This morning marked the eighth time out to the Honey Hole this season. I had a lot weighing on me. Earlier in the week, I missed a gimme shot at a nice gobbler. I had trouble picking the bird up in my scope and finally saw a head and went for it. Drat! He and another bird took off and left me swearing.
Several times this week, I’ve gone out with pruners and clipped shooting lanes in the ground cover to the west side of Honey Hole. It didn’t look all that bad, but it had been enough to knock a wad off its trajectory and sent it into orbit. By the time I went out this AM, I had things pretty well cleared out– or so I thought.
Sunrise came and went this morning without a single gobble. I finally picked up my push-pin and gave it a few yelps. Nothing. About 5 minutes later, a bird back towards the campground sounded off. He gave me a few more gobbles before I realized he was coming my way. Coming north from the Midway Blind toward the Honey Hole is the approach that give me all the advantage. I had this bird in the bag. I waited. He came. He poked his head in a hole in the bushes. If I’d had the sense to wait, he would have walked right into one of my new shooting lanes– just another 5 feet. However, I shot too soon, hit a bush. The bird left. I was left to swear at my incompetence.
I was close to calling it quits, but I got my mind stuffed back in, poured a cup of coffee and just brooded for an hour. During this period, three hens came at me from different directions, walked right up on my blind side and then split in a panick. I didn’t have my concentration back, for sure. The last one got me galvanized. I looked out at that moment and three jakes poked their heads into a shooting lane.
Normally, I don’t shoot jakes. I’ve done it. I have no problem with it. It’s just they’re a little too easy. I’d rather let them walk and look for something a bit more mature. By this time, however, I was ready to shoot anything. The thought occurred to me that it might be a good idea to take the shot. If I missed again, I’d know there was something wrong with the shotgun. The one jake drew away from the other two and stuck his neck out.
Blam. Dead bird. Jinx resolved.
The bird went 19 lbs– great for a jake. I’d been worried that my bird had suffered from the privations of an unusually harsh winter. This one didn’t. He had all manner of grain seeds in his craw. My guess is that it is oats from my food plots.
Mooselette and Daddy Moose were out by Dead Skunk this AM. This was her first time out with her new Mossberg 12 GA. Sadly, they only heard one gobble and were sitting on the porch when I came in.
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