The End of the Garbage Pit Bandit

I do not usually miss a turkey. Missing two the first week is unheard of in my long career. However, this morning was saw my second since the Opener. The first was due to taking a shot without being properly situated. The one this morning has me scratching my head.

The gobblers were already sounding off a good half-hour before legal hunting this morning. It was warmer than it had been, about 48F when I sat down. That probably had a lot to do with it. I had gobs sounding off all up and down on both sides of me. A gobbler I had heard on The Opener pitched down from his roost overlooking Heartbreak Ridge, right at the corner of the pasture and headed over into the other field in front of Midway.

The two jakes that had been deviling Moose for two days were also there. They flopped down just out in front of me, and came running. This all happened in the first half-hour of legal hunting. They quickly tired of me and joined the first gobbler over in front of Midway. There was a scuffle, and I saw the two jakes running for their lives a short while later. They made straight for Left Leg Creek and left the first gobbler alone to strut.

I finally got the big guy to start thinking about me around 0800. For the next hour, I work to keep him off his strut and moving towards me. It was not easy. I had sight of him most of the way. This was a truly hung-up gob. What seemed to work the best was digging in the leaves with a stick. That might get him 10 feet further. However, he had 150 yards or more to cover. At times, I think he might have been pitching woo to some hens in the next field down. Occasionally he’d backtrack, but eventually I got him all the way down and he passed behind a large tree. I got my gun up.

No, I did not lose him. He was just so excited with himself that he stayed out in the pasture and strutted. From the time he passed behind the tree until he poked his head out the far side was a good fifteen minutes. He finally stepped into a reasonable shooting lane.

Blam!

He gave me a brief look and then took flight. I got to see him sail clear back to the start line and then keep running. From the Honey Hole, it is a good 400 yards to the back of the far pasture. He finally weaved his way out of sight.

I tried to figure out what had happened. I did not find the wad. The Federals I shoot have a very distinctive pink wad. My guess is this gobbler got exceedingly lucky and the wad hit something and veered. Drat.

It was now 0900, and I had pretty well boogered any chance of seeing a gob for the rest of the day. I packed up and headed out. Sure enough, two hens down by Midway ran off when I emerged. That gave me some satisfaction; They had probably been the reason this fellow had been so recalcitrant.

I was about two-thirds of the way back. I could already see the farmhouse, but I just didn’t want to give up yet. I at least wanted to sit and watch the view. It was a truly beautiful day. Up to my left was the foundation of the 1850’s house. We call it The Hand because the trees growing on that little hillock appear from the air as a 5-fingered hand. I was walking up to the hand when two hens busted from close by and ran off down towards the nearby pond.

I had just sat down and started setting up when I spied a gobbler emerge from The Garbage Pit. It sounds terrible, but it is actually a fairly nice place. The previous owners threw some appliances into a sinkhole that sits in the middle of a small peninsula of oaks. At the tip of the peninsula is an island of locust trees and blackberry bushes. A particular gobbler likes to hang out between the peninsula and the island. Well, it isn’t the same bird every year, but. . . well, you know. We’ve been chasing the Garbage Pit Bandit for 15 years and never got him close enough for a shot. I’ve been known to belly crawl out to the island on the reverse slope. For all my trouble, and all the pricks from the sticker bushes over the years, I have nothing to show for it. Today was different.

Today, just as I settled in, The Garbage Pit Bandit spied me in the shadow of The Hand, and took off at a leisurely gait. He must have seen the hens up there previously and seen me and thought it was them. He made a straight line across the meadow, covering 200 plus yards in a little over 15 minutes. He would occasionally stop and strut, but mostly he walked.

One of the nice things about The Hand is that there is a lip about 10 yards out from the southeast corner. A gobbler-sized animal disappears behind the lip about 50 yards out and then emerges as if popping up out of the ground. The little pocket on the backside is enough to hide a deer. Today, it hid the gobbler. More precisely, it hid me from the gob. I got my gun up. He stopped to gobble, so that was my cue. I saw his head slowly emerge from the grass. I waited until I saw the base of his neck.

Blam!

The gobbler disappeared back behind the lip, but I knew I had nailed him– front on at 15 yards in a half-strut. When I got to him he had rolled downhill a bit and stopped cold dead. The Garbage Pit Bandit had finally met his match. I had finally found redemption.

The bird weighed 23 lbs. He had +.05 inch spurs and a 9.5″ beard. He was a big fat happy 2 yr. old.

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