Triple Spurs???
05-02-2011, 05:13 PM
#1
Fork Horn
Thread Starter
Join Date: May 2011
Location: SouthWest Ohio Somewhere
Posts: 255
Triple Spurs???
I shot this turkey last Saturday and it weighed 23 pounds and had a eight and a half inch beard and one and and an eighth inch spurs. I found something unusual as I was starting to cut on each side of the spurs: an extra spur on each side of each spur that looks to be approximately three eighths of an inch each. The are black and hard and seem to be distinctively separate from the main spur on each leg.
My question: do these constitute as what would be considered to be "triple spurs"?
Thanks.
Jeremy from Ohio
My question: do these constitute as what would be considered to be "triple spurs"?
Thanks.
Jeremy from Ohio
05-04-2011, 11:05 AM
#3
Fork Horn
Thread Starter
Join Date: May 2011
Location: SouthWest Ohio Somewhere
Posts: 255
Triple Spurred Cowboy
The story:
I rolled over to press hit the snooze button. It was only 0430. Why is my alarm set for such an early time? Oh, yea. Grandpa wants me to go get that turkey. He had taught me at an early age how to use a diaphragm call, even though I had no idea how much fun and joy it would eventually bring me later in life. I never got to go hunting with him growing up due to some family tensions with the exception of going mushroom hunting a few times and a few early morning turkey locating adventures during pre-spring turkey hunting season. I was always a little interested in the outdoors, so after I got off of Active Duty from the Air Force, I decided I was going to try my luck at hunting. I tried both deer and turkey hunting, with little success at first, and still do both to this day. I went with grandpa on and off as he took me on some state land bordering some Mennonite properties as well as a family farm up the road from his house. His health had been going down hill and wasn’t able to hunt as well as he used to.
I rolled out of bed a few minutes later and proceeded to throw on my clothes with a layer of camo. I kissed my wife bye as she hollered back to bring her home a turkey. I grabbed my turkey hunting pack and reached for grandpas old 36 inch Marlin Model 55 Goosegun. Grandma gave it to me after grandpa passed away last spring. I had used it only once last year and missed a nice gobbler. Grandpa had used it numerous times over many years of turkey hunting. Normally, I carry my Mossburg 835, which I already used to take a nice tom on Friday of the first week as I had four nice toms fly from the roost with all four hitting the ground in front of me within gun range. I chose the one strutting in front of me at twenty yards. Now its time to take one with grandpas gun.
I drove to my new spot a couple of miles down the road and pulled into a tractor pull off of a field. I had never hunted here, with the exception of scouting the area once last spring. I had seen a nice gobbler walking in the back of the field so I asked the land owners for permission. I didn’t see it after that so I didn’t bother wasting my time since I already had an excellent place to hunt. The second week of the season this year, I had seen this gobbler in the back of that field three times. Due to my later findings that this bird had exceptional spurs and this property was home to many cows, and we have gotten in the habit of naming some of my deer and turkeys, I’ll call this gobbler, Cowboy.
I was waiting for a day without rain to go after Cowboy. This day was calling for lots of sun finally. I grabbed my gear from my truck and walked back the rain-saturated field trying to avoid old corn stalks and standing water. I picked what I thought might be a good place to set-up and placed a hen decoy out at fifteen yards out and a jake decoy about five yards from her. I sat against an old oak tree and noticed the area had quite a bit of poison ivy. Oh well, it doesn’t affect me all that much. I sat and waited for daylight.
It started getting a little light and I heard a few distant gobbles probably about half a mile or so away. I could see something dark on the other side of the field, but as it got lighter I could tell it was just a small tuft of grass. Two deer ran around a distant field before running into the woods. Some time went by without hearing anything so I sent out a few tree calls and finally got a reply back from a dominant hen that sounded fighting mad. I played around with her for awhile by doing some aggressive cutts and cackles which got a few gobblers in the area fired up, letting out an occasional gobble. Then I heard nothing again.
I was starting to get uneasy about the spot where I was sitting, because I got looking around and noticed quite a bit of open area through the woods behind me. I was afraid they would come up behind me and that I would spook them before I even knew they were there, so I got up and looked around my immediate area for a better spot to sit but any other good spots sent me farther into the woods putting too much real estate between myself and the decoys. I don’t know why I always think that there is a better place to sit than the one I am already in. I always remember my rules of patience, but for some reason I always end up breaking them. I glanced out into the field. Two large hens had made their way into the field on the other side, which was about a hundred or so yards away. I quickly stepped back to my original spot and sat back down as quietly as possible but it was too late. The hens had spooked and were gone. At that instance, I thought I had blown the entire hunt and might as well just get up and go home for the day.
I glanced around at the empty field and wondered what else I had spooked. Then all of a sudden, a tom came strutting out of the woods on the other side where I had spotted the hens. It was Cowboy. He strutted and gobbled by the tuft of grass, back and forth, back and forth, for about an hour. He saw the decoys but wouldn’t budge from his strut zone. I thought I would have to come back the next day and set up closer to that spot if I was going to have a shot at him. I called to him and eventually got him to start walking my way, strutting about half the time and continuing to gobble his head off. My arms and legs were getting stiff and tired from not being able to move for so long. The turkey teased me by stretching out his wings and flapping them a couple of times. Then he stopped about fifty or so yards out and I could tell he saw something he didn’t like. Suddenly, he walked back to his strut zone and continued his strutting and gobbling for about another hour.
During this time, I threw everything I knew to do at this turkey to try to coax him over. I chirped and yelped and cackled and purred at him. None of it seemed to faze him except an occasional turn of the head. Finally, I decided to just do an occasional cluck about two or tree times a minute. It got his attention and he started my way again. Once again he strutted most of the way and continued gobbling his head off. He then hung up again at fifty yards.
I continued the clucking and he slowly came in, one step at a time, going in and out of strut. He got in to about thirty yards and he went into a strut and didn’t come out. His head was tucked back so far that he had to turn his head to one side and I could barely make it out and it was solid white by this time. He started spitting and drumming and walking sideways as he danced his dance. His wing feathers glistened in the morning sun as they shook. He walked in to fifteen yards, facing directly at me most of the time. I waited for his eye disappeared behind his snood before I raised my gun from my knees and pointed the barrel in his direction. I didn’t want a front shot that would mess up the tail feathers. I waited for him to come out of strut, but he didn’t. He turned slightly to the side and I took the shot. Boom!!!!! Cowboy fell and feathers went flying everywhere. I gathered my gear and filled out my tag and proceeded back to my truck. Thanks Grandpa!
I stopped by the land owners to show them as well as a neighbor before proceeding home with my prize. Cowboy weighed right at twenty three pounds and the beard measured eight and a half inches and the spurs were an inch and an eighth. I am extremely satisfied with this bird, maybe even more so than the twenty five pounder I had killed a few years ago. Several days later, when I went to cut off the spurs, I noticed the extra bumps on each side of the spurs. He actually had triple spurs on each leg. I wanted to register him in the NWTF records, but I found out that I can’t since he has already been put in the freezer. Oh well. I guess I’ll have to find another triple spurred tom out there somewhere. Hopefully he left his genetics in my area.
I rolled over to press hit the snooze button. It was only 0430. Why is my alarm set for such an early time? Oh, yea. Grandpa wants me to go get that turkey. He had taught me at an early age how to use a diaphragm call, even though I had no idea how much fun and joy it would eventually bring me later in life. I never got to go hunting with him growing up due to some family tensions with the exception of going mushroom hunting a few times and a few early morning turkey locating adventures during pre-spring turkey hunting season. I was always a little interested in the outdoors, so after I got off of Active Duty from the Air Force, I decided I was going to try my luck at hunting. I tried both deer and turkey hunting, with little success at first, and still do both to this day. I went with grandpa on and off as he took me on some state land bordering some Mennonite properties as well as a family farm up the road from his house. His health had been going down hill and wasn’t able to hunt as well as he used to.
I rolled out of bed a few minutes later and proceeded to throw on my clothes with a layer of camo. I kissed my wife bye as she hollered back to bring her home a turkey. I grabbed my turkey hunting pack and reached for grandpas old 36 inch Marlin Model 55 Goosegun. Grandma gave it to me after grandpa passed away last spring. I had used it only once last year and missed a nice gobbler. Grandpa had used it numerous times over many years of turkey hunting. Normally, I carry my Mossburg 835, which I already used to take a nice tom on Friday of the first week as I had four nice toms fly from the roost with all four hitting the ground in front of me within gun range. I chose the one strutting in front of me at twenty yards. Now its time to take one with grandpas gun.
I drove to my new spot a couple of miles down the road and pulled into a tractor pull off of a field. I had never hunted here, with the exception of scouting the area once last spring. I had seen a nice gobbler walking in the back of the field so I asked the land owners for permission. I didn’t see it after that so I didn’t bother wasting my time since I already had an excellent place to hunt. The second week of the season this year, I had seen this gobbler in the back of that field three times. Due to my later findings that this bird had exceptional spurs and this property was home to many cows, and we have gotten in the habit of naming some of my deer and turkeys, I’ll call this gobbler, Cowboy.
I was waiting for a day without rain to go after Cowboy. This day was calling for lots of sun finally. I grabbed my gear from my truck and walked back the rain-saturated field trying to avoid old corn stalks and standing water. I picked what I thought might be a good place to set-up and placed a hen decoy out at fifteen yards out and a jake decoy about five yards from her. I sat against an old oak tree and noticed the area had quite a bit of poison ivy. Oh well, it doesn’t affect me all that much. I sat and waited for daylight.
It started getting a little light and I heard a few distant gobbles probably about half a mile or so away. I could see something dark on the other side of the field, but as it got lighter I could tell it was just a small tuft of grass. Two deer ran around a distant field before running into the woods. Some time went by without hearing anything so I sent out a few tree calls and finally got a reply back from a dominant hen that sounded fighting mad. I played around with her for awhile by doing some aggressive cutts and cackles which got a few gobblers in the area fired up, letting out an occasional gobble. Then I heard nothing again.
I was starting to get uneasy about the spot where I was sitting, because I got looking around and noticed quite a bit of open area through the woods behind me. I was afraid they would come up behind me and that I would spook them before I even knew they were there, so I got up and looked around my immediate area for a better spot to sit but any other good spots sent me farther into the woods putting too much real estate between myself and the decoys. I don’t know why I always think that there is a better place to sit than the one I am already in. I always remember my rules of patience, but for some reason I always end up breaking them. I glanced out into the field. Two large hens had made their way into the field on the other side, which was about a hundred or so yards away. I quickly stepped back to my original spot and sat back down as quietly as possible but it was too late. The hens had spooked and were gone. At that instance, I thought I had blown the entire hunt and might as well just get up and go home for the day.
I glanced around at the empty field and wondered what else I had spooked. Then all of a sudden, a tom came strutting out of the woods on the other side where I had spotted the hens. It was Cowboy. He strutted and gobbled by the tuft of grass, back and forth, back and forth, for about an hour. He saw the decoys but wouldn’t budge from his strut zone. I thought I would have to come back the next day and set up closer to that spot if I was going to have a shot at him. I called to him and eventually got him to start walking my way, strutting about half the time and continuing to gobble his head off. My arms and legs were getting stiff and tired from not being able to move for so long. The turkey teased me by stretching out his wings and flapping them a couple of times. Then he stopped about fifty or so yards out and I could tell he saw something he didn’t like. Suddenly, he walked back to his strut zone and continued his strutting and gobbling for about another hour.
During this time, I threw everything I knew to do at this turkey to try to coax him over. I chirped and yelped and cackled and purred at him. None of it seemed to faze him except an occasional turn of the head. Finally, I decided to just do an occasional cluck about two or tree times a minute. It got his attention and he started my way again. Once again he strutted most of the way and continued gobbling his head off. He then hung up again at fifty yards.
I continued the clucking and he slowly came in, one step at a time, going in and out of strut. He got in to about thirty yards and he went into a strut and didn’t come out. His head was tucked back so far that he had to turn his head to one side and I could barely make it out and it was solid white by this time. He started spitting and drumming and walking sideways as he danced his dance. His wing feathers glistened in the morning sun as they shook. He walked in to fifteen yards, facing directly at me most of the time. I waited for his eye disappeared behind his snood before I raised my gun from my knees and pointed the barrel in his direction. I didn’t want a front shot that would mess up the tail feathers. I waited for him to come out of strut, but he didn’t. He turned slightly to the side and I took the shot. Boom!!!!! Cowboy fell and feathers went flying everywhere. I gathered my gear and filled out my tag and proceeded back to my truck. Thanks Grandpa!
I stopped by the land owners to show them as well as a neighbor before proceeding home with my prize. Cowboy weighed right at twenty three pounds and the beard measured eight and a half inches and the spurs were an inch and an eighth. I am extremely satisfied with this bird, maybe even more so than the twenty five pounder I had killed a few years ago. Several days later, when I went to cut off the spurs, I noticed the extra bumps on each side of the spurs. He actually had triple spurs on each leg. I wanted to register him in the NWTF records, but I found out that I can’t since he has already been put in the freezer. Oh well. I guess I’ll have to find another triple spurred tom out there somewhere. Hopefully he left his genetics in my area.
