Turkey
Home Up The Black Hole Literary Review Wm. E. Allendorf, Prop.

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Mooseboy finally got his chance at a gobbler yesterday.  We were down in the bottoms of Yellow Willow Creek.  The action has been kind of spotty since opening day.  Friday, I had a visit from The Two Jakes, but they were heading away from me and I had to take a desperation shot that turned out to be sixty yards.  Oh well.  Yesterday, they came back.  They kind of caught us by surprise, suddenly appearing at our decoys.  John was blocked from the shot, and they were close to disappearing back the way they came.  So John had me take the shot.  He only went about 12 lbs and a 4 inch beard, but he's a trophy nonetheless.

Goober and I went out Sunday morning for his birthday.  We got into some action with some hens and Jake II.  Silent Bob also got into the action for a while, but when it was over, we walked out without closing the deal.

Friday morning after I blew the shot on Jake I, I came back up on top of Gobbler's Knob.  There were some cedar limbs that had blown down and I made a makeshift blind with them next to a rock pile.  Silent Bob and another gobbler started honoring my calls around 0900. They were on opposite sides of the ridge, and slowly making their way towards me.  I figured it would be at least an hour before I saw them, so I hunkered down and had a rest while I watched the sun come up over the next ridge.  Suddenly, I heard a noise, and I swiveled my eyes up. There was a hen up on top of the rockpile staring down at me from less than 3 feet away.  I was caught completely off guard.  I had no call, I couldn't move.  She clucked at me rather plaintively.

At a loss for anything else to do, I marshaled my best Jack Nicholson imitation and in a normal speaking tone replied "Well, Cluck!"  I guess she was disarmed be the sarcasm, because she bought it.  She and a nearby girlfriend went back to feeding.  I would seem them occasionally over the next 20 minutes, clucking and purring in the high grass.  Finally, the hens came around to the front of my blind and found my big fat size-14 hunting boots. They freaked out and got airborne within inches of my feet.  Whump! Whump! Whump! Whump!  I got the backwash in my face. It was like a pair of pregnant 747's trying to get into the air.  One let go with a turd, that landed a few inches away from my feet.

Overall, the action has been very light.  I am beginning to think that the bad weather just before Christmas might have knocked back the population considerably.  It's sad to think that my arch nemesis,  Mister Natural may have passed on.  The hills are remarkably silent this year.  I am saddened.

 

 

 


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