9 minute read
Dan Vinovich,Outdoor Writer/TV Host:Turkey-He’s No Gentleman
by Daniel Vinovich
The anticipation was killing me as I sipped my coffee waiting for the first glimmer of dawn. I checked my vest over and over trying to make sure I had not forgotten anything. It was not long before I heard the first sounds announcing the coming of a new day. Asmall wren started calling out to any available female that might be in shouting distance. It won’t be long now before one of those big gobblers I saw last fall cuts loose, giving me a fix on his location.
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The pre-dawn sounds started getting louder, but still no gobble. Ten more minutes passed with out even a tree yelp. I have filled every turkey tag I have ever drawn for this county in these woods, so I know there has to be some birds here. I closed my eyes and pictured that bunch I saw walk by my stand last deer season. Boy, there was a sight! Seven big gobblers all in one bunch.
Another vision flashed through my subconscious. Not two weeks earlier I had seen a big tom strutting in the very field I was standing in. Suddenly, a gobble pierced the still air. I quickly grabbed my gun and started in his direction. All my senses were in full gear. He is on the west ridge, but at which end? My pace quickened as I tried to cover as much ground before my silhouette along the edge of the field gave me away. I reached the cover of the woods before there was enough light for him to pick me out. I leaned against a tree waiting for him
to fire off again so I could get a better fix on him. Afew minutes passed without a gobble. It was starting to get light quickly. I needed to get set up on this bird before he hit the ground. I was going to have to make an educated guess on where he was roosting. I chose to move north on the ridge, thinking he was in the big oaks on the south end of the ridge. This would give me a spot to set up within calling distance, but still offer me a window of a couple of moves if he did not respond to my sultry yelps. As I reached the flat on top of the ridge, I quickly looked for a spot with enough cover to hide, but also, giving me enough open area to see him coming before he sees me. Asmall dead fall was over to my right about 50 yards that would make a good ambush spot. One step after another, each one carefully calculated as to make a minim noise. I was close. Then it happened. I heard something to my right. I froze. No, it couldn’t be. Another sound rattled my cage. This one could not be mistaken. It was the alarm put from a nasty hen. Suddenly, the woods were alive. Turkeys were busting from the roost like mallards working a corn field. I had made a terrible judgment call on my first set up. Well there was nothing to do now but move to a different spot. I sat and waited a spell until the sun was up high enough to where I was sure all the birds had hit the ground. I worked four different areas that morning without as much hearing anything that even sounded like a turkey. The morning sun was getting high as I worked my way back to the truck. I stopped and cut along the edge of the fields, hoping to catch a gobbler looking for another hen. No luck. These birds were as tight lipped as I have ever hunted. Days 2 and 3 were no better. Two days and no gobbles. I even tried to put a few birds to bed on both days. I was hearing similar stories from other hunters in the area. They just weren’t gobbling. Could it be the hunting pressure? Or was it because they were all henned up? I knew there were a good number of birds in the area because signs were everywhere. Scratchings, droppings, feathers along the field edges, and the tell tale signs of turkeys moving in the distance, busted from their feeding areas by mushroom hunters. Three days of hard hunting was done. My tactics had to change if I was going to get my bird before my tag ran out. I knew a few areas where there were a lot of signs. This would at least give me a starting point for the next morning. My plan was simple. I needed to try a less aggressive approach to these seasoned veterans of the forest. I made a pact that night. No aggressive calling. I was going to spend the last days clucking and purring in known feeding areas. I had also packed a wing in my vest to make some flapping sounds. I wanted no more than to sound like a few turkeys moving through the timber looking for a meal. The next day brought, once again, the unmistakable sounds and smells of turkey season. I had set up on an oak flat in the center of two adjoining ridges before daybreak This is where I had often seen birds feeding in years past. This area showed a lot of signs and was my best bet for a shy gobbler. 1-800 444-0725 The morning rays of sunlight started to cut into the timber. I had heard a few gobbles early, off to the www.gutters-more.com west, but nothing in my area. It was hard not to let out a few yelps and cuts. Every few minutes I would only scratch the dried leaves, flap the wing, and give
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a few clucks with the occasional purr.
This was killing me. I am, by heart, one who likes to run and gun. I fish tournaments this way and hunt turkeys the same. I always said, you stay in one area too long and you are going to die. I have always left lethargic fish in search of aggressive ones. So you can imagine what this was doing to me. Two hours had passed without so much as a hint of those birds that were using this area. In the back of my head, I was beginning to wish I had pursued those birds I had heard gobbling on the roost at dawn. Well, it was too late to change now. I had decided to give this alternate strategy another hour before going back to my old ways. The sun was starting to get a little warm. Time for a stretch and a sip of water.
As I started to stand up, I caught some movement to my right. I peered through the underbrush, trying to get a fix on the movement. Acouple of seconds passed when a large doe appeared over the ridge. She moved up the trail feeding as she walked. Two more small does followed. I watched the does move off to the west. Wait! There was more movement from the same fire trail. Yes, it was a hen turkey. She was feeding along at a slow pace behind the deer. I positioned my gun in the direction of the feeding flock as more turkeys appeared, but this couldn’t be. They were all hens. I had hens all around me, purring, clucking and, well, driving me nuts. Man, if it were not for bad luck, I would have no luck at all. Twelve birds and not a gobbler in the lot.
I was beginning to think all of the toms had left the county. Then it happened right in the middle of those hens. Abig gobbler went into full strut. He made no sound as he turned a semicircle, displaying his fan for all of the girls to see. How had I missed him when he came over the ridge. I thought I had seen and accounted for every bird in the bunch. He was about 60 yards out. Too far for a good shot.
I had put my Murphy Diaphragm call in my mouth when the first bird appeared, just in case. I had met the whole Murphy group while doing walleye seminars in March at D & J Outfitters, a Tracker dealership in Greensville, Illinois. One of the seminar speakers I had met was Wade Watson. Wade won the Tennessee State Turkey Calling Championship in 2004. His son, Zach, also won the Junior State Calling Championship of Tennessee the same year. Wade set me up with one of his competition calls, and man does it work. Those cuts and yelps roll out of your mouth like water over rocks. It was a good thing I had put it in my mouth when the first bird appeared because any movement now would blow the whole party.
I had my sights on busting the jolly good fellow. I let all of the birds move off before attempting any calls. The flock was out about 80 yards when I lit that Murphy call up like the Fourth of July. Cuts were screaming from my mouth in his direction. The big gobbler turned to try and see the hen that had slipped from his harem. He peered long and hard in my direction. Then it finally happened. He bellowed two deep and hard gobbles. It was music to my ears. Once again, I lit him up with hard cuts. He gobbled again. I gave him no more music. He had to see for himself where his hen had gone. He moved 15 yards my way and gobbled. Still, his girl gave no answer. He moved 25 yards closer. Still no answer. Abig move was next, 30 yards in full strut and into my lap. My gun had a mind of its own. It raised and fired, removing that bird’s hat. He must not have had any manners, because every gentleman knows you REMOVE YOUR HATIN THE PRESENCE OF ALADY!
If you would like to purchase one of Wade Watson’s hand made diaphragm calls, you can go on-line to murphygamecalls.com or you can call Ray Murphy at 731-925-0105.
For guided walleye, smallmouth, or muskie trips, you can call Predator Guide Service at 309-347-1728 or by e-mail at trolling@mtco.com
See ‘ya on the water!
Colt Vinovich with his South Ridge bird.
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