elnor
04-26-2008, 06:15 PM
This is my second bird of the year (http://www.realtree.com/forums/showthread.php?t=71880) and my biggest to date:
---
* Killed 22 April 2008 7:07AM in southeastern Oklahoma
* 10 7/8 inch beard
* 1 3/8 inch left and right spurs
* 21 pounds
* NWTF score: 70.25
---
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2376.hummer.jpg
Read the full story below, with a couple bonus pictures after that.
---
As I approached the big oak through the swampy creek bottom, a gobbler shocked me with the first gobble of the morning a bit earlier and closer than expected. I slowed my pace even further, eased through the mucky ankle-deep water and grass, around some downed limbs, dodging sticker vines as I went. He gobbled again, and I could tell he was in a different tree than two mornings before, but still very close. The silhouette of the big oak I planned to sit against came into view in the light of the full moon. I'd be within range at flydown if I could just make that tree, but if I stepped on the wrong twig or bumped into the wrong limb, I'd blow the gobbler out of the area and have wasted days of hunting him.
Actually, I think I first saw the huge black-bodied bird I came to call "Hummer" two days before the season opened while on an evening recon mission. Just as I approached the large field that our hens prefer to feed in each spring, I'd seen a big lone gobbler making his way across it. Two days later I killed a tom that came in spitting and drumming by the pond on the south side of that field. Shortly after he fell a second gobbler showed up but never presented a shot; could this wary bird have been Hummer again? I certainly had the body size for it (see the story of my opening day kill, "Off the Roost, Spitting and Drumming", for more on that second bird). The second day of the season cows banged through the woods beneath the roost of two gobbling toms east of the pond, scattering the birds in opposite directions just as I was hoping they'd fly down towards my hen decoy. I suspect one of those birds was Hummer, based upon location and body size. And about 11AM that same morning, I messed up an opportunity to shoot a big bodied bird, perhaps Hummer again, as he walked along the east side of the pond and into the little group of trees just north of it. It was a long break from April 10th through the 18th for my daughter's fourth birthday and some work and personal matters, and I thought often of Hummer and how I hoped to get the drop on him.
I was back in the woods and hearing gobbling south and east of the pond on the morning of April 19th, but no matter how much or little I called, the calls I used, or the time of day, Hummer always worked away from me, gobbling at my calling as he went. When I heard him gobbling his fool head off the evening of Saturday April 19th, I took my best bearing and decided to get in very close to his roost the following morning. He kept me pinned down for more than an hour and a half, gobbling at first as he meandered to his roost tree, then at barred owls after flying-up, then at coyotes howling at the near-full moon even later. Though I got back to the farm house very late that evening, I was determined to get up extra early and creep in close the following morning.
Up a little after 4AM and in the woods by 5AM, I trudged over the hill and along the old farm road to get to the pond early. I moved into the little seismograph road southeast of the pond, stopping before I reached the creek channel and waiting to hear Hummer gobble for a fine-tuned roost location. When he started sounding off, I realized he was on the other side of the creek, up the side of the next hill, and I moved as quickly and quietly as I could towards him. After about ten minutes, I was close enough and started looking for a setup tree. I was just north of the east-west fence dividing the property, and from the sound of it he was just south. So I moved slowly east towards him, staying out of the narrow strip cleared on either side of the fence, until I got to the closest tree I thought I could manage. I couldn't see him from my position, but knew he was within 60-80 yards from the sound of his gobbling. I sat down, got settled, enjoyed his gobbling at the owls and crows that were now sounding off, too, and then issued one soft series of tree yelps on my box call.
He fell silent.
For a minute. Then two. Then five.
At the time I feared he'd seen me move, but after he eventually resumed gobbling I decided later that he must have been straining to see the nearby hen tree yelping at him. I waited as he gobbled and waited again as he gobbled some more. He gobbled for more than forty-five minutes from his roost, and all the while I neither heard nor saw any other birds. Because he appeared to be alone, when he finally pitched down and starting walking away from me I hit him with some aggressive cutting and yelps hoping to fired him up and turn him around. But he just kept walking away, never within range and mostly obscured, leaving me scratching my head on just how I was going to kill this turkey.
I gave him a good long while to change his mind and come back, then got up and made a big circle south of the fence and around east of him. I hoped to get ahead of him and set up in his path. Just about the time I reached the far gate back to the north side of the fence, Hummer gobbled northwest of me in the creek bottom. Knowing he was between me and the creek, I hurried through the gate and down the hill towards the sound of him, four gobbles in all scattered over about as many minutes. I set up quickly against a large oak. I called, but no response. I gave this setup a good hour, still nothing. This bird was really starting to frustrate me.
That evening and the next day were tough hunting. High wind made for very little gobbling, so I sat in the area of his morning roost that evening in hopes he'd show back up. No luck. The next morning, hearing no gobbling, I took a hike south of the fence up one of the arms of the main creek, yelping and cutting as I eased through the woods. I found beautiful old oak and loblolly pine trees, big deer tracks and old rubs, and lots of box turtles and bleached turtle shells, but no turkeys or turkey sign. So that evening, Monday April 21st I was back in the east end of the small "tree island" just north of the pond. I spent the early evening flicking away tick after tick (you'd have thought the National Wild Tick Federation was having their annual meeting they were so thick). I was getting very annoyed by the musical stylings of the cattle circling my position all evening, when at last the entire afternoon's effort was redeemed by a lone gobble coming from just about the same spot Hummer roosted in two evenings before.
I hurried around onto the road southeast of the pond and made it to the bend just in time to hear him fly up for the night. He was in the same area as before, alright. I've read that if a turkey does the same thing twice, he's telling you how to kill him. I knew where I'd be early the next morning.
That evening I debated whether to call or use a decoy the next morning. My wife, father, and mother (all hunters) each weighed in on whether to call at all while he was still in the tree. My gut and the general consensus agreed, no calling, no decoy, just sneak in very close, very early, and get a shot at him as soon as he hit the ground assuming he was within range.
I was up at 4:30AM the next morning and out of the house without breakfast before 5AM. The moon was nearly full, so I turned my headlamp off as I crossed into the big field and made me way by moonlight across it to the pond. I checked all my gear and readied myself there, then looped up the woods road to the southwest, up onto the hill, stopping again by the gate through the east-west fence.
The moon was bright enough to cast shadows. From here on, it would be very slow going, step-by-careful-step. I headed west along the fence. I kept trees between me and the roost area as much as possible, and veered down into the swampy creek bottom so that I could come much of the way in ankle-deep water to muffle any snapping twigs. As I was emerging from the water, he gobbled about eighty yards in front of me. Another tom sounded off southwest of me, then the two of them answered each other for a good long while. I carefully picked my way the last forty yards, backing up a couple of times when I realized I had moved into a difficult position. Finally I was sitting at the base of the very big old oak I'd picked out two days earlier.
Hummer gobbled and I waited for enough daylight to pick out which particular tree he was in.
I found him about forty yards away and thirty feet off the ground on a nice long limb. He proceeded to gobble, fan out, drop his wings, and change positions on that limb for what seemed like hours. It must have really been twenty minutes, but it was a long twenty minutes! Every time he faced my direction and gobbled I hoped he'd pitch out soon, then when he'd turn away I'd hope he wouldn't until he turned back around. Eventually the other, distant gobbler flew down and quit gobbling, and Hummer seemed to grow a bit more impatient. His gobbling lessened, then stopped. He looked one way, then the other, scanning the forest floor for any trouble. I visualized him pitching down from my left to right and landing in a small clearing just uphill from me, on my side of the fence, a perfect 35 yard shot.
Then he fell away from the limb and was gliding down, left-to-right, just as I'd hoped. I tracked him. He hit the ground on the far side of the fence behind a tree, then took a step forward, cleared the tree, and was standing there, head up, peering my direction. He was a bit farther away than I'd planned, but in a shooting lane and within range.
Boom! Flop. Relief and exhiliration, tinged with regret.
He fell at forty-six steps, releasing me from my quest. He weighed 21 pounds, had a 10 7/8 inch beard, and 1 3/8 inch pink-with-black-tips spurs on each leg. He was my biggest bird to date, and the first bird I'd killed that was a bonafide limbhanger. Though I loved having him in hand, I already missed chasing him through the spring woods.
Then I heard the other morning's gobbler sound off, by now down in the field. I know where I'll be come next year's opening day...
---
Bonafide limbhanger:
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2388.hummer.limbhanger.jpg
Serious hooks:
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2399.hummer.spurs.jpg
---
* Killed 22 April 2008 7:07AM in southeastern Oklahoma
* 10 7/8 inch beard
* 1 3/8 inch left and right spurs
* 21 pounds
* NWTF score: 70.25
---
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2376.hummer.jpg
Read the full story below, with a couple bonus pictures after that.
---
As I approached the big oak through the swampy creek bottom, a gobbler shocked me with the first gobble of the morning a bit earlier and closer than expected. I slowed my pace even further, eased through the mucky ankle-deep water and grass, around some downed limbs, dodging sticker vines as I went. He gobbled again, and I could tell he was in a different tree than two mornings before, but still very close. The silhouette of the big oak I planned to sit against came into view in the light of the full moon. I'd be within range at flydown if I could just make that tree, but if I stepped on the wrong twig or bumped into the wrong limb, I'd blow the gobbler out of the area and have wasted days of hunting him.
Actually, I think I first saw the huge black-bodied bird I came to call "Hummer" two days before the season opened while on an evening recon mission. Just as I approached the large field that our hens prefer to feed in each spring, I'd seen a big lone gobbler making his way across it. Two days later I killed a tom that came in spitting and drumming by the pond on the south side of that field. Shortly after he fell a second gobbler showed up but never presented a shot; could this wary bird have been Hummer again? I certainly had the body size for it (see the story of my opening day kill, "Off the Roost, Spitting and Drumming", for more on that second bird). The second day of the season cows banged through the woods beneath the roost of two gobbling toms east of the pond, scattering the birds in opposite directions just as I was hoping they'd fly down towards my hen decoy. I suspect one of those birds was Hummer, based upon location and body size. And about 11AM that same morning, I messed up an opportunity to shoot a big bodied bird, perhaps Hummer again, as he walked along the east side of the pond and into the little group of trees just north of it. It was a long break from April 10th through the 18th for my daughter's fourth birthday and some work and personal matters, and I thought often of Hummer and how I hoped to get the drop on him.
I was back in the woods and hearing gobbling south and east of the pond on the morning of April 19th, but no matter how much or little I called, the calls I used, or the time of day, Hummer always worked away from me, gobbling at my calling as he went. When I heard him gobbling his fool head off the evening of Saturday April 19th, I took my best bearing and decided to get in very close to his roost the following morning. He kept me pinned down for more than an hour and a half, gobbling at first as he meandered to his roost tree, then at barred owls after flying-up, then at coyotes howling at the near-full moon even later. Though I got back to the farm house very late that evening, I was determined to get up extra early and creep in close the following morning.
Up a little after 4AM and in the woods by 5AM, I trudged over the hill and along the old farm road to get to the pond early. I moved into the little seismograph road southeast of the pond, stopping before I reached the creek channel and waiting to hear Hummer gobble for a fine-tuned roost location. When he started sounding off, I realized he was on the other side of the creek, up the side of the next hill, and I moved as quickly and quietly as I could towards him. After about ten minutes, I was close enough and started looking for a setup tree. I was just north of the east-west fence dividing the property, and from the sound of it he was just south. So I moved slowly east towards him, staying out of the narrow strip cleared on either side of the fence, until I got to the closest tree I thought I could manage. I couldn't see him from my position, but knew he was within 60-80 yards from the sound of his gobbling. I sat down, got settled, enjoyed his gobbling at the owls and crows that were now sounding off, too, and then issued one soft series of tree yelps on my box call.
He fell silent.
For a minute. Then two. Then five.
At the time I feared he'd seen me move, but after he eventually resumed gobbling I decided later that he must have been straining to see the nearby hen tree yelping at him. I waited as he gobbled and waited again as he gobbled some more. He gobbled for more than forty-five minutes from his roost, and all the while I neither heard nor saw any other birds. Because he appeared to be alone, when he finally pitched down and starting walking away from me I hit him with some aggressive cutting and yelps hoping to fired him up and turn him around. But he just kept walking away, never within range and mostly obscured, leaving me scratching my head on just how I was going to kill this turkey.
I gave him a good long while to change his mind and come back, then got up and made a big circle south of the fence and around east of him. I hoped to get ahead of him and set up in his path. Just about the time I reached the far gate back to the north side of the fence, Hummer gobbled northwest of me in the creek bottom. Knowing he was between me and the creek, I hurried through the gate and down the hill towards the sound of him, four gobbles in all scattered over about as many minutes. I set up quickly against a large oak. I called, but no response. I gave this setup a good hour, still nothing. This bird was really starting to frustrate me.
That evening and the next day were tough hunting. High wind made for very little gobbling, so I sat in the area of his morning roost that evening in hopes he'd show back up. No luck. The next morning, hearing no gobbling, I took a hike south of the fence up one of the arms of the main creek, yelping and cutting as I eased through the woods. I found beautiful old oak and loblolly pine trees, big deer tracks and old rubs, and lots of box turtles and bleached turtle shells, but no turkeys or turkey sign. So that evening, Monday April 21st I was back in the east end of the small "tree island" just north of the pond. I spent the early evening flicking away tick after tick (you'd have thought the National Wild Tick Federation was having their annual meeting they were so thick). I was getting very annoyed by the musical stylings of the cattle circling my position all evening, when at last the entire afternoon's effort was redeemed by a lone gobble coming from just about the same spot Hummer roosted in two evenings before.
I hurried around onto the road southeast of the pond and made it to the bend just in time to hear him fly up for the night. He was in the same area as before, alright. I've read that if a turkey does the same thing twice, he's telling you how to kill him. I knew where I'd be early the next morning.
That evening I debated whether to call or use a decoy the next morning. My wife, father, and mother (all hunters) each weighed in on whether to call at all while he was still in the tree. My gut and the general consensus agreed, no calling, no decoy, just sneak in very close, very early, and get a shot at him as soon as he hit the ground assuming he was within range.
I was up at 4:30AM the next morning and out of the house without breakfast before 5AM. The moon was nearly full, so I turned my headlamp off as I crossed into the big field and made me way by moonlight across it to the pond. I checked all my gear and readied myself there, then looped up the woods road to the southwest, up onto the hill, stopping again by the gate through the east-west fence.
The moon was bright enough to cast shadows. From here on, it would be very slow going, step-by-careful-step. I headed west along the fence. I kept trees between me and the roost area as much as possible, and veered down into the swampy creek bottom so that I could come much of the way in ankle-deep water to muffle any snapping twigs. As I was emerging from the water, he gobbled about eighty yards in front of me. Another tom sounded off southwest of me, then the two of them answered each other for a good long while. I carefully picked my way the last forty yards, backing up a couple of times when I realized I had moved into a difficult position. Finally I was sitting at the base of the very big old oak I'd picked out two days earlier.
Hummer gobbled and I waited for enough daylight to pick out which particular tree he was in.
I found him about forty yards away and thirty feet off the ground on a nice long limb. He proceeded to gobble, fan out, drop his wings, and change positions on that limb for what seemed like hours. It must have really been twenty minutes, but it was a long twenty minutes! Every time he faced my direction and gobbled I hoped he'd pitch out soon, then when he'd turn away I'd hope he wouldn't until he turned back around. Eventually the other, distant gobbler flew down and quit gobbling, and Hummer seemed to grow a bit more impatient. His gobbling lessened, then stopped. He looked one way, then the other, scanning the forest floor for any trouble. I visualized him pitching down from my left to right and landing in a small clearing just uphill from me, on my side of the fence, a perfect 35 yard shot.
Then he fell away from the limb and was gliding down, left-to-right, just as I'd hoped. I tracked him. He hit the ground on the far side of the fence behind a tree, then took a step forward, cleared the tree, and was standing there, head up, peering my direction. He was a bit farther away than I'd planned, but in a shooting lane and within range.
Boom! Flop. Relief and exhiliration, tinged with regret.
He fell at forty-six steps, releasing me from my quest. He weighed 21 pounds, had a 10 7/8 inch beard, and 1 3/8 inch pink-with-black-tips spurs on each leg. He was my biggest bird to date, and the first bird I'd killed that was a bonafide limbhanger. Though I loved having him in hand, I already missed chasing him through the spring woods.
Then I heard the other morning's gobbler sound off, by now down in the field. I know where I'll be come next year's opening day...
---
Bonafide limbhanger:
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2388.hummer.limbhanger.jpg
Serious hooks:
http://billday.com/Images/Shared/20080422_2399.hummer.spurs.jpg