Turkey 2021: The End

As usual, I was home in my recliner to observe the end of Turkey Season. It was Mother’s Day. However, that was just an excuse. I was pretty well played out. The weather was cold and rainy all day Sunday. I was glad I came home.

One of the stand-out aspects of this recently passed season was the number of gobbler encounters we all experienced. We only filled three tags– one each. But the Shamanic Dream Team had more than ample opportunities to fill more. I remember few mornings where I did not have at least one gobbler on the hook. I missed shots on two–quite unlike me. Angus and Moose had close encounters whenever they went out. Normally, we go into season with maybe a half-dozen or so gobblers on the property and once they are shot or run off, the pickings become slim. I recorded perhaps twice that many on The Opener, and they were still hammering at flydown on Saturday.

Ah! Saturday. I got to summing up, and nearly forgot Saturday. For a change-up, I went only as far as The Hand on Saturday morning. Moose and Angus stayed in town to deal with social obligations. I was there by myself. The Hand is where I nailed the Garbage Pit Bandit Opening Week. My concern this time was for Gobblers coming out of Hootin’ Holler as well as one lusty gob that had been roosted near the mouth of Virginia. It all comes together at The Hand, a high spot overlooking both the east and west sides of the farm. The foundation of old 1850’s farmhouse is there, along with several old cedars.

The sun started to come up and my back was against the same cedar where I had taken The Garbage Pit Bandit. However, I was on the exact opposite side of the tree, concentrating on point east. Just before sunrise, I heard a thunderous gobble from the Garbage Pit and looked around to see a hen moving across the pasture with a large gobbler in hot pursuit. They all ran into the brambles of the little island we call Blackberry. After a while, the gobbler emerged. I threw some calls at him while he tottled back to the Garbage Pit. I turned back around and kept my attention elsewhere. In a few minutes, I was interrupted again with a gobble on my six. I looked around the tree and there was the same gobbler, only now he had covered about half the distance from the Garbage Pit and was now planted about 100 yards from my position.

If you would have told me that I would have a successful meeting The Garbage Pit Bandit before season, I would have been highly skeptical. Two meetings? No way. However, a gobbler had moved into this prime strut zone after the demise of his predecessor and he was every bit as curious as they were about the hen in the copse of Cedar at the far end of the pasture. To my benefit, I had the sun directly behind me. To my detriment, I had to screw myself more than half way around the tree to see the gob. He was hung up way out there. I really could not do much of anything without him spotting me.

Thus ensued a 40 minute stand-off. By the end of it, I was in agony from having to put my old, fat body into such a contorted position to keep an eye on the turkey. At some point, the gobbler got bored with standing out in the middle of the field and walked back to the space between Garbage Pit and Blackberry and started strutting.

I decided I had done enough for one season. I would have good weather until after sundown, and I went about doing my post-season chores. I brought in the chairs from Midway, pulled in the spare gear I had left at Honey Hole, and then went about sorting all my junk and stowing it for next season. When that was done, I went out to Campground and buried 50 lbs of salt in the lick. The deer were already hitting the lick rather heavily, so this was just the yearly refresh. By mid-afternoon, I had the truck packed and the power turned off. I was back in town for dinner.

One item worth noting: If I had gone to the Honey Hole Saturday AM, I probably would have had a gobbler come sit in my lap. There was a fresh gobbler turd directly behind the board that makes the fake stump.

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