Wednesday, June 1, 2011


For all you turkey hunters who read this blog for that day to day report throughout May I apologize. Once again I scheduled a CLGM for Memorial Weekend and on top of that opened a I had my hands full. Let me make it up to you.

Opening day found me up above WSSP on Ralph's land. At dawn things were quiet. No roost gobbles. I wandered down the ridge, calling periodically. I set down against a big oak and dozed off. Then in my stupor I heard crunching leaves behind me. Out of practice and half asleep I turned. What a bone head move. A jake was coming in silent. He spotted me and disappeared. I shook it off and started calling again. Finally a gobble....then another and another. I sweet talked the birds and in they came. Gun on my knee, sight settled, I saw three red heads coming through the woods. I clicked the safety off and.......all jakes. I lowered the barrel and just watched. Jakes are legal but it's like shooting a spike on opening day. I'll pass.
   Now maybe it didn't rain every day in May, but damn close. AND it was cold. Add to that the fact that we were trying to put two roofs on out at The Hollie Witchey Project and the season shaped up to be one of the most frustrating in recent memory. I'd see birds in strut far out in fields and never be able to  get up on them. The woods would be silent for most of the morning, only to hear one or two gobbles then nothing.  Late one Saturday morning I went down to Gilkey's and called in five hot jakes. I wasn't gonna let this one pass. I shot and killed one. Then I pumped another shell and leveled the sights on a second bird. Click. I pumped again. Click again. Fuck! Turned out my gun was so dirty it wouldn't chamber the shells.
   The weather only got worse as the season progressed. I'd get birds going only to have them shut up and vanish after 15 mins. I hunted before work when I could drag my ass out. Another jake went down in Butch's field. I had meat for Memorial day but no gobbler. As we all know it ain't over until May 31. So the weekend of the church and show I went out, hung over, dead tired with George Holz (my only artist hunting buddy). Once again we heard birds only to fuck up and spook them or just have them hen up and go the other direction. And now 10,000 mosquitos were devouring my flesh. On Sunday George was at my door in a raging thunder storm at 6am. I had to give it to the guy. He was serious about drawing blood.  But once again the only blood came from my neck covered in needle nosed insects.
  The weekend over, I got up at 4:30 am yesterday and hit the woods. Nothing at Butch's. I drove to WSSP. As the morning progressed I had three different birds going. Each time my heart raced as the woods rocked with gobbles. FINALLY! But then they'd shut up. I'd call softly....then louder. Other hens would call and before I could ever see feathers they'd peel off the hot tom and I'd only hear sparrows and meadowlarks. The last morning was the best- even without seeing a bird. By 11:30 I drug my ass home to mow the lawn. Time to write the blog. I'm back.


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