Antler Goes Hand-to-Hand With Boss Tom...
04-21-2005, 03:58 PM
#1
Nontypical Buck
Thread Starter
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Heaven IA USA
Posts: 2,597
Antler Goes Hand-to-Hand With Boss Tom...
My biological clock awakens me to flashes of lightning that foretell the story of an impending storm. Looking at the alarm clock I note that it will sound off in exactly two minutes. I reach over and turn it off. Disappointed in seeing the lightning I make my way to the front door in hopes that the foul weather will skirt my part of the world. As I open the door I am greeted by the sound of thunder. Again the lightning illuminates the western sky and in doing so betrays the ominous clouds that surround the horizon. I decide to see what I can find out by way of Doppler radar in hopes that it will be a passing shower. Though we need the moisture here, it is painfully obvious the weatherman doesn’t care that it is opening day of turkey season for me and in minutes there are severe thunderstorm warnings issued for my area. It is soon clear that only a fool would venture out in this harsh weather to go turkey hunting…I begin to dress and gather my gear. About the time I am ready to put my boots on I hear the wind start to blow. As I step outside to check on conditions the wind meets me with a brutal blow that nearly pushes me back inside the safety the little house. Even for an idiot like me it is evident that conditions are too severe to go out before this storm is spent. I step back inside as the rain begins to fall in sheets.
Woefully I peel off my camo and attempt to go back to sleep. Sleep will not come. For the next few hours I would get up and go to the front door every half hour or so to see if it was still raining hard enough to keep me out of the woods. At 8:30 the rain stopped. Although it was still rather windy I put my gear back on and headed for the woods.
I held no high expectations of shooting anything. My experience has been that storms like this one would shut the birds up. But as it is with so many things in life, one finds that when it comes to hunting, the destination is not nearly as important as the journey.
Upon entering the woods I stop for a while and listen. Much as I suspected I hear no gobbling. After a while I get out the call and try that for a while. Nothing. I slowly make my way through the timber stopping and calling as I go along.
Almost a mile later and no sweet sounds of gobbling to be heard, I catch some movement up ahead. It is two toms about sixty yards away in an alfalfa field! A few days earlier I had called for one of my friends and a tom stayed up on a hill while the hens walked through our decoys in this same field. As I make haste to a small cedar tree and begin a sweet serenade to the unsuspecting birds; I have concerns that I may not be able to lure them into gun range.
One of them goes into a half strut as they make their way closer to my clucking sounds. For some reason both toms hang up right at the outside edge of what I consider to be my kill zone. I feel confident I can make a killing shot at this range, the many targets and loads I have tried with my current setup tells me it will be okay, but I still want them closer. I call some more but they are reluctant to move much closer.
After the two walked a few steps closer their body language indicated they felt something was wrong they began to cautiously drift away. Being they were still in my “comfort zone” I decided to shoot when there was enough separation between the two birds so that I wouldn’t hit them both.
I lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger. The old tom started bouncing up and down erratically like pinball going through a maze. Without warning his buddy starts attacking him. I figure this season is over as I chuckle at the sight in front of me and ponder shallow friendships of the past. Suddenly, in the middle of one of his back flips “my” tom, in almost supernatural fashion, lands on his feet and begins to defend himself. I go into shock…
By now the melee has carried them out of gun range and all I can do is stand there and watch. The healthy tom is actually running in circles at a high rate of speed around the tom I shot. When his orbital path gets too close, “my” tom would lunge at him spurring wildly and flapping his wings (one of which was obviously broken). I must have watched this activity for about three minutes as I tried to think of a plan of attack. I couldn’t leave my cover and make a charge at them because I had not one but two fences I would have to cross. By what I was witnessing I felt like even if I didn’t have the fences to cross he still might be able to beat me in a foot race.
Fortunately the direction that their antics were carrying them was near a blow down in a third fence line. I decided to retreat and make a wide circle hoping to get to the blow down before they did. Of course this plan meant that they would be out of my line of sight but I felt I had no choice...
As I was making my final approach to the downed tree I could not see either of the turkeys. I got that sick feeling that one gets when you feel like you did something stupid. I heard a thrashing in the grass to my right and watched the healthy tom clear the fence and fly to safety. When I reached my destination I couldn’t see my tom anywhere. I looked up the fence line wondering if he had made a run for it. As I rounded the edge of the blow down I saw my prize. He was hunkered down between some branches and nettles watching me with one eye. I still had to cross one fence before I would be able to physically grab him. I considered shooting him again but at this range I wouldn’t have been able to make hamburger out of what would have been left. Being that the fence wasn’t to high I decided I would try and cross it. If he made a run for it there would only be one direction I would not be able to shoot and he would have to run through the tree to do that.
I crossed the fence and found myself standing over the crouched bird. I had been spurred by a dying turkey before and I sure didn’t want to get spurred by a live one now. What to do? I didn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already had so I decided a good stout blow to his head with my heel would dispatch him cleanly. The only problem with that idea was that his head was by a branch of the downed tree and I couldn’t get my foot in there. I was going to have to grab him and pull him out before I could execute my plan.
A week or so earlier my son’s two nine-month-old pointers were both mugged by a tom turkey with a broken wing. Yes that is right, both young dogs were left shaking in their skin when a tom erupted from beneath them and beat them unmercifully with one wing tied behind his back as it were. That alone should have told me there was a flaw in my plan.
I don’t know how many of you have ever grabbed the neck of a wild living twenty-five pound tom that knows very well how to use his spurs which by the way, measured nearly and inch and a half, but I can tell you it turns ugly fast! In my younger wrestling days I controlled many opponents a whole lot easier than I controlled this goofy bird! With my gun in one hand (hey, it was a life and death struggle, alright? I felt like I needed to be armed!) I latched onto the neck of that silly turkey. What happened next only God saw, thank goodness!
Let me tell you what, that joker came out swingin! I had a weight advantage and deadly force to boot, but what this creature lacked in size he made up for in determination and grit! For the first few moments I was out matched. With all of the feathers flying, his feet kicking, those wings beating, and his raucous cackling, it was mass confusion personified! I wanted to get the bird in a position where I could twirl him around wringing his neck in the process but he was having none of that! In fact at one point it felt like he would lift both of us off the ground with his wing flapping.
The tide turned in my favor when in an attempt to dodge his spurs I pivoted around and got the momentum of his weight going in the right direction. In the heat of the battle it was hard to tell but I believe I may have only achieved two complete rotations out of my twirling plan when I was forced to let go of my feathered dynamo. He hit the ground hard and I pounced on him like a cat. This time I could and did get my foot on his head. It was over…or so it seemed.
In another life this guy must have been an academy award-winning actor of some type. Once again he went into the flopping mode, it was quite a show, and once again I bought into his act hook, line, and sinker! As I watched him perform his gyrations I let out a sigh and began looking myself over for evidence of any wounds from our combat. I was just starting to feel sorry for old tom when suddenly he found his feet and took off like the proverbial roadrunner. I swear for a split second I thought I saw him sneer at me! As I stood there muttering to myself I almost forgot I had a loaded gun in my hand.
It was an easy shot; I had performed it a hundred times before on the sporting clays course. It mimicked a quartering away rabbit. I let him get out a ways so my pattern would cover a wider area…I wonder if he thought he had won?
The little Benelli belched fire and smoke sending two ounces of number fives into the wrinkled head and neck of my worthy adversary. The turf in front and above him exploded into a spray of earth, vegetation, and water, as the carryover from the shot charge smashed into the alfalfa ground. The impact folded up the thespian bird like yesterday’s newspaper and for the third and final time that morning I believed I had killed my first bird of the season.
Tale of the Tape:
Weight: 24 lbs 8 oz
Beard: 11 inches
Spurs: 1 3/8 inches each
Woefully I peel off my camo and attempt to go back to sleep. Sleep will not come. For the next few hours I would get up and go to the front door every half hour or so to see if it was still raining hard enough to keep me out of the woods. At 8:30 the rain stopped. Although it was still rather windy I put my gear back on and headed for the woods.
I held no high expectations of shooting anything. My experience has been that storms like this one would shut the birds up. But as it is with so many things in life, one finds that when it comes to hunting, the destination is not nearly as important as the journey.
Upon entering the woods I stop for a while and listen. Much as I suspected I hear no gobbling. After a while I get out the call and try that for a while. Nothing. I slowly make my way through the timber stopping and calling as I go along.
Almost a mile later and no sweet sounds of gobbling to be heard, I catch some movement up ahead. It is two toms about sixty yards away in an alfalfa field! A few days earlier I had called for one of my friends and a tom stayed up on a hill while the hens walked through our decoys in this same field. As I make haste to a small cedar tree and begin a sweet serenade to the unsuspecting birds; I have concerns that I may not be able to lure them into gun range.
One of them goes into a half strut as they make their way closer to my clucking sounds. For some reason both toms hang up right at the outside edge of what I consider to be my kill zone. I feel confident I can make a killing shot at this range, the many targets and loads I have tried with my current setup tells me it will be okay, but I still want them closer. I call some more but they are reluctant to move much closer.
After the two walked a few steps closer their body language indicated they felt something was wrong they began to cautiously drift away. Being they were still in my “comfort zone” I decided to shoot when there was enough separation between the two birds so that I wouldn’t hit them both.
I lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger. The old tom started bouncing up and down erratically like pinball going through a maze. Without warning his buddy starts attacking him. I figure this season is over as I chuckle at the sight in front of me and ponder shallow friendships of the past. Suddenly, in the middle of one of his back flips “my” tom, in almost supernatural fashion, lands on his feet and begins to defend himself. I go into shock…
By now the melee has carried them out of gun range and all I can do is stand there and watch. The healthy tom is actually running in circles at a high rate of speed around the tom I shot. When his orbital path gets too close, “my” tom would lunge at him spurring wildly and flapping his wings (one of which was obviously broken). I must have watched this activity for about three minutes as I tried to think of a plan of attack. I couldn’t leave my cover and make a charge at them because I had not one but two fences I would have to cross. By what I was witnessing I felt like even if I didn’t have the fences to cross he still might be able to beat me in a foot race.
Fortunately the direction that their antics were carrying them was near a blow down in a third fence line. I decided to retreat and make a wide circle hoping to get to the blow down before they did. Of course this plan meant that they would be out of my line of sight but I felt I had no choice...
As I was making my final approach to the downed tree I could not see either of the turkeys. I got that sick feeling that one gets when you feel like you did something stupid. I heard a thrashing in the grass to my right and watched the healthy tom clear the fence and fly to safety. When I reached my destination I couldn’t see my tom anywhere. I looked up the fence line wondering if he had made a run for it. As I rounded the edge of the blow down I saw my prize. He was hunkered down between some branches and nettles watching me with one eye. I still had to cross one fence before I would be able to physically grab him. I considered shooting him again but at this range I wouldn’t have been able to make hamburger out of what would have been left. Being that the fence wasn’t to high I decided I would try and cross it. If he made a run for it there would only be one direction I would not be able to shoot and he would have to run through the tree to do that.
I crossed the fence and found myself standing over the crouched bird. I had been spurred by a dying turkey before and I sure didn’t want to get spurred by a live one now. What to do? I didn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already had so I decided a good stout blow to his head with my heel would dispatch him cleanly. The only problem with that idea was that his head was by a branch of the downed tree and I couldn’t get my foot in there. I was going to have to grab him and pull him out before I could execute my plan.
A week or so earlier my son’s two nine-month-old pointers were both mugged by a tom turkey with a broken wing. Yes that is right, both young dogs were left shaking in their skin when a tom erupted from beneath them and beat them unmercifully with one wing tied behind his back as it were. That alone should have told me there was a flaw in my plan.
I don’t know how many of you have ever grabbed the neck of a wild living twenty-five pound tom that knows very well how to use his spurs which by the way, measured nearly and inch and a half, but I can tell you it turns ugly fast! In my younger wrestling days I controlled many opponents a whole lot easier than I controlled this goofy bird! With my gun in one hand (hey, it was a life and death struggle, alright? I felt like I needed to be armed!) I latched onto the neck of that silly turkey. What happened next only God saw, thank goodness!
Let me tell you what, that joker came out swingin! I had a weight advantage and deadly force to boot, but what this creature lacked in size he made up for in determination and grit! For the first few moments I was out matched. With all of the feathers flying, his feet kicking, those wings beating, and his raucous cackling, it was mass confusion personified! I wanted to get the bird in a position where I could twirl him around wringing his neck in the process but he was having none of that! In fact at one point it felt like he would lift both of us off the ground with his wing flapping.
The tide turned in my favor when in an attempt to dodge his spurs I pivoted around and got the momentum of his weight going in the right direction. In the heat of the battle it was hard to tell but I believe I may have only achieved two complete rotations out of my twirling plan when I was forced to let go of my feathered dynamo. He hit the ground hard and I pounced on him like a cat. This time I could and did get my foot on his head. It was over…or so it seemed.
In another life this guy must have been an academy award-winning actor of some type. Once again he went into the flopping mode, it was quite a show, and once again I bought into his act hook, line, and sinker! As I watched him perform his gyrations I let out a sigh and began looking myself over for evidence of any wounds from our combat. I was just starting to feel sorry for old tom when suddenly he found his feet and took off like the proverbial roadrunner. I swear for a split second I thought I saw him sneer at me! As I stood there muttering to myself I almost forgot I had a loaded gun in my hand.
It was an easy shot; I had performed it a hundred times before on the sporting clays course. It mimicked a quartering away rabbit. I let him get out a ways so my pattern would cover a wider area…I wonder if he thought he had won?
The little Benelli belched fire and smoke sending two ounces of number fives into the wrinkled head and neck of my worthy adversary. The turf in front and above him exploded into a spray of earth, vegetation, and water, as the carryover from the shot charge smashed into the alfalfa ground. The impact folded up the thespian bird like yesterday’s newspaper and for the third and final time that morning I believed I had killed my first bird of the season.
Tale of the Tape:
Weight: 24 lbs 8 oz
Beard: 11 inches
Spurs: 1 3/8 inches each
04-21-2005, 04:41 PM
#2
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location:
Posts: 336
RE: Antler Goes Hand-to-Hand With Boss Tom...
I've gotta tell you. I've lurked this site, then became an active member. I've never before or probably will in the future; see, read, or try and tell a story that good.
Out "fricking" standing. My hat is truely off to you and your hunt. I lie awake at night just dreaming up things like that to happen to me.
I've harvest only a few turkeys in my time, all mean something to me, but, it's the ones that take you to task, the ones that push you to the limit, far beyond other hunters, that mean the most, and stay with you the longes.
I envy you sir. Congrats on your bird. And thanks for sharing your story.
04-22-2005, 07:58 AM
#7
Join Date: Jan 2004
Location:
Posts: 1,758
RE: Antler Goes Hand-to-Hand With Boss Tom...
Hey very nice story. Next time this happens try to get it on video so that we can all watch you fighting the bird..... That would be funny.
Oh by the way i have a college english paper coming up [&o] and was wondering if you would write it for me.
..... That would be funny.Oh by the way i have a college english paper coming up [&o] and was wondering if you would write it for me.
04-22-2005, 01:24 PM
#10
Super Moderator
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: South Central Missouri
Posts: 3,112
RE: Antler Goes Hand-to-Hand With Boss Tom...
Absolutely an excellant story. Congrats on finally getting your bird. If you haven't thought about getting your story published, you should think about it. Matter of fact, by the way you tell your story, you should be writing for a magazine. Many folks have stories to be published, but lack the ability to elaborate the way you can and get the full momentum of the hunt across to the readers.
Fine Job!!
Fine Job!!