Realtree.com

Dove Creek for Longbeards

By Steve Hickoff

Dove Creek for Longbeards

With help from his ‘Diamond Lady’ the author grabs a few Texas Rios! -- By Steve Hickoff

Atsko’s Mike Jordan and I—dubbed “Team Jordan” during our recent Dove Creek Ranch hunt--heard no less than a dozen Rio Grande gobblers sounding off from the West Texas roosts that first morning. The challenge? We also listened to the nearby tree-calling of hens—the object of a male turkey’s springtime desire. Translation: T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

It works like this: we camouflaged turkey hunters imitate such hen calling (yelping, clucking, and purring) to lure a gobbler into range--roughly 25 to40 yards. Hens, not the men imitating them, usually steal those gobblers away though.

As suggested, that gang of birds flew down, flocked up, moved off--a fading parade of turkey racket. Silence fell over the open fields of prickly pear cactus Mike had scouted the day before, an expanse of property numbering 14,400 acres of Lone Star State turkey country.

Plan B? Ay-yup.

PLAN B

We slinked to an area of cover flanking a field. I yelped on a Woods Wise Products “The Diamond Lady” diaphragm, my turkey-calling tool of choice that morning. Three gobblers ripped back at the Lady’s sweet offer. “Mike, they’re coming,“ I hissed excitedly as the gobblers broke through the treeline a football field away. We set up, and fast.

They strutted and ran to our position thinking they’d find a hen there. The swarm of shot answered that question. Team Jordan was on the board, and we high-fived as I tagged our first longbeard.

MORNING, DAY TWO

With Mike at the wheel, safety goggles over his eyes and a grin on his mug, our loaner off-road capable Yamaha Rhino 660 rumbled to a stop in the pre-dawn dark. Jordan and I crept up a dry creek bed to a setup spot he had in mind. Location, as with real estate property, is everything.

Once we settled in, the Diamond Lady—dressed in competition-stretched latex and premium non-slip tape over a standard aluminum frame—made her raspy three-reeded plea. I found the call in its case near Fuzzy Fast Tony, the small Ice Age 2 plush toy, which was given to me by my seven-year-old just before my trip. “It’s like camouflage, daddy,” he said, so I carried Tony in my turkey vest for luck.

Gobbles came from near and far--some at the calling; some just because. A jake, and two hens slipped in, later followed by a longbeard, which ran at the sight of the trio (had the tom seen fighting time with this shortbeard?). It happens. No matter. When I saw Mike settle his Remington 11-87 shotgun on a longbeard that had fishhooked around us to our left, I knew Team Jordan had another one by the feet. Pow, right in the kisser, as the character Ralph Cramden used to say.

AFTERNOON, DAY TWO

Blessed? Two birds. Two hunts. Two tags still to go (TX gives you four, while our hunt had a two-bird ranch limit).

We liked that particular setup so much we snuck in there again, swapping sitting positions--I faced the field while Mike settled in five steps behind me. Warm and still, the afternoon moved along as shadows crept to the field edge, and the temperature cooled slightly. An armadillo stirred to our left, rooting in the dry leaves. Silence surrounded us, but that didn’t stop the Diamond Lady from talking it up. They dub them turkey calls for a reason.

I yelped. I purred. I clucked, yelped, and purred, calling in stereo with both a mouth diaphragm and one of several friction calls. Things felt right as Mike whispered “Gobbler, to your left,” and my mind noted that visual, which jumpstarted my heart like an old pickup truck on a New England subzero morning.

The tom looked, craned its head and started slipping past. I stopped him with soft yelps. The brush in front of my fiber-optic sights obscured the bird. Hidden in Advantage Max 1, this camouflage made me look like an earth-tone hump of Texas brush and mesquite. I knew he was still there, calling the Lady’s bluff. Long minutes passed, gun up, arms rigid. Been there?

To confirm the standoff, I eased my mesh-masked face slightly left, and saw his red, white and blue head staring. Movement makes wild turkeys run faster than a racetrack greyhound, so I did it as slow as shadows moving into the field edge. I pushed cheek to gunstock, and clucked once, twice.

That loosened him up. He eased in, stalking the call for a tentative look, making a slight tack our way. I picked my shooting window--a yard high and two feet wide--and aimed. Remington’s soon-to-be-released Wingmaster HD multipurpose turkey/waterfowl load dropped the longbeard with its tungsten-bronze payload.

Team Jordan had three turkeys on the board.

DAY THREE

“Today’s all about having fun,” Mike announced to me at camp breakfast, as pleased as I was with our good fortune. While the Diamond Lady had a flock work to within earshot later that morning, we didn’t close the deal on Mike’s final tag, but neither one of us had much issue with that.

By the time we closed up Texas camp, a dozen hunters had as many gobblers by the feet. Realtree’s Dodd Clifton took the so-called “camp pig” at the wire, which sported needle-tipped spurs. We had plenty of stories to tell, for sure. You’ve just read mine.

IF YOU GO

--Dove Creek Ranch, Ronnie and Beverly Rose, P.O. Box 375, Mertzon, Texas 76941, (325) 835-8342

--Texas Parks & Wildlife: www.tpwd.state.tx.us