Steve Sanford
Well-known member
It has been an unusual Turkey year thus far. I have always hunted this grand species just here on Pencil Brook Farm. In most years, I can hear 3 or 4 roosts, some within our bounds, others on neighboring farms. In the mornings leading up to our May 1 opener, I did my scouting from an Adirondack chair right behind the house. I could hear but a single roost, from a hillside on the land of my neighbor to the east.
Opening morning was a bit disappointing for Craig Kessler and me. He had come up so we could "work" - planning our next duck projects. He drove up on April 30. We heard nothing in the evening - and so set up to the east. On opening morning, the roost had apparently moved about a half-mile to the south - on a different farm. Craig commenced to converse with the bird, but, before we could get truly optimistic, "our" Longbeard was intercepted by another gunner long before it could make its way within the bounds of Pencil Brook Farm. We roused nothing else during a long ramble around the farm, so we got back to breakfast and then work.
Over the next few days I heard no gobbling, saw no Toms, and spotted just a couple of hens.
Until Wednesday morning. At 5:15, from safe within the confines of my upstairs bathroom, I could hear some aggressive gobbling. In fact, I could hear a bunch of it. I threw on some clothes and ventured outside, to sit in my "worrying chair" overlooking the frog pond and listen. Yikes! Three from the north - right in the lot I call The Roost - with another bird further to the north. To the east, at least two different birds - one right where we had set up last Friday and another just a bit south of the PBF border. Evidently, the Spring Turkey Migration was in full swing! Surely those big birds must have ridden those warm southerlies along with the Orioles, Hummingbirds and White-crowned Sparrows.
Nevertheless, I did not hunt. I had things to do and so listened attentively from the step ladder as I hung gutter brackets on my shed. For an hour or so, the air was filled with the electrifying sound of turkey passions. I did, however, decide to be ready the next morning. And - interestingly enough - I listened at nightfall but heard no one putting Himself to bed.
I was in place by 4:45. Several Barred Owls were making their wonderful racket as I took the long way out toward The Roost - a reliable patch of woods on a small hill top. The waning moon was strong and I dared not cross the alfalfa on my way in. Instead, I followed hedgerows all the way. A Tom started his gobbling a bit before 5:00, so I moved into the woodlot itself, trying to leave 80 or 100 yards between the bird and me. A little while later, I could hear another bird further north. And, while still murkily dark, I watched a bobble-headed hen cross from left to right, about 30 yards away. She fouled me up a while later, I believe.
The Tom gobbled a lot on the roost and I never did detect his fly-down. The hen, however, was voluble to say the least. Off to my right, hidden by a thick-trunked Hemlock carcass, she sang her heart out. I believe it was not lost on Ol' Tom.
He was silent once on the ground. I first saw him at about 60 yards - steaming along on the crest of a ridge in Full Battle Dress. I am always awestruck by the presence of such Toms. They glide along as if on rails, no hint that he is being propelled by two legs. And, I cannot help but think of "Dreadnought" - an unstoppable force, going where it wants to go. I could not quite sell him on my calls. I'm never as convincing with the diaphragm as with the box call. But, I was pinned down at the base of a big Hemlock, precious few obstacles between the two of us and I had to keep the gun in position. He came toward me, but....he seemed to have his attention on something to the south. Maybe he could see the hen that was invisible to me. He cut the distance in half. I had the bead on him but did not yet push the safety off. One more yard. If he goes to his left, I will shoot.....
He went to his right. I passed up a shot I later paced at 25 yards.
The rest of the story is almost anticlimactic. Great Crested Flycatchers announced their return and Ovenbirds sang from the floor. I thought a couple of times about just heading back to the shop and getting busy. But, I heard gobbling a few hundred feet to the south, so I moved clockwise around the tree. The bird was hot but would not get his feathers wet crossing the alfalfa. After giving up on him and almost packing up again, a gobble to the north had me moving further clockwise, now facing west.
Wary but responding, and gobbling occasionally, Tom #2 came along a ridge about 100 feet away. After verifying that his beard and fan qualified him as no-longer-Jake, I pulled the trigger on my Dad's Winchester Model 50. I use it instead of my Model 12 in the spring because it was long-ago painted camouflage - and with most of the bluing worn off the nickel steel of my Model 12, it could make a difference in the Turkey woods. My trusty duck loads - 2 3/4" Kent Fasteel #3s - dropped him in his tracks at 35 yards.
I hung the bird in the shade for just a couple of hours. The 74 degrees told me I could not wait much longer. Susan and I had other plans last night, so all that breast meat will become dinner soon.
Nothing special in way of size - right at the peak of the normal distribution for Class of 2013 Longbeards. A shade under 20 pounds, 3/4-inch spurs and a 9-inch beard. But, as with every Tom, every feather is a show.
No gobbling this morning. But, Yellow Warblers, Yellowthroats, Scarlet Tanagers and Blue-winged Warblers were in full song.
All the best,
SJS
Opening morning was a bit disappointing for Craig Kessler and me. He had come up so we could "work" - planning our next duck projects. He drove up on April 30. We heard nothing in the evening - and so set up to the east. On opening morning, the roost had apparently moved about a half-mile to the south - on a different farm. Craig commenced to converse with the bird, but, before we could get truly optimistic, "our" Longbeard was intercepted by another gunner long before it could make its way within the bounds of Pencil Brook Farm. We roused nothing else during a long ramble around the farm, so we got back to breakfast and then work.
Over the next few days I heard no gobbling, saw no Toms, and spotted just a couple of hens.
Until Wednesday morning. At 5:15, from safe within the confines of my upstairs bathroom, I could hear some aggressive gobbling. In fact, I could hear a bunch of it. I threw on some clothes and ventured outside, to sit in my "worrying chair" overlooking the frog pond and listen. Yikes! Three from the north - right in the lot I call The Roost - with another bird further to the north. To the east, at least two different birds - one right where we had set up last Friday and another just a bit south of the PBF border. Evidently, the Spring Turkey Migration was in full swing! Surely those big birds must have ridden those warm southerlies along with the Orioles, Hummingbirds and White-crowned Sparrows.
Nevertheless, I did not hunt. I had things to do and so listened attentively from the step ladder as I hung gutter brackets on my shed. For an hour or so, the air was filled with the electrifying sound of turkey passions. I did, however, decide to be ready the next morning. And - interestingly enough - I listened at nightfall but heard no one putting Himself to bed.
I was in place by 4:45. Several Barred Owls were making their wonderful racket as I took the long way out toward The Roost - a reliable patch of woods on a small hill top. The waning moon was strong and I dared not cross the alfalfa on my way in. Instead, I followed hedgerows all the way. A Tom started his gobbling a bit before 5:00, so I moved into the woodlot itself, trying to leave 80 or 100 yards between the bird and me. A little while later, I could hear another bird further north. And, while still murkily dark, I watched a bobble-headed hen cross from left to right, about 30 yards away. She fouled me up a while later, I believe.
The Tom gobbled a lot on the roost and I never did detect his fly-down. The hen, however, was voluble to say the least. Off to my right, hidden by a thick-trunked Hemlock carcass, she sang her heart out. I believe it was not lost on Ol' Tom.
He was silent once on the ground. I first saw him at about 60 yards - steaming along on the crest of a ridge in Full Battle Dress. I am always awestruck by the presence of such Toms. They glide along as if on rails, no hint that he is being propelled by two legs. And, I cannot help but think of "Dreadnought" - an unstoppable force, going where it wants to go. I could not quite sell him on my calls. I'm never as convincing with the diaphragm as with the box call. But, I was pinned down at the base of a big Hemlock, precious few obstacles between the two of us and I had to keep the gun in position. He came toward me, but....he seemed to have his attention on something to the south. Maybe he could see the hen that was invisible to me. He cut the distance in half. I had the bead on him but did not yet push the safety off. One more yard. If he goes to his left, I will shoot.....
He went to his right. I passed up a shot I later paced at 25 yards.
The rest of the story is almost anticlimactic. Great Crested Flycatchers announced their return and Ovenbirds sang from the floor. I thought a couple of times about just heading back to the shop and getting busy. But, I heard gobbling a few hundred feet to the south, so I moved clockwise around the tree. The bird was hot but would not get his feathers wet crossing the alfalfa. After giving up on him and almost packing up again, a gobble to the north had me moving further clockwise, now facing west.
Wary but responding, and gobbling occasionally, Tom #2 came along a ridge about 100 feet away. After verifying that his beard and fan qualified him as no-longer-Jake, I pulled the trigger on my Dad's Winchester Model 50. I use it instead of my Model 12 in the spring because it was long-ago painted camouflage - and with most of the bluing worn off the nickel steel of my Model 12, it could make a difference in the Turkey woods. My trusty duck loads - 2 3/4" Kent Fasteel #3s - dropped him in his tracks at 35 yards.
I hung the bird in the shade for just a couple of hours. The 74 degrees told me I could not wait much longer. Susan and I had other plans last night, so all that breast meat will become dinner soon.
Nothing special in way of size - right at the peak of the normal distribution for Class of 2013 Longbeards. A shade under 20 pounds, 3/4-inch spurs and a 9-inch beard. But, as with every Tom, every feather is a show.
No gobbling this morning. But, Yellow Warblers, Yellowthroats, Scarlet Tanagers and Blue-winged Warblers were in full song.
All the best,
SJS
