I’m not one of these turkey hunters who gets up at 3 a.m. to post roosts. I’ve shot plenty of birds late morning, early afternoon. Why lose a good night’s sleep if you don’t have to?
Once I didn’t start hunting until after lunch and called in two strutting gobblers, killing one in just 45 minutes. But the bird I’m about to tell you about was in the bag in less than half that time.
Now, I’ve risen early many times to duck hunt and deer hunt but see no reason to do so to bag a spring gobbler. I used to arise early for turkey but grew weary of trying to compete with live hens, and rendering myself groggy for the rest of the day. Those gobblers will just plain stick with the real thing until the hens assume the position. Why try to compete with the charms of Mrs. Hen, all warm and willing?
Naw, wait until the gobblers are done with their roost mates and come looking for new conquests. Then, I’ll have ‘em. But there was this one time. . .
O-dark-thirty
Today, as I write this on the eve of the Minnesota spring wild turkey opener (April 18), my thoughts turn to one recent exception to my aversion to rising early. It was two years ago, and I was hunting my patch of aspen forest 36 miles southwest from the southern tip of Lake Superior (yes, there are oodles of turkey this far north). I live in the Twin Cities, about two hours from what I call Camp Moose Horn (the land is near the Moose Horn River).
I went up alone late in the afternoon to listen for roosting birds before hunting the next morning. Soon, I heard a bird gobble about quarter mile away and responded with my favorite box call – a foot-long paddle a buddy from Buffalo had made for me. (You’d think the thing has an amplifier on it, its carries so far).
Sure enough, the gobbler responded, so I tip-toed over, set up and called. Nothing.
It was nearly dark now, so I returned to camp, had a bite and crashed out, visions of spitting, strutting and bellowing gobblers dancing in my head.
Of course, I never set an alarm ‘cause, as I mentioned, I’m one of those laid-back gobbler getters. But this morning, perhaps because of my encounter the evening before, I awoke just as the eastern sky was brightening.
So I got up, but not to go turkey hunting. I pulled on a robe and went out to answer nature’s call. But while doing so, I heard a call of another sort ring out…the gobble of an anxious, overwrought old tom.
The gobble seemed close, but I wasn’t sure because I was still half asleep. But, soon this randy boy had me thinking more of puttin’ than my pillow. Still in my robe, mind you, I grabbed my New York yelper, walked to the end of the gravel driveway and let out a few yelps to see if this old boy was close enough to bother going after.
Mr. Gobbler responded, alright, and he was in my round house (that means callin’ distance, a 100 yards or less). It was 5:45 a.m. I dashed back to my camper trailer, hastily geared up and double-timed it back to the end of the driveway. I quickly leaned up against a small white paper birch in a dogwood thicket and prepared to fool this fowl into coming my way.
I hit a few yelps and Mr. Gobbler answered immediately. It wasn’t long before I could see him coming, strutting half circles the entire way, snoods a flyin’, feathers a puffin’. In fact, he never stopped gobbling or fanning the entire way to me.
My heart was racing as the gobbler soon closed the distance. I was in full camo, in good cover and already had my 1961 Remington Wingmaster 12-guage pump on my knee. But I needed to raise the gun a few inches to get on his head. As soon as I made that barely perceptible movement, the bird turned and started to walk away. These birds have amazing vision, even in the half light of dawn.
As soon as he turned, I let him have it. It was just 6:05 – a mere 20 minutes from the time I first called him until he was lying on the ground flopping. And I was still in my robe.
I figured the evening before, the 22-pound gobbler had heard me call from camp, walked north down the two track and roosted about 100 yards from where I slept the night away, dreaming of this very moment.
I doubt I’ll ever experience such an abbreviated turkey hunt again. I certainly won’t ever forget it. Maybe I’ll even go hunting in that robe again!