I was the first at camp on Wednesday this year and soon after setting up my 8-man tipi tent, my brother Chris rolls in with the camper. I had stopped at a stocked trout stream and fished the morning. The water was low and clear. The only trout I saw was in the spot under the bridge where they stocked. I fished for several hours even trying a dry fly for a bit. I had a few instances where the trout would rise to check out the fly but would never take it. So, I left empty-handed and not as confident as when I arrived. I had even tried my version of the Utah killer bug that I tied before leaving.
Arriving at camp, there were another two guys from MD
eastern shore, but that was it for the campground. The other two guys said they “missed” a Tom
with the shotgun yesterday, and they thought about leaving after tomorrow
mornings hunt. Walt, Brent, and Dave
showed up before dark, and we had some good campfire time that evening.
The next morning had me driving to my regular deer spot, but
the state had not unlocked the gate for the access road, and I wanted to hunt
with my decoys and blind. Too much to
carry that far, I backed out and drove to the next parking area and set up on
the edge of a long field where my decoys would be visible from far off. Little did I know that the Eastern shore guys
had already blew the birds off that ridge above me the previous day. I saw nothing after a long sit, heard no
gobbles and no shooting.
Back at camp Dave said that he overslept and hunted near the
camp. He heard gobbles across the road
and when he went to put on a sneak was busted.
This was the first real action of the hunt and birds were near
camp!
The shore guys came back to camp with a Tom. The good-sized couple year old bird had the
widest beard though it was not overly long.
The bird had a huge hole in the side.
I thought the point with a shotgun was a head shot? Later, Walt said he saw the tail and wings of
a bird that was dead down the valley and I began to suspect it was the one the
fellow “missed”.
Jeff joined us that afternoon and we enjoyed more camp
camaraderie and fun. We were all waiting
for Walt to come into camp. I was going
to check out a local trout stream nearby.
One hour late turned to 5 hours late, and we started to set out search
parties before calling the DNR to assist with our lost hunter. Eventually he came dragging along the road
back to camp. He heard my brother
driving the roads honking his horn and made it to the road. His cell phone was dead. DNR checked on him and then visited the
successful hunters. Turns out they
didn’t have the bird field tagged or checked in, so she gave them a
warning. Walk drank, rested and
eventually felt better after a shower.
He was pretty bug eaten up.
The next morning had me humping the blind and decoys out to
an area uphill of where Dave saw the ones the previous day. I was still thinking the blind was the way to
kill one easier with the bow, so I spent a few hours sitting on a high field
corner in the tent. Around 930am I
looked up and saw 3 decoys in my setup, when I knew I only had two out! There was a hen who came in to check out my
plastic bird couple. She had no beard
and milled around for some time. Would
have offered me an amazing couple shots if it was a legal Gobbler. I got a nice video of her through the blind
screen.
Jeff went home early as his honey-do list was calling, and there
was rain in the forecast. Chris and I
hit that local fly-fishing stream, but again we both ended without a fish
landed. The river looked amazing, but I
could not get a strike to save me.
That evening at camp the rains started, and Dave had already
left while we were fishing. I had some
of my “award winning” chili thawing in my dutch oven when the rains hit. I made the sacrifice to hold the umbrella
over the coals to keep the top coals lit.
We ate and drank…and it was amazing.
We went to bed and the sporadic rains turned steady, all
night and into the early morning. Chris
decided with Walt to pack up and leave early.
I decided to go hunt.
It was overcast and a little drizzly after raining all night. The access road was gated off, so I needed to
walk an extra bit to get to the parking area in use during deer season. No blind and decoys to haul so it was
easy. Getting to the yellow gate of the
parking area, I noted some slob had left a empty gallon plastic jug of TurkeyHill
iced tea in the woods off the road. I
took a mental note of that for a little target practice on the way out.
I crossed the powerlines and into the main area with a
little off-and-on drizzle. Halfway down
the fire road to my intended hunting area, I heard some hen calls far down on
the adjacent ridge. Following the hens
calls I heard several gobbles. I thought
about going after it, but since it was Saturday and I saw a few trucks on the
drive in, I decided it was a hunter calling in a gobbler and I should not
interfere. I wish others had such
courtesy. Anyway, I decided it best to
stick with my plan and continue on. I
spent several hours sitting in two different spots with some sparse calling and
a lot of sitting still. I had not heard
or seen anything, with the exception of some big bird flying in behind me at
one point. I did not want to move my
head to look. I never heard or saw
anything, and I suspect it may have been a large hawk or raven. I have never heard of a gobbler flying in to
calls except during fly down from the roost.
I don’t think this was the situation.
The rest of the hunt was uneventful, and I continued down
the trail back to the gate. I decided on
some spot and stalk on the empty jug for some practice. Walking up to about 25 yards, I switched out to
a blunt arrow and I was about to apply tension on the string when just under
100 yards ahead of me a gobbler thundered!
I know I would have hit that jug with a resounding loud smack and would
have never known about the bird nearby had it waited several more seconds.
I took out my phone and snapped this photo, before switching
my arrow back and sneaking toward the sound that came from directly beyond my
jug target. I got up to the jug and
peered ahead through my binoculars, and there perked atop a deadfall and
standing erect with his wings flared out, was a huge Tom. He was about 75 yards out and I knew it was
time to try to close that distance.
I eased to my left putting a huge tree between me and him
when he his head was preening his chest feathers. I moved like I was easing toward a deer very
slowly and quietly until I reached that tree.
I figured he would be less than 70 yards away at this point, but I dared
not peek around the tree. There was the
road in front of me so I could go no further due to lack of cover. I figured if I called a few times with the
box call (I am no great mouth caller at this point), he would come closer to
look for the hen, or at least gobble. I
eased out the call and removed the rubber band, I placed my bow in
position. I put my mouth call in my
mouth and breathed deeply.
On my knees, I made two series of hen calls and picked up
the bow ready. There was no gobble in
response. I knew he heard me, so I
waited scanning with my eyes only on each side of the tree. Minutes ticked by. Nothing.
After a while, my knees started to ache, what to do. I decided to make a few soft clucks with my
mouth call. Silence.
About to give up, I hear a gobble farther up the hill and
sounding like it was facing away. I
decided to get up and try to get closer.
There was a stack of dead brush another 10 yards towards the hill. I ease around the tree and creep to the back
side of this 2-foot-high tangle. I drop
to my knees and mouth cluck again.
Immediately he gobbles and I can see him coming across the foot of the
hill about 60 yards out, long beard bouncing.
White head bobbing like a que ball!
He was gobbling, walking about 5 yards, and goggling again. He was heading downhill to my right, and
after a series of these gobbles was about 45 yards out and heading behind a
huge deadfall tangle. His snow-white
head went behind the fat horizontal trunk, then I heard a gobble that sounded
like it was facing away down the hill.
Thinking he was moving behind that tree I thought I could crawl another
3 yards closer on my hands and knees. My
thoughts were his path would take him about 35 yards downhill from me and I
wanted a closer shot. No sooner had I
gotten into position, I see him sprinting away through the sunlight! I was busted.
Dang. What a chance.
Reflecting back on the encounter. I think the gobbler had been hen called to
enough on this public land so far this season that he was buying the calling
without seeing anything. I think he was
waiting, and when I moved from behind the tree, he likely caught a glimpse of my
white arrow ball of fletching from my back quiver. Thinking this was another Tom, he became
enraged and was coming to find the source.
My mouth calls were directed downhill, so that is where he was
headed. My fatal mistake was trying to
get a few yards closer when I thought his little head was behind cover. Obviously, it wasn’t.
I marked up this photo to show the exact places the action
unfolded:
This is the tree he was “behind”.
I got up to pace off the tree and how far away it was from
me, when I looked down and found this!
The Tom had left me but led me to something after all. I found 2 morels in amongst the May Apples,
and my pace count was 47.
Back at Camp I made up a rue and a butter wine (homemade
paw paw wine) sauce with the sautéed chopped morels, onion, garlic, salt, and
pepper while the venison backstrap chops wrapped in bacon were crisping up on
the coals. Adding the cooked chops to
the pan to smother them in morel sauce, the meal was one of the best eating
venison dishes I had ever prepared anywhere.
I ended up having to use some leftover rice just to sop up the rest of
the savory sauce after we wiped out the entire pack of steaks.
After eating the delicious meal, we packed up leisurely as
the sun had dried up all the wet gear already.
It was a great ending to a fun camp.
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