A Season to be Remembered: The Finale, Part 2
05-25-2005, 07:40 PM
#1
Nontypical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: SW Michigan
Posts: 1,906
A Season to be Remembered: The Finale, Part 2
Part 2 The Reckoning
The bird gobbled, and Chris responded with a soft series of cluck and purrs. The tom responded immediately with a double gobble. Chris cut off his second gobble with a few yelps, and the ensuing gobble sounded as if the bird was positioned 50 yards away, on a hidden rise. It was 5:50, and Chris smiled to himself.
Reminiscing, Chris thought about the bird he had tagged last Friday. It had been a classic “take him off the roost” hunt. That hunt in itself was special, simply because it was his deceased father’s birthday, but Chris felt almost cheapened. The bird had gobbled at an owl hooter, and after a careful stalk, he was positioned within 75 yards of the bird’s roost. The bird glided down out of the tree, a few clucks from the mouthcall, 4 shots and a mad dash through the woods, and by 5:25 the hunt was over. Not a typical hunt or overly enjoying shot sequence, but a simply awesome bird that had gobbled and strutted for 15 minutes on the ground before Chris had fired. He reminded himself to enjoy this hunt, because it could be the last of the year. He also chided himself, reinforcing the concept that this was the beginning of the last week, and golden opportunities such as the current one in his lap---did not occur often.
Back to reality, it had been about 10 minutes. Chris mouthed a few soft purrs and a cluck or two, and the bird responded, but now further away. Quickly a series of soft yelps emanated from Chris’s lips, more from instinct than actual strategic planning. The bird responded, decidedly closer. The gobbler was now on the move, coming in hard and could take two paths…one below the stone ledge, which put him directly in front of the gun barrel, or above the ledge which would most likely bring the bird to Chris’s back.
After 5 long minutes, the tom gobbled from the same spot as before. Seemed as if the old gobbler was acting on instinct as well, expecting the hen to enter his personal space. It was time to play hard to get, and Chris knew patience and sparse calling were now the keys. Time stood still, and the watch read 6:10 when the longbeard thundered once more, still glued to the same piece of earth. Chris rolled a series of 4 soft purrs and a single cluck from his tongue, slid the call to his cheek, and rustled the leaves near his right hand.
“Well that’s it for the calls tommy, time for you to come and greet your lady,” as Chris’s hand slid up to feel the trigger.
Although this section of woods was somewhat open the heavy, misty air limited visibility. Dark stationary objects appeared to move, which was distracting in the least and downright annoying at best. Chris kept staring directly into the space in front of his position, just sensing that the bird would pick his way down the little slope and take the deer trail along the ridge right into his awaiting doom. There had been no more gobbles, which held Chris motionless and hoping that signaled that the tom was slowly but cautiously approaching his position. Turning his head ever so slightly, he peered down the hill at a scampering gray squirrel, which ran up a nearby beech and started chattering. However, the squirrel wasn’t facing Chris, but rather the ridgeline directly above Chris’s head…
Seconds later the rustling of leaves was heard, slightly to his left, on the ridge. The gun barrel, which was resting on his left knee, was pointed in that direction. Within seconds, a dark shape began meandering down the hill directly towards the tree. The swaying beard eased all thoughts that this may be a premature bird, and now Chris was concerned the bird would literally walk into his lap. He was at 15 yards and closing steadily, blocked from a clean shot by the small maple trees and scattered cobblestones. If the bird went to Chris’s right, the game would be over; if the gobbler moved to his left, it would place him behind the big elm and then the hunt would really get interesting.
The bird, however, decided his fate and chose the path on Chris’s right. At 10 paces, the bird’s head went behind a small maple, the last obstruction between his safety and his demise. The gun was shouldered, with the red-dot already centered on the base of the bird’s neck. The gobbler took his last step, and the ensuing gun blast echoed over the ridge, as the bird thrashed down the hillside. A grand finale to a very special year, with a truly awesome hunt that harvested another gorgeous bird.
The bird gobbled, and Chris responded with a soft series of cluck and purrs. The tom responded immediately with a double gobble. Chris cut off his second gobble with a few yelps, and the ensuing gobble sounded as if the bird was positioned 50 yards away, on a hidden rise. It was 5:50, and Chris smiled to himself.
Reminiscing, Chris thought about the bird he had tagged last Friday. It had been a classic “take him off the roost” hunt. That hunt in itself was special, simply because it was his deceased father’s birthday, but Chris felt almost cheapened. The bird had gobbled at an owl hooter, and after a careful stalk, he was positioned within 75 yards of the bird’s roost. The bird glided down out of the tree, a few clucks from the mouthcall, 4 shots and a mad dash through the woods, and by 5:25 the hunt was over. Not a typical hunt or overly enjoying shot sequence, but a simply awesome bird that had gobbled and strutted for 15 minutes on the ground before Chris had fired. He reminded himself to enjoy this hunt, because it could be the last of the year. He also chided himself, reinforcing the concept that this was the beginning of the last week, and golden opportunities such as the current one in his lap---did not occur often.
Back to reality, it had been about 10 minutes. Chris mouthed a few soft purrs and a cluck or two, and the bird responded, but now further away. Quickly a series of soft yelps emanated from Chris’s lips, more from instinct than actual strategic planning. The bird responded, decidedly closer. The gobbler was now on the move, coming in hard and could take two paths…one below the stone ledge, which put him directly in front of the gun barrel, or above the ledge which would most likely bring the bird to Chris’s back.
After 5 long minutes, the tom gobbled from the same spot as before. Seemed as if the old gobbler was acting on instinct as well, expecting the hen to enter his personal space. It was time to play hard to get, and Chris knew patience and sparse calling were now the keys. Time stood still, and the watch read 6:10 when the longbeard thundered once more, still glued to the same piece of earth. Chris rolled a series of 4 soft purrs and a single cluck from his tongue, slid the call to his cheek, and rustled the leaves near his right hand.
“Well that’s it for the calls tommy, time for you to come and greet your lady,” as Chris’s hand slid up to feel the trigger.
Although this section of woods was somewhat open the heavy, misty air limited visibility. Dark stationary objects appeared to move, which was distracting in the least and downright annoying at best. Chris kept staring directly into the space in front of his position, just sensing that the bird would pick his way down the little slope and take the deer trail along the ridge right into his awaiting doom. There had been no more gobbles, which held Chris motionless and hoping that signaled that the tom was slowly but cautiously approaching his position. Turning his head ever so slightly, he peered down the hill at a scampering gray squirrel, which ran up a nearby beech and started chattering. However, the squirrel wasn’t facing Chris, but rather the ridgeline directly above Chris’s head…
Seconds later the rustling of leaves was heard, slightly to his left, on the ridge. The gun barrel, which was resting on his left knee, was pointed in that direction. Within seconds, a dark shape began meandering down the hill directly towards the tree. The swaying beard eased all thoughts that this may be a premature bird, and now Chris was concerned the bird would literally walk into his lap. He was at 15 yards and closing steadily, blocked from a clean shot by the small maple trees and scattered cobblestones. If the bird went to Chris’s right, the game would be over; if the gobbler moved to his left, it would place him behind the big elm and then the hunt would really get interesting.
The bird, however, decided his fate and chose the path on Chris’s right. At 10 paces, the bird’s head went behind a small maple, the last obstruction between his safety and his demise. The gun was shouldered, with the red-dot already centered on the base of the bird’s neck. The gobbler took his last step, and the ensuing gun blast echoed over the ridge, as the bird thrashed down the hillside. A grand finale to a very special year, with a truly awesome hunt that harvested another gorgeous bird.
05-25-2005, 07:43 PM
#2
Nontypical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: SW Michigan
Posts: 1,906
RE: A Season to be Remembered: The Finale, Part 2
Stats: 23 pounds, 9.44 inch beard, 1.0625 & .25 inch spurs.
The left spur was freshly broken off...makes me wonder if he was thumping some butt to greet his last date...
The left spur was freshly broken off...makes me wonder if he was thumping some butt to greet his last date...
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superrman77
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06-30-2004 04:43 PM
