Some Days, It’s Like You Don’t Know Squat

From March, 2009

On the way back to the house, I didn’t know whether to write this up as a stunning success or a miserable failure. I guess any time the turkeys reveal something to you, it’s a victory.

Back in early March, I had Angus out scouting the bottom end of Hootin’ Holler. It’s one of the larger hollows on our place and dominates the eastern half of the property. We named it so, because the owls frequently nest along the south side. It is also a place that our turkeys frequently use for roosts. Over the Winter, we had a couple wind storms, at least one nasty ice storm, and all this was on top of Ike blowing through in September. On our trip through we found that a lot of the smaller cedars had gotten bent over and although the largest cedars were fairly untouched, the medium-sized cedars had been decimated. On the side of the hollow that runs up to Gobbler’s Knob, we took the opportunity to pile up some debris next to a couple of likely looking tree trunks and built ourselves a nice blind.

I went back to visit it this morning. My idea was to just sit and see if I could get a better feel for the goin’s-on. Hootin Holler is a key to several of our hunting venues. Although we have not hunted it directly in the past, we frequently hunt the birds as they come out to feed in the adjoining pastures. Why we don’t hunt Hootin’ Holler outright is a long story in itself, but I’ll leave that for later.

Gobbler’s Knob has a road that leads close to the top before dropping down to the bottom on the other side where Hootin’ Holler Creek empties out into Willow Creek. I use that road to make time when I’m hunting the bottom, and it also was the best way to get to the new blind. Lo and behold, as I got to the top, there was a turkey there to greet me– up in the top of a tall tree on the other side. Off she went.

I took another few steps and another flew off– they were so high up in the trees, they had to pitch down to lower trees before finally getting to the ground. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by turkeys, and they were all getting honked off at my intrusion and flying away.

Normally, when you bust a roost, that’s the end of it. Not today, not by a long shot. I continued on to the blind and every 50 yards or so, here’s another turkey, up in the top of a tree busting out. Bummer. I had counted a dozen by the time I got to the blind and sat down. Then the light came up a bit more, and there I was staring at turkeys on the other side of Hootin Holler. Again, they were in the tops of the tallest trees. Again, each one took a turn hopping down from a tall oak to a cedar and then hitting the ground and running off. After a half hour of this, I was quite demoralized and thought about just going home.

However, I figured I would wait until the last of Hootin’ Holler had emptied out. I waited a good hour and a half after sunrise and then started making my way over the cedar debris and headed home. Before I got to the pasture that leads off the front side of Gobbler’s Knob and on to the way home, I knocked two more birds off high roosts that I hadn’t scared on the way in.

The reason I make this confession is that first I don’t know why the turkeys would choose to roost so high in the tallest of trees. Second, I have never seen turkeys so spread out. Usually they’re clumped all together in the branches of a dead oak or hickory, usually about halfway down to the bottom of the hollow. If they’re not there, they seem to like to camp out in cedars on the lee side of the hollow. If I had to make a guess, I would say the change in roost selection is due to the destruction of the medium-sized cedars. Y’all down there in the hardest hit from the ice storm, Western KY and such, should be looking out for this.

My other guess is that my flocks have exploded, due to the cicadas coming last Spring and giving a boost to the poults’ survival. Flocks that used to consist of 4-5 individuals are now trying to cope with 11-15. In some places my flocks have fragmented into 2-3 sub-flocks, roosting near each other. This spreading out may be an extension of that.

This is the second time this year where my attempt at non-intrusive scouting has ended up with massive busts in places I had not expected. The first time I chalked it up to a fluke. Now I’m throwing in the towel– my ability to predict the whereabouts of my flocks has gone out the window. I’m going to stick to glassing from afar until the beginning of season.

Later:

Well, here’s another thing we can add to the “Don’t need to try THAT again” Category. The Eastern Wild Turkey does not respond positively to interactions with the Great Highland Pipes. Little Angus, my 10 yr old, is a bit of a bagpipe prodigy. He was practicing his pipes this evening out on the front porch. KYHillChick and I were out on the back of the house enjoying happy hour. Angus cranked up his pipes right about the time the flock of turkeys I busted this morning came out of Hootin Holler and started making their way back to roost across the pasture. Angus let fly with a hearty hornpipe. That stopped them dead in their tracks, necks cranning to see the source of the noise.

No, they didn’t try to fly off. No, they didn’t run. They just stood there, all 12 of them, and watched. I can’t say as they particularly liked the pipes. But they didn’t do a scalded cat act either. After a while, they disappeared into the nearby saddle, only to emerge a bit later and a bit closer.

My immature collie, Jay, was about halfway to them by this point, and just after they poked back up, Jay came bounding in at them. About this time Angus came around the house and the turkeys made an orderly exit towards the back side of Gobbler’s Knob. Normally a dog, a human, and a bunch of paraphernalia in his hands would have been enough to get turkeys to take off in fifty different directions at once. I’m not about to declare the Great Highland Pipes a turkey attractant, but . . .

. . . as I said: we’ll file that one under “No need to try THAT again.”

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