The Son of Natural
Home Up The Black Hole Literary Review Wm. E. Allendorf, Prop.

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History never does really repeat itself.  I wish I could go back in time to 2003 and really hunt my arch nemesis,  Mister Natural.  We fought each other all through season on 2003.  He won. I ended up with bronchitis.  It's a long story.

Mister Natural and the Incident at Broken Corners

I haven't had the urge to go back and repeat 2003's season over again, at least not how it played out back then.  As a result, I've shied away from the barn at Broken Corners.  However, the day before, I'd been on the phone, pretty much where you see me in the picture and I looked out to the pasture beside Broken Corners. There was this gobbler strutting in Mister Natural's old place.  I haven't seen Natural in a while.  I don't think he made it through the winter a couple of years ago.  But here was a good looking bird showing his stuff.  I made up my mind that I would have at him on the 'morrow.

I took up a station inside the barn in my old spot.  The blind I had made back 5 years ago was there-- a bit bedraggled, but still usable.  It was nothing but a wooden gate, a couple pieces of sheet tin and some tobacco stakes, but it blocked the entrance to the barn enough for me to hide and yet have a good view of Mister Natural's strut zone in the middle of the field. . I read a little of Meshack Browning's autobiography,  took a quick snooze, and threw out a yelp here and there on my box call.  After three tries, I got a response.  I took a short nap, got up, tried a pull or two on the call again, and the gobbler answered.  He was closer too. He was on his way.

I did not see him come into the field.  In fact, I was quite surprised when he just suddenly appeared in the middle of the pasture, just the way Mister Natural used to.  He was not as big as 'Natural. He did not have the beard dragging on the ground or the evil hooked spurs, but the beard was skinny like Natural's and he had that same kind of swagger.  He grew impatient, and stuck his neck out for a gobble.  It gave me time to get my shotgun up over a rail of the gate.

Unlike Mister Natural, his son had not yet acquired the ability to be bulletproof.  His head and neck disappeared and I saw the feet come up as he tumbled.

One load of #4's, and an hour or so invested, and the son of my arch nemesis had been reduced to possession.  It all seemed so simple this time around.

He was thin when he was on his feet, but his look was deceiving. I would have guessed him at under 18 pounds, but he was over 22 when I weighed him. He had a beard that barely made 10 inches and the normal spurs of a 2 year old. His beard had a tinge of red in it.

Somewhere close by, down towards the bottom is a picture of  where this all took place.  On the left is the Barn at

 Broken Corners.  I spent several days in there back in 2003, waiting for Natural.  By the time he finally showed, I was too sick to shoot straight.  To the right is the pasture at the foot of Gobbler's Knob and the Jagendehutte, where we've shot a bunch of deer.  Son of Natural came all the way down from the right beyond the cedar thicket  where Hootin' Holler empties out into Willow Creek. For some reason, he really wanted a piece of that box call, an Heirloom Dixie Darling that Brian Warner sent me to test.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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