Fixated on Spring
Hello, my name is Shawn and I’m addicted to turkey hunting. The more I do it, the more I love it. This isn’t to say I don’t enjoy other types of hunting, because I certainly do. Take deer for example, that’s more of a way of life for me. I grew up doing it, live it year-round, and it’s by far my favorite quarry. With turkeys it’s just different. I got my first experience many years ago but didn’t have any success. However, once I got that first taste, it caused me to transform each Spring into someone I didn’t know. I’ve since come to embrace that person and look forward to chasing gobblers now as a way to break free of winter and the grind of life before things warm up for the Summer.
I had planned ahead and applied for the full season in Michigan. Having drawn, I wanted to use the tag for all it was worth and get out before the OTC tagholders could get into the woods. It wasn’t easy planning around all my life obligations but I was able to nail down a weekend at the end of April to take my best shot. After a night of celebrating my son’s birthday with a house full of 8 year old boys that stayed up till all hours of the night, we got on the road about 10 AM on a Saturday. The trip was smooth and after dropping my little ones off at their grandparents I was soon camo clad and pulling into my uncle’s drive.
I’d been talking and texting with him and my other uncle so I knew there were birds. What I didn’t fully comprehend was the sheer number of turkeys the property was holding this year. I discussed specific plans on where to sit with my uncle and surprisingly we both agreed that for this first afternoon my best bet would be to hunker down in a pine grove almost directly in the center of the property. It was similar to a town square that everyone drove past at some point during the day so I hoped a nice gobbler would be making his rounds. After trimming a few saplings, I sat back against a decades old trailer made from an ancient truck bed. I had a nice view of the areas where turkeys had been the evening before and could also see far enough to do some in the field scouting if my immediate area didn’t pan out.
It may not look like a luxurious set up but a borrowed foam pad and purposely placed shooting sticks helped seal the deal on this Spring's gobbler. While sticks aren't generally needed to kill a turkey, they allowed me to shoot accurately from a twisted, off balance position after the tom approached from behind.
I made a few calling sequences with no response. I was hopeful that a nice tom would hammer back but, in the end, I wasn’t particularly surprised with the silent treatment. However, it wasn’t long and back along the South end of the property I caught sight of something out of place in the ag field. Pulling up my binoculars to give some additional clarity I was happy to see my first bird of the hunt. Scrutinizing the landscape, I ended up making out two more turkeys in which I sang my best love song too via a homemade pot call. They weren’t in the mood. Eventually the birds drifted out of sight then reappeared on the other side of a swale. Then they wondered over a hilltop where I could no longer see them. For at least an hour I watched the three birds wonder back and forth eventually joining up with a couple others. Sometime between 5:00-6:00 a couple gobblers woke up to my right and began gobbling with intent. Then turkeys started coming out of the woodwork. The five or six I had been watching all afternoon turned to ten or fifteen. Then from the direction of the gobbles another five to ten showed up. Trying not to overcall, when I did, it didn’t really have much effect on any of the turkeys. My calls and decoys were just another set of the many turkeys flooding the field. It was as if there were too many turkeys to get any interested in anything other than what was front and center to them at the moment.
Using a homemade pot call adds a certain degree of satisfaction above and beyond wrapping a tag on a Spring gobbler.
Finally, the two toms couldn’t take it anymore and came busting through the thick cover about 125 yards away to join the rest of the flock. There were gobbles and hen calls and chasing and fighting. It was amazing. What a show I was getting. I was so intent on watching all the ruckus I was surprised when a lone hen showed up down a slight rise not far from my decoys. She pecked around for a while as the nearby shenanigans continued with the rest of the flock.
A field pic from the exact kill site gives an idea of the northern hardwoods I was hunting with the topography dropping off in the background to sizeable swamp.
While the sun was setting four deer strolled in to admire my decoy set and didn’t notice me gathering my things for the longest time. The hen had meandered off and the flock was working towards the roost. I decided my calling wasn’t going to turn anything around at this point and frankly I was sore from sitting for so long in a very awkward position. Slipping on my pack and exiting the pines to grab the dekes I was caught completely off guard when I peered to my left and saw another 10 turkeys. There was at least one gobbler in the group but after seeing me they didn’t stick around to give me a second look. Grabbing my phone to bark at my uncle for not letting me know they were there, I saw he had only minutes before text me to stay put. I missed his note that they were coming right for me while I was gathering my gear up. Oh well…there’s always tomorrow.
My other uncle picked me up at 5:45AM raring to go. He had just retired from a career in the auto industry the day prior so he was starting his new stage in life on the right foot…in the turkey woods! As soon as I stepped out of his truck I was met with gobbles. Then more gobbles. Then more. The woods were already lit up with anxious toms and my excitement boiled. As we walked in they continued sounding off and we were getting closer and closer. Our plan was to sit in the branches of a collapsed beech tree where he had a couple weeks prior killed his turkey for the year. Uncle Mike said he knew where they roosted and we’d be setting up fairly close. Sure enough, with the dimly lit sky as a backdrop we came upon a gobbler on his roost. I could see his beard swaying as he poked his head back and forth trying to identify us. After studying us for a brief period, he decided he’d fly down, a very safe distance away from us. A few more steps and two more toms followed suit. I’ve never blown a turkey off it’s roost but I didn’t feel super confident we’d made the right decision that morning. It was too late now so up the hill to the beech tree we went. I got the decoys out in what looked like a Bermuda triangle of three large oaks. Uncle Mike got his chair all set up and I backed in against one of the larger branches that lie horizontal on the ground. It wasn’t long before we picked a few gobbles back up and were excited that there were a few hens calling very nearby. Mike hit his box call and we got a return gobble from the direction the first tom flew off too. Maybe things would turn out just fine?
It was a cold morning, 39 deg if my memory serves me correctly. It felt really cold when the rain started falling. I didn’t have rain gear so I was going to need to stick it out. The good news is that it wasn’t a monsoon falling, just a nice steady light rain. After sitting for probably thirty minutes or so, I heard Uncle Mike whisper there was a gobbler coming down the trail we had just walked in on. Peering up, I locked in on him. I remained calm but did start adjusting my position to be able to shoot a little further right than I was currently set up for. The tom took his time coming in but was steadily nearing our hiding spot. The decoys were on the top of a hill so he had yet to lay eyes on them. Staying near the trail, he was basically going to walk into our lap. Reaching the bottom of a tiny depression, the tom started to begin his short ascent to the decoys and certain death. Clicking the safety off I readied myself to aim halfway between the head and the area of the neck where skin turned to feather. If he continued his course I’d have him at fifteen yards, almost too close. Then he flipped the script, leaving the trail and disappearing behind a slight rise. I would catch an occasional glimpse of his head at around 40 yards or so but nothing I was willing to risk a shot for. I wasn’t worried though as my assumption was once he reached the top of the hill he would see the decoys and I’d once again have him at 20-30 yards, essentially dead to rights. As hunting goes, I never saw him again. He didn’t catch sight of the decoys and headed off to the North towards the open field and in his mind, greener pastures. I was stunned. The hunt went from fool proof to zero in a matter of minutes.
The conditions continued to deteriorate as the rain fell, gobbles ceased, temps dropped, and turkey sightings became non-existent. We called the morning a bit early and I wished Uncle Mike good luck on his retirement. I had to run an errand for my wife then stopped in to check on the kids, simultaneously grabbing a quick bite to eat. I watched the radar closely and timed my arrival back to the woods shortly after the rain subsided.
Leaving the truck I had decided I would sit on the field edge where in years past my Uncle had set up a ground blind for us to hunt out of. Coming around a corner of the two track I saw a turkey briskly running past where I had planned to sit. Well crap. Nothing I could do not but head to my predetermined spot. Getting settled in I made several yelps, followed by some clucks and purrs. Something just didn’t feel right about the spot. I knew where the turkeys would be, so why didn’t I just go to that corner of the field? In previous years they came and went from the NE corner of this field. The night prior they piled back into that corner as dusk approached. The gobbler from the morning that evaded us headed right for that corner. All the signs said move and quit wasting time elsewhere. Wanting to kill a turkey, I moved the 100 yards to the East. I stood by my decision even after busting out three birds just inside the wood line. Knowing now I had put myself in the best possible position to be successful I sat back and tried to get comfortable.
While I primarily hunt for meat, the beauty of a turkey helps to bring me back each Spring. The way the colors change depending on what angle they're viewed from is one of nature's marvels.
A couple of toms started gobbling to the West where they had came from the previous evening. I got a couple responses but in general they weren’t interested in me. Happy to know there were at least some turkeys around I continued my game of waiting, hoping, and doing a little calling. After a bit, the gobbles began to get closer. As luck would have it, 4 gobblers, a couple jakes, and a group of hens filed out and things started to get exciting. They then proceeded to walk within inches of where I was sitting only 24 hours earlier. I couldn’t believe it. I sit where I saw the birds the day before and they go to where I was sitting the day before. I suppose that’s why we turkey hunt. A chance to match wits and survival instincts with our would-be meal. Calling a little more aggressively hoping one of the males would break off and head for my decoys, all I got was a couple looks. The flock headed North and I sat back discouraged.
While leaned back against a tree with my butt planted on the uncomfortable ground I started a little pouting session trying to figure what I had to do to get this right. Then as usual I got a gift from God and there five feet away was a morel. I chuckled at my self-pity and thanked The Big Man Upstairs for the reminder. As I stared more and more mushrooms started showing themselves. There I was crawling around on my hands and knees snatching them up one by one. Every time I turned my head I found another. Not sure how many I ended up with but it was enough I was excited to gift them to my uncle for letting me hunt on his farm. After my little reminder to stay positive and never give up I sat back with a renewed optimism that the day was going to be a success no matter what happened from hereon out.
Thirty minutes later a hen call not far to my right, snapped me back to reality. She was in the general direction my uncle and I had sat first thing that morning so I lightly called back. She answered a few times when suddenly a thunderous gobble sounded off right on her tail. She was coming through the woods so I couldn’t see her approach but her voice continued to move in my direction. I didn’t hear from him again but knew if I could keep her interested I’d have a chance that he would be in her hip pocket.
At the end of the day, this is why I drag myself to woods in the early morning hours, cold rain, and sit on the hard panned ground for hours in anticipation.
Straining to look behind the tree I was snuggled up too I cramped up a couple times causing brief stints of panic. Not knowing exactly where she was going to show up, I did not want to completely turn around in the event she wondered into the field. During one of my contortion sessions I caught glimpse of a bright red head studying the scene. He had a live hen he was hot on the trail of. There were two decoys displayed in the field who had just been conversing with his current lady friend. I was right in the middle with no idea how this was going to play out. The tom passed directly behind me where he would pick up the trail I was fifteen yards from. Turned out he was not interested in the trail and continued moving on. In some fleeting chance of brilliance I had placed my shooting sticks upright and against my tree to my left in the event this would happen. Knowing if a bird did just this, I would have a hard time getting steady for a shot and the sticks would give something to rest the gun on. When he crossed behind an oak I made my move turning and dropping the gun in the crotch of the sticks in one motion. I had the bead pointed in a three foot gap between two trees. Between them was a small sapling slightly left of center. When his head crossed that sapling the hammer dropped, along with the tom.
A proud hunter should always honor his kill. It may be a grip and grin to some but to me it's a moment in time, frozen forever not only in my mind, but in photo to remind generations to come of our hunting heritage.
He only flopped once but I ran to him anyway to secure my trophy. This gobbler did not disappoint displaying beautiful colors, a nice beard, and good spurs. I stood there for ten minutes or so replaying what had just happened. As I sit here now typing, the scene plays over and over in my head. Turkey hunting is an amazing and addictive Spring opportunity. This is one vice though that I have no intentions of giving up.
A bonus find during the hunt. This little morsels were given to my uncle as a gift for letting me rob one of Michigan's beautiful birds from his property.
