Yute Hunt 2014

This is the start of Angus’ last Spring Gobbler season as a Yute. He turns 16 in a couple of weeks. I bought him all his youth licenses and tags yesterday— they’re good until the end of the year. However, after next weekend he will be hunting on his own as an adult.

Saturday morning started rough and did not get much better. It had poured rain for three days, before Friday night when it got windy and cold. When we arrived at camp, the dogs ran inside and would not come out. We had barely left the front porch this morning when Angus tripped and fell in the road. The snow plow had left a bit of our front yard piled up at the very end near the gate. Angus stuck the toe of his boot into the biggest part of the pile in mid-stride and went sprawling. He scraped up his 870, his knee and both hands–none of it serious, but he was limping on the way to the blind.

We had just set up at the Honey Hole when a gobbler cut loose in a tree on the road we had just passed. Before long, another and still another gobbler sounded off, the closest about 80 yards. They were with hens, however. They all honored our calls in a cursory fashion and then went off with the hens, never to return. This was all a half-hour before sunrise. We heard a couple close gobbles in the 8 O’Clock hour, but nothing ever showed. We came in at 10. This hunt stands out as the one time in the dozen years I’ve been taking my sons out for Yute Season, and we have not heard a single shot.

There was one incident of note. You may remember that I had resolved to work gobbling back into my calling. This morning I had a chance to try the strategy. The late gobbler this morning had clammed up on his way to see us. I don’t know what it was– best guess was that he was with hens and they turned into the woods opposite our position. After I had lost hope that the gobbler was coming, I pulled out the Primos turkey shaker call , and gave it a try.

Warning: If you purchase Primos’ ‘The Gobbler’ turkey shaker call be aware that the call must be kept in a warm place before use. Exposing the call to temperatures below 40F causes the call to sound less like a sub-dominant gobbler, doing his thing and more like a turkey being slowly suffocated with a garrote. I am sure any turkey in the area thought one the flock had gotten its neck caught in barbed wire. It was a sick, passive sound. The woods fell silent. A short while later a crow came by expecting to find a corpse and an easy meal. It was disappointed when it found us instead and left in disgust. I put the call into my coat, close to my chest and that remedied the problem.

Things were uneventful for the rest of Saturday. We heard no shots. I was taking a nap in the afternoon when the painter showed up. I let him paint the Tobacco Barn. About sunset, I retired to the Thoughtful Spot to contemplate the end of my Yute Hunting days as it will be several years before little granddaughter, Mooselette, starts hunting.

Over on the next ridge, where my neighbor Wally hunts, I heard an astonishing sound. At first I could not figure out what it was, but little by little the noises resolved into a recognizable story. A father had flipped his son a mouth call, and the kid had slowly worked it around and gradually succeeded in getting a sensible hen yelp out of it. I called Angus out to hear the end of the little vignette. I then spotted the pair, father and son, working their way out.

I went in the house and came out with the Primos call. By now it was warmed up, and I got a couple dozen gobbles out of it. I saw the two hunters stop and the son attempted to “work” me for a bit. Sadly, the Primos gobble shaker tore itself up rather quickly– a split developed where the bellows attached to the tube. It’s now toast.

However, the activity did get a barred owl warmed up, and the owl got another going and that got a turkey gobbler going between them, and then another gobbler joined in from the depths of Hootin’ Holler. This serenade lasted until well after dark.

Warning: I take back what I said about Primos’ ‘The Gobbler’ turkey shaker call. It is complete trash. All told, I got less than 3 dozen gobbles out of mine before it tore itself to shreds. I’m going to contact Primos’ customer support, but I doubt I’ll get anywhere.

Sunday? Well, heck! I’d just roosted two hearty gobblers. Sunday seemed like it would be a cakewalk. We got out early to Faulty Towers, the old barn that overlooks Skunk Hollow and the Hundred Acre Wood. That was where I’d heard the gobblers the evening before. Angus and I set up and waited. Nothing. We tried everything we could think– no go. We did hear one shot around 0900, and that was when we decided to come in.

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