Recently I was invited on an epic wild turkey hunting trip
with one of this county’s most successful hunters and by success, I mean by high
percentage results. Through multiple
decades of hard work, scouting locations where frostbite and grizzlies have
both tested his resolve, this man has produced numerous places throughout the
country where Cervus canadensis, Ursus americanus and many others have the odds
against them. With that said, he is good
at what he does, and that is “lives to hunt”.
My wife and I drove two and a half days to get to a special
place that was pinpointed on a google earth map while he and I chatted on the
telephone months prior. This place was
out of the way where during the days spent there only a few humans were spotted
in the distance, but the total could be counted on one hand. Upon my arrival I was pointed out a location
where birds are known to roost and sure enough as the evening approached the
gobbles started from what sounded like 4 to 5 toms. I assembled my gear and prepared for a morning
hunt to start in the predawn hours.
Up at 5:10AM and walking a trail towards the suspected tree
lined ridge at 5:20, I was eager to see what the cresting sunlight brings in
the way of morning thunder. I navigated
my way up a wooded ridgeline towards an open grassy plateau without ever being
at this location during daylight and picked out a tree to start calling from with
my home-made call box. It was still dark as brushed pine cones from beneath me and
settled against a mature pine.
As the sky became increasingly light a few faint gobbles
started to be heard in the distance that triggered a domino effect slowly down
the tree line where I sat motionless.
Sure enough a turkey gobbles behind me about 70 yards away. It wasn’t the strongest gobble but I knew
there was at least one bachelor nearby.
As he gobbled more I wasn’t impressed and thought maybe this was a jake
just getting used to his pipes, and I didn’t drive for 1,500 miles to kill a
jake.
I decided to start a couple of yelps to see if there were
any others nearby and to my surprise a raspy gobble responded even closer at 40
yards away that was so powerful it almost sounded like it was beign projected through
a megaphone. I must have walked right
under his roost he was so close. This
became a likely truth when I realized that they must have known I was there
because as the morning sun light grew strong their gobbles stopped and I never
heard them from that angle again.
I kept yelping every 10-15 minutes to see if I could get a
response and finally, after the sun had been up a while, a gobble came from
another direction but with a fence line between us. I couldn’t see what was happening but I knew,
a tom was all puffed up and spitting a drumming just out of my sight. His drum sounded like he was driving a 4x4
into the ground with one swift blow. I
could feel the power of his drum through the ground I was sitting on. I honestly didn’t realize it was his drum at
first and thought it was farm equipment somewhere nearby. To my dismay another yelp beacons off from
another direction and this hen is in his line of sight, so he scrambles to her. I climb up to the edge of the hill to peer
over and he is off displaying for her, no longer on public land. The remaining morning, I chased phantom
gobblers and tried to entice them into shooting distance but was unsuccessful. Watching them display at a distance, closing
the gap and having them disappear was a game of cat and mouse that they were
winning.
Hunting for the rest of the trip was like this in areas
around base camp. It was exhilarating and hunting I will always remember for
the adventure that ended with a gobble, a spit and drum and me belly crawling
to peer over the edge of a ridge and pull the trigger of my self-painted turkey
12 gauge, but this is not a hunting story, this is a story about tight lips for
shared places.
At the end of the trip I was grateful for the experience and
privilege it was to be invited to such a special place with so many challenging
opportunities for productive hunting. He
said to me, “if any one asks where you got the bird, just say Missouri” or was
it Kansas… or Iowa… I am not sure I even
remember where it was.
So the rule is this:
Special hunting places shared with you stay with you and are
NEVER to be shared by mouth, written word or by physically taking someone else. Be vague in your description of the hunt, you
never know who is listening.
When is it ok to go back?
-
When invited by the person you learned about the
place from.
-
If you are given a clear “ok” to visit on your
own, assume you must go alone.
When is it ok to share the spot?
Assume
NEVER, the only way two people can keep a secret is if one of them is dead!
If you are given an okay to share the spot, be very careful
who you share it with and make sure they have the same principles you have on
understanding how valuable this special place is to a select group of people. Be proud you are one of them and never EVER squander
that responsibility.
So much work goes into finding places that are off of the
easy road and have a purity level that not many of the general public will ever
understand. Keep them secure, treasure
them and never share them unless you know they will remain wild, untainted and visited
only seldom by those that understand why it must stay that way.
As for a paid outfitter on public land, well, that is up to you but still consider them sacred, just paid for to do with what you wish. Just consider that the more that know of that place the less productive and more damaged from human boots it will be.
Add your comments in on this one. This may require some input!
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