way out I think I see the answer. There is a ravine he would have had to cross to get to me. He probably would have crossed it had I not called. But once I called, the established rule took over.” Don’t cross any barrier to go to a hen.” Cross it as you will, but not when a hen is urging you to.

I didn't take a limit from their numbers this year. Last year either. I think they know it. I wonder what is the equivalent of sneering and laughing for turkeys. I sense they are doing it.  Wow. That was fun.