6 minute read
John Meacheam,Lordnose Publishing:Outdoor Hall of Fame Inductee
“The Lord By John Meacham knows
I don’t Hunting Today’s Wild Turkey
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know It was just after sunrise April 6, and I had two toms much!” gobbling on the ground on the East Conant Area of Pyramid State Park down here in Little Egypt/The Land Between the Rivers/The Other Illinois/The Southern Illinois Country. One was east of me, and the other was west. I was in a narrow strip of woods between them, frantically looking for a good place to stick my decoy and a good tree to sit against. I’d used a Quaker Boy Tom Turpin suction yelper to inspire the first response from the bird to the east. He was still on the roost then, but had flown down by the time I moved into the timber. The second tom answered when I switched to a Primos aluminum-surface friction call.
I quickly stuck my decoy in an old road and sat down facing south against a trunk that was smaller in diameter than I wanted, but in a good spot. I put the striker to the Primos again, and my heart sank. The gobbler on my right was moving away from me and I didn’t hear a thing from the one on my left. I didn’t give up hope, though. I knew the west edge of the woods was a tangle of briars. Maybe - just maybe - Tom Number Two was circling around to an easier point of entry.
And that proved to be the case - I think. I think that ol’boy went south, east, north and west on his lust-driven journey to the hot hen he thought he heard. On the other hand, the gobbler that I eventually shot may have been Tom Number One, and he may have slipped up the east edge of the woods and then come to me. I don’t know, and I really don’t care. I do know that one of the two came in spitting, drumming and strutting, and I put him down at 30 steps with a twoounce load of copper-plated 6s.
Believe me, after the season I had in 2003 and the day I had the day before, I was mighty happy to hear these birds, mighty happy to see one of them, mighty happy to get a good shot and mighty happy to fasten my tag to a turkey leg. This feller weighed about 21 pounds, had a 10-inch beard and three-quarter-inch spurs, and tasted mighty good smoked!
I learned a couple lessons from this successful hunt, and I’m happy to share them with you, my faithful ASO readers.
Lesson One - Hunt today’s wild turkey, as opposed to yesterday’s wild turkey.
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I say that from bitter experience, because I spent the better part of opening morning waiting in vain for the big flock of wild turkeys I’d seen Sunday morning. I drove to East Conant early on the 4th in hopes of determining which way the birds were moving through the area where I’d found the most sign on previous scouting trips. The yelps and gobbles I heard told me the way led northeast, so that was where I went, and found the Mother Lode/Holy Grail/Lost Dutchman Mine of turkeys - 25 or more circling a patch of brush in a cornfield.
“That’s where I’ll be tomorrow morning!” I vowed, and I was, too. I left my home in booming and thriving Bremen (Gateway to Welge and Wine Hill) about 3:15 Monday morning, in order to beat the mass migration of Dreaded Other Hunters (DOHs). I had my hen, jake and gobbler decoys set long before daylight, and I stretched out with my seat cushion under my head and took a well-deserved snooze.
The first gobbles I heard came from a bunch of birds well to the south and east. I figured that was my flock, and knew I’d have to be patient, because they had a long way to come before they’d be in shotgun range. The next gobbles came from across the road, from a tom I’d heard before. That morning, he’d kept it up for nearly two hours. He carried on like that this morning, too, and I started to go after him several times, but talked myself out of it. With my luck, I thought, a DOH will already be working him. Meanwhile, my friends from Sunday morning will arrive and I won’t be here to greet them.
Finally, though, I could stand it no more. I got up and went - about the time the tom did the same. He gobbled one last time just as I reached my truck, and then he quit. Fortunately, as I said, he and a rival were back in business at the same old stand on Tuesday morning.
Therefore, I say again, go to the gobbler you hear today! Don’t wait for the one you saw yesterday! It’s a simple rule, but I seriously doubt I was the first to break it.
(Now that I think about it, I know I wasn’t, because my brother, Wild Bill, once spent opening day hunting last year’s wild turkey. I picked him up at his home in Edwardsville on a Sunday afternoon and we drove about 135 miles up to George Metcalf’s White Oak Reserve in Pike County. Just before we turned in for the night, I asked Bill if he’d signed his permit. He said he’d check, and it was then that he discovered he’d packed his unused tag from the previous spring.)
Lesson Two - Speak softly but carry a big stick when talking to the weatherman. Last spring was miserably wet, windy and cold, but the first week of this year was beautiful down here in the Southern Zone.
I’m off to South Dakota Tuesday (4/13) to hunt the wily and elusive Merriam’s turkey on the Rosebud Reservation. Friends and fellow outdoor writers tell me the place is literally crawling with big toms eager to be shot. We’ll see. When I get back, I have a fourth-season permit for Jackson County. If there’s any time left after that, I’ll make my annual pilgrimage to Texas County, Mo., to hunt with my good friends Andy Ramsey and Randy Adey, proprietors of the A&R Guide Service. That means I could have a six-turkey spring this year. We’ll see.
I hope all of you have had a safe and enjoyable season so far, or have just that in the days that remain.
Myself with Tom Number Two (or Tom Number One)
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