Dave Richey OUTDOORS

The timber crew wrapped up their chain saws, skidders and other gear, and pulled out yesterday. I was restless earlier, and needed a break so I took a short walk to see how much timber had been removed from my neighbor's property.

I cut through a narrow finger of woods, and stopped on the uphill side of a deep valley. In past years, the birds seemed to shy away from the bottom land and I wasn't expecting to see any wild turkeys.

Today it was fairly warm and lazy after yesterday's cold and snow, and I was taking my time. Stopping often, looking around, and I spotted a tree where I'd had a stand for a few years. I'd taken it down two years ago, which was good because the tree-tops were all over the ground and it was easy to tell where the tree had been. It would now make a good saw log.

The lip where the hill dropped over sharply was only 20 feet away. I planned to walk over the edge, but suddenly heard a hen turkey chattering nearby. Perhaps they were checking out the logging operation as well.

Jakes like these keep their distance from a longbeard.

I had a camo shirt on, camo hat and blue jeans. The birds were close, and I sat down next to a nearby tree. I didn't want to spook them, but they might wonder what the blue object was.

My butt hit the dirt, my hands were clasped together in my lap, and my knees were drawn up as if I was going to rest a 12-gauge 3-inch magnum shotgun across them. The skidder had come through that area and scraped away all of last years leaves.

My neck hunched down and my shoulders came up, and I quickly pulled the brim of my hat low over my glasses. My hands just closed over each other when the hen crested the hill 20 feet away. Ten seconds later came a great gobbler with a beard that was about 10 inches long.

They seemed to glance my way but the hen was making soft little contented sounds as she walked and picked at areas where the skidder had ripped up the ground. I hadn't thought much about it before, but suspect the skidder made it a bit easier for the birds to find bugs, grubs and grit.

They kept walking, stopping now and then, and the gobbler was more interested in her than in finding bugs to eat. He kept coming after her, and she seemed quite adept at side-stepping his amorous advances. Then two jakes appeared momentarily but they wanted no part of the Boss Bird.

Acting like I belonged there worked this time.

At one point they were within 15 feet, and I had slipped into my zombie vegetative mode. Nothing moved, and he took another run on her, and she stepped aside and continued feeding.

Eventually the birds moved away from me and stood near the edge of the dropoff of the hill as they considered going back down. They slowly moved off, and once they caught the distant sound of something on the other side of their position.

Both heads shot into the air, and slowly I raised my imaginary shotgun and practiced aiming at the gobbler. I held my imaginary fire until the hen stepped to one side, and then my finger curled around the make-believe trigger, and I took my imaginary shot.

It was fun, and the birds messed around within 40 yards of me for 20 minutes before walking off to the east. Then, from a distance, came the unmistakable rattle of an adult gobbler tuning up as he tried to call all of his girls and subordinate jakes together before it was time to fly up to roost.

My guy dropped his wing tips, spread his tail, danced around, and belched forth a fierce gobble that seemed to shake the ground. The distant Tom gobbled once again, and the two birds held a verbal sparring match before the woods suddenly went silent.

Two lusty gobblers traded insults just before sundown.

Thirty minutes later the gobbler and hen moved off through the thinned-out woodlot, and disappeared from sight. I waited another five minutes, stood up and walked home through the warm sunshine just before I knew it would start cooling down. It was about 30 minutes before sundown, and I was trying to bird-dog the big gobbler I'd seen. It was my assumption that they may be moving into a new territory. If I couldn't find them before fly-up, I'd listen just before sun-up and get a general idea of where they were roosting.

This wasn't quite as much fun as some hunters will have when their season opens and they try to call a gobbler close enough for a shot. However, I won't be hunting the first season, so my close encounter today with a grand gobbler was made all the more special. If I can keep track of this big gobbler, he may stick around for a couple of weeks until my season opens. With turkeys, one never knows just what to expect and that's why we spend so much time trying to keep track of them.

He may or may not be around when the second season opens, but if he is, I hope he is close enough for me to tease him even within shotgun range with a soft yelp or two.

It would be a meeting that might happen. He could still be nearby, but then again, he might be several miles away. It really doesn't matter because I had my fun with him today.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors