The words of my drill instructor at Ft. Benning echoed in my head, “Pain is just weakness leaving the body”. I had to laugh as I watched the mature Tom fly away down the valley. My pain was all mental at this point, and I thought I must be becoming the strongest turkey hunter on the planet…..at least mentally. It was another classic encounter that ended up in favor of the bird in my 9th year of trying to connecting with the elusive eastern turkey on public land in the mountains of western Maryland. Each year a small group of us take an extended weekend and traverse into the near 48,000 acres of wildlands in Allegheny County, Maryland to camp and chase the wild Tom turkey with stick and string.
I arrived Thursday afternoon to register, establish camp, and perform initial reconnaissance before darkness and cooking duties pulled me back to the camp chores. I found myself noiselessly hustling down a well worn dirt road toward the trailhead when I suddenly caught movement in my peripheral vision in the treetops. A turkey was already roosted and took flight a short distance to the front of me. I watched it sail for a bit and heard it hit the ground at a trot. I mentally marked this area and proceeded to the trailhead to listen for evening gobbles from the roost. As it turned out, nothing answered my calls.
Over the years of hunting pressured elk from excursions out of state on public land in New Mexico, Colorado, and Idaho I know how call shy those hunted animals become from years of hard hunting pressure and human presence. I have heard folks state that elk hunting and calling is very similar to turkey in their reactions and I keep finding that analogy to be accurate. These birds were no exception. I have come to know that birds in this area do not gobble very much, if at all. They come in silently and check things out and once they get pushed they are not coming back. I headed back to camp knowing there was at least one good bird in the area.
The next morning found me with longbow in hand and heading to the valley that the sighted bird was heading toward when last seen. I snuck along as the morning dawn broke through a woodland scene that was just beginning the process of spring green up. The temps were mild and I was enjoying the light feel of the bamboo longbow in my hands as I made my way to a deadfall located on a small plateau overlooking the valley below. I felt this was a good spot for game movement and perhaps I could get a bird to come check out my decoy. I inflated the lone hen “love doll” and set up my stool nestled in the junction of the trunk and root ball. I took a deep breath and concentrated on staying perfectly still as the morning woods began to come alive with the hustle and bustle of songbirds, squirrels, and insects. In near meditation mode I looked around using only my eyes. Shortly I began a brief calling sequence with the mouth call I had stored in my cheek. Nestled under my ghillie head cover movement was again kept at a minimum. I heard no reply…… but that was expected here. Over the course of the next few hours this scene repeated itself over and over, but to my chagrin nothing presented itself sans a few chipmunks and the close passing of a hawk that was undoubtedly looking for a quick breakfast.
I stood up and tried to stretch out my cramped stiff legs. Even with the tall stool I utilize for bow-ground clearance with my 66 inch Howard Hill longbow, the body can only spend so long perfectly still. Edging my way down the small plateau’s edge I spotted two very large whitetail scrapes still evident on the forest floor. The soil was dark with urine and both scrapes were merely several feet apart. I paused to mark this area on my GPS for a fall deer hunt sometime in the future and continued to still hunt back toward the vehicle road.
I emerged from the forest onto the main access road and came across the wood signpost at the intersection of the dead end our camp was located along. I had chosen the campsite because it was off the main road and away from vehicle traffic, but I could not help to notice that “Howard Road” might bring about some needed luck as I carried my Wesley Special. I paused for a very cool picture, and continued on toward my destination.
Since my morning sit was over I was heading to a spot where I had collected several black morel mushrooms over the years. It was a little early this season, but I was hoping to find something to help accompany my elk steak dinner plans. I wasn’t having much luck until I found this little beauty nested amongst the leaf litter.
I searched for nearly another half hour circling my marked area. Every now and again I would sound out a few soft yelps and cuts because of the mouth call I still had clenched in my teeth out of habit. I shuffled along with my eyes glued down directly in front of my feet. I was about to call it quits when I spotted a dead tree that I decided may be a good spot to find mushrooms. I took a step toward the tree when almost directly behind it, not more than 12 yards away, a gobbler exploded into flight! Completely unaware and without an arrow on the string I struggled to reach back to extract an arrow from the backquiver as I watched the Tom quickly flap out of range and away from me. The mental anguish and pain of being so close and yet so far sunk in as I described at the beginning of this story. Weakness was leaving my body! I realized that my morel slow shuffle accompanied by my soft calling was the ticket of bringing in this pressured bird in bow range. Learning from our pain is something that continues throughout life. Being aware and taking the good from a hard lesson is what separates the knowledgeable and experienced from the unconscious participant in life. Perhaps next time my hunting partner and I will team up and try to work the morel shuffle into a calling sequence…..who knows…..it just might work!
