Antler Eater gets lucky
04-23-2004, 05:48 PM
#1
Nontypical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Heaven IA USA
Posts: 2,597
Antler Eater gets lucky
My sleep is interrupted by voices coming from the other side of the room. The darkness surrounding me adds to the confusion…hmmm either it is the radio alarm, I have unexpected company, or as many have already pointed out, I am completely mad. After contemplating the three possibilities I demonstrate incredible intelligence by deciding it is in fact the radio alarm and after mumbling something about “lucky for those intruders blah, blah, blah,” I rise from my bed. Turkey season has officially arrived for me.
A guy from town wanted to go with me this mourning but he called around 5:30 and cancelled due to the rain that was falling outside. Not a problem, as grandpa used to say, “So much the more for me!” I find my rain gear, strap on the decoy bag to my back, pick-up my thunder stick and head out the door.
Rain slaps my face as I make my way across the bean field to my pre-determined spot in the blackness. Mud begins to cake up on my boots making each step an effort, my breathing becomes labored. Two thoughts cross my mind as I trudge across the terrain. First, this getting old issue and me just are not getting along at all! In younger days I could have ran the entire length of this field and not breathed this hard. Dad was right, “Getting old ain’t for sissies”. Secondly, those people are right, for me to go through all this for a silly turkey, means I must be insane!
Then the rain stops, YIPEE! Hoping to pin point a tom’s location I crow call a couple of times…nothing. Again…still no response. There has to be birds here, I scouted this place recently and the last two years without fail it has always held a small band of turkeys. I will have to rely on what I know rather than current appearances (that in itself is frightening enough to sober a drunk).
Night begins to lose its grip and I am concerned about being spotted by any roosting birds as I put out the decoys. To my delight the morning silence is unbroken and I crawl into a plum thicket contemplating what fate may hold at daybreak. I make some clucks on the slate and listen intently for a reply. The only sound I hear is a muted dripping of raindrops falling from the petite pedals of the plum trees. To say I was confident would be complete untruth. Doubt begins to murmur in my mind. Who would hunt here…it isn’t even a woods…a deep ravine, a few large trees, some brush…I must be out of my mind…a REAL turkey hunter wouldn’t waste his time here…if anyone knew I was here I would be the laughing stock of the Izaak Walton league. I chuckle to my self as I think about my dilemma.
A glance at my watch tells me it is 6:32. A cow bellows in the distance and I begin to think of what I have to accomplish today when my soggy adventure comes to a close. Suddenly a glorious babble erupts from the ravine about 200 yards to my right…GOBBLE-GOBBLE-GOBBLE!!!
At that moment in time, an old man is transformed. Lost youth is revisited. A big “Wylie Coyote” smile burst across a haggard face. Tired eyes that were dimmed by time and fatigue; now sparkle and dance with anticipation! Adulthood with its reason and realities are temporarily thrown to the fickle winds of fate. As if deranged I address an imaginary presence named Doubt and enthusiastically whisper; “What did I tell ya! Huh! I told you there would be birds here didn’t I!” This time Doubt could not talk back.
A couple of clucks and yelps from the call and I see two birds fly into the bean field. They were so far away I couldn’t tell if they were toms or hens. Then two more landed and immediately upon touching the ground one went into a full strut. WAHOO!!! I begin to talk softly to the tom…he pays me no mind. Again I try this time louder with more urgency. The latter two birds snap to attention. The first two birds go south, away from my “nest of death”. The tom and his friend now head my direction.
A little sweet talk, an attractive distraction, and this guy is headed for real trouble, funny how it works that way with humans too. Yes, the wheels of fate have been set in motion by a natural compulsion inside my feathered friends that knows no resistance. A basic instinct was about to betray their confidence; apparently treason is still a death sentence in some states.
As they make their way to my position it becomes obvious they both are gobblers. Oddly enough only one would talk back to me and he was also the only one that would strut. They both appeared to be the same general size in body weight and beard length. My decision is to take out the silent partner…they are well within range now but I must hold my fire because they are too close together. A blast now would kill both. They walk right by me at about 15 yards as they make haste to drub my jake decoy. For the first time I feel my crafty plan slipping through the cracks. Because I had to let the birds pass, I now have to shift my weight and change my gun position to make the shot. They are so close and we are in such open terrain I just know they will catch the movement and my ruse will go from “cruise” to “you lose” in short order.
By now both toms are in full strut side by side making circles around a mute jake. I shift my weight and position my gun as they express their disdain for my decoy. With that the last hurdle has been crossed, their destiny has been sealed, and today, for one of these birds at least; there will no longer be a need to eat.
They finally split up and surround my lifeless prop all the while spitting and hissing. I am ready at the trigger and let out a raucous call of my own with my diaphragm hoping it will cause them to stretch their necks making an easier mark for my swarm of number fives. Surprisingly they ignore my effort and continue their game of “ring-around-the-rosy”. For the moment I’m miffed…all that worry about noise and movement and now they aren’t hearing me when I want them too. Then for reasons unbeknownst to me they abruptly stop their wicked dance. Thereupon for just an instant there is grim silence…
Like an ominous clap of thunder warning of the impending violent storm, my gun erupts sending fire and deadly force to the head of the silent partner. The familiar sensation of recoil pushes me back as the shot sends a deafening shock wave across the small canyon.
The tom is cut down like spring grass and just as flat.
The remaining tom can’t leave fast enough and he stumbles as he does his best roadrunner imitation upon exit. Today he gets a second chance at life complete with a diploma from the school of survival. Next spring he will have to take continuing ED. Who knows, maybe next year I will again be the his professor and administer his final exam. Not bad for a crazy guy huh.
Stats:
23 ½ lbs.
1 1/8” spurs
10 ¼” beard
A guy from town wanted to go with me this mourning but he called around 5:30 and cancelled due to the rain that was falling outside. Not a problem, as grandpa used to say, “So much the more for me!” I find my rain gear, strap on the decoy bag to my back, pick-up my thunder stick and head out the door.
Rain slaps my face as I make my way across the bean field to my pre-determined spot in the blackness. Mud begins to cake up on my boots making each step an effort, my breathing becomes labored. Two thoughts cross my mind as I trudge across the terrain. First, this getting old issue and me just are not getting along at all! In younger days I could have ran the entire length of this field and not breathed this hard. Dad was right, “Getting old ain’t for sissies”. Secondly, those people are right, for me to go through all this for a silly turkey, means I must be insane!
Then the rain stops, YIPEE! Hoping to pin point a tom’s location I crow call a couple of times…nothing. Again…still no response. There has to be birds here, I scouted this place recently and the last two years without fail it has always held a small band of turkeys. I will have to rely on what I know rather than current appearances (that in itself is frightening enough to sober a drunk).
Night begins to lose its grip and I am concerned about being spotted by any roosting birds as I put out the decoys. To my delight the morning silence is unbroken and I crawl into a plum thicket contemplating what fate may hold at daybreak. I make some clucks on the slate and listen intently for a reply. The only sound I hear is a muted dripping of raindrops falling from the petite pedals of the plum trees. To say I was confident would be complete untruth. Doubt begins to murmur in my mind. Who would hunt here…it isn’t even a woods…a deep ravine, a few large trees, some brush…I must be out of my mind…a REAL turkey hunter wouldn’t waste his time here…if anyone knew I was here I would be the laughing stock of the Izaak Walton league. I chuckle to my self as I think about my dilemma.
A glance at my watch tells me it is 6:32. A cow bellows in the distance and I begin to think of what I have to accomplish today when my soggy adventure comes to a close. Suddenly a glorious babble erupts from the ravine about 200 yards to my right…GOBBLE-GOBBLE-GOBBLE!!!
At that moment in time, an old man is transformed. Lost youth is revisited. A big “Wylie Coyote” smile burst across a haggard face. Tired eyes that were dimmed by time and fatigue; now sparkle and dance with anticipation! Adulthood with its reason and realities are temporarily thrown to the fickle winds of fate. As if deranged I address an imaginary presence named Doubt and enthusiastically whisper; “What did I tell ya! Huh! I told you there would be birds here didn’t I!” This time Doubt could not talk back.
A couple of clucks and yelps from the call and I see two birds fly into the bean field. They were so far away I couldn’t tell if they were toms or hens. Then two more landed and immediately upon touching the ground one went into a full strut. WAHOO!!! I begin to talk softly to the tom…he pays me no mind. Again I try this time louder with more urgency. The latter two birds snap to attention. The first two birds go south, away from my “nest of death”. The tom and his friend now head my direction.
A little sweet talk, an attractive distraction, and this guy is headed for real trouble, funny how it works that way with humans too. Yes, the wheels of fate have been set in motion by a natural compulsion inside my feathered friends that knows no resistance. A basic instinct was about to betray their confidence; apparently treason is still a death sentence in some states.
As they make their way to my position it becomes obvious they both are gobblers. Oddly enough only one would talk back to me and he was also the only one that would strut. They both appeared to be the same general size in body weight and beard length. My decision is to take out the silent partner…they are well within range now but I must hold my fire because they are too close together. A blast now would kill both. They walk right by me at about 15 yards as they make haste to drub my jake decoy. For the first time I feel my crafty plan slipping through the cracks. Because I had to let the birds pass, I now have to shift my weight and change my gun position to make the shot. They are so close and we are in such open terrain I just know they will catch the movement and my ruse will go from “cruise” to “you lose” in short order.
By now both toms are in full strut side by side making circles around a mute jake. I shift my weight and position my gun as they express their disdain for my decoy. With that the last hurdle has been crossed, their destiny has been sealed, and today, for one of these birds at least; there will no longer be a need to eat.
They finally split up and surround my lifeless prop all the while spitting and hissing. I am ready at the trigger and let out a raucous call of my own with my diaphragm hoping it will cause them to stretch their necks making an easier mark for my swarm of number fives. Surprisingly they ignore my effort and continue their game of “ring-around-the-rosy”. For the moment I’m miffed…all that worry about noise and movement and now they aren’t hearing me when I want them too. Then for reasons unbeknownst to me they abruptly stop their wicked dance. Thereupon for just an instant there is grim silence…
Like an ominous clap of thunder warning of the impending violent storm, my gun erupts sending fire and deadly force to the head of the silent partner. The familiar sensation of recoil pushes me back as the shot sends a deafening shock wave across the small canyon.
The tom is cut down like spring grass and just as flat.
The remaining tom can’t leave fast enough and he stumbles as he does his best roadrunner imitation upon exit. Today he gets a second chance at life complete with a diploma from the school of survival. Next spring he will have to take continuing ED. Who knows, maybe next year I will again be the his professor and administer his final exam. Not bad for a crazy guy huh.
Stats:
23 ½ lbs.
1 1/8” spurs
10 ¼” beard
