Strut Zone

We Hunt ’Em Cause We Hate ’Em—Part II

I guess we all should be thrilled whenever we’re able to get on a gobbling turkey. Yet, there are those days when non-stop gobbling becomes a curse rather than a blessing.

After two solid days of rain, daylight last Wednesday broke clear and frosty. Hunting partner Marty Cormier and I managed to get on a bird before fly down (he’d seen the longbeard walk up into some nearby woods at roosting time the night previous) but the tom wouldn’t play fair. Enter “The Ass” as I came to refer to turkey No. 2.

We first heard him across a greenfield and down in a beech bottom about an hour after first light. He gobbled well, had a few buddies with him and we moved in. After swapping calling stations a couple of times, he just signed off. Nada…nothing…silence. Certain that he (they?) had a couple of hens with them, we went to find a bird that would work. At the truck, I gave one last box-call series. He gobbled—from exactly the place we’d just left.

With the greenfield out in front of us, Marty and I decided to set up with a single hen decoy. I called and he gobbled. I called and he gobbled. Yet he’d never close the distance. After switching calls and pulling out everything in my vest of tricks to yank him in, I decided to shut up and play hard to get. I just knew that we had him when he gobbled on his own after 10 minutes of silence on my part. Lo and behold, he did cut the distance—quickly—but came in from behind us. I could clearly hear him drumming, but there was no way for Marty to get turned for a shot. The bird moved off—game over.

I was ready to move on, but Marty was not.

“Let’s try to get around him,” he said. “Maybe that’ll work.”

Leaving a gobbling turkey to find another gobbling turkey is pure folly on the best of days so I agreed. We struck the bird again.

This time, however, my calling strategy would change. I planned on somehow getting the adult gobbler fired up and then I’d quit calling completely.

I pulled three different box calls out of my vest and hit him hard. The bird double and triple-gobbled with every series and then I shut up. As he did before, though it took at least ½-hour, the tom closed the distance. When I heard drumming, I knew that we were in good shape. However, even though the woods were completely open, neither Marty nor I could see the bird. As per usual, the longbeard inched his way up a bench trail behind the only two beech trees that could hide his approach.

From my vantage point over Marty’s shoulder, I could see the bird. Marty could not. I whispered instructions until he finally spotted the bird step out from behind the big beech. Hammer time.

Marty’s bird was a stud (the one on the right in the accompanying photo) and acted like it the whole morning. Great hunt. The bird was an ass and I hated him from 7 a.m. until after 10 a.m. when he was shot. It’s like I’ve said—we hunt them cause we hate them. Oh, the bird on the left? Stay tuned for Part III—Gerry Bethge

Mystery Gobbler

A Strut Zone congratulations to Ryan Green on a rather unique trophy. Here’s his story.

I saw the recent post on the Strut Zone about an odd-colored turkey and wanted to share a picture of a bird I killed Wednesday morning on National Forest Land in Virginia. It was a two-year-old bird with about a 9.5-inch beard. He weighed about 17 pounds. The unique thing about him is that his wings are solid white and the rest of his body appears to be brighter in color than any bird I have killed before. I am planning to contact Virginia game and inland fisheries, as I am curious as to how common this is. I was wondering if a biologist could explain what causes this color variation. I just wanted to share my story as I saw the recent posting about the issue. Check the pictures I attached. There are no tame birds anywhere near where I killed the bird so I have kind of ruled out any cross breeding.

Birds in the Badlands

When several vocal gobblers behind us decided to fly down and move off with hens shortly after a recent South Dakota daybreak, Gary Sefton and I decided to make a move, leaving the mobility-limiting hen decoy behind. Sefton had killed a bird the day before, and carried his second prairie hunt tag. I was looking to fill my first.

Our next setup, an edge-cover field position framed by cedars, provided the view of a pretty valley, green fields and cottonwood stands—a broad expanse that held turkeys, or so we hoped.

Cold calling from both of us brought a lone turkey hen into range, but no gobblers. Such Western prairie hunts often demand volume, so we ran several different friction calls during that calling session: Knight & Hale’s new Glass Hammer pot and peg call, and their Wet Willy waterproof box figured prominently (www.knightandhale.com).

A late-running bull session back at camp the night before left me a bit sleep deprived until Sefton yanked me out of a power nap. “So what else do you want to talk about?” he said, getting me back in the game. We both commenced to calling again while making casually quiet conversation. Game time arrived suddenly.

“Hen, to your right,” Gary whispered. Shotgun up, I waited, scanning the distance behind her. Soon I saw what I hoped for: a full fan, mincing steps up the hillside toward us. The strutter veered off from the hen slightly, keying on our position, clearly coming in the direction of our clucking, yelping and cutting location. A gobble confirmed that.

The tom was behind a small bush, and I waited, my new Remington Model 870 SPS Super Mag ShurShot Turkey 12 gauge locked in position (www.remington.com). Then I caught the break I needed: the longbeard wheeled, and turned his full-fan posterior toward us, obscuring his wary x-ray vision. I pushed the rifle-sighted shotgun barrel three inches closer. The turkey turned, readied itself to gobble. My shot echoed down the canyon as it did. Thirty-five yards. Dead bird.

Walking out toward our original setup position, I caught a glimpse of a gobbler standing at a distance near a clump of sage. “Gobbler, near the blind,” I said, and my buddy froze in position. I dropped back down the hill. Glass Hammer and striker in hand, I started cutting hard. Several eager-for-action jakes immediately answered, putting and clucking nearby.

Watching a relaxed and standing Sefton from my position said maybe we’d blown the deal, but when he eased his shotgun up slowly to rise above the higher field, I knew we were about to close it. The gobbler halved the distance. A load of Wingmaster HD No. 6s put another longbearded Merriam’s in his turkey vest. “I wonder how long that gobbler was grinning down that decoy,” Sefton offered. We looked at each other and laughed.

We’d settled down a little by the time James Woodley of Heartland Outfitters (www.heartlandoutfitters.com) arrived in his truck, but that flash hunt still makes me smile to think of it.—Steve Hickoff

We Hunt ’Em Cause We Hate ’Em

There are lots and lots of times when I just hate wild turkeys and a hunt is transformed from a pleasant stroll through the spring woods into a mission of vengeance. That’s what turkeys do to me sometimes. Let’s take my foray to Oklahoma.
    Before the hunt a couple of weeks ago I was assured that there were lots of birds, they had been gobbling hard and filling my two tags would be akin to child’s play. Wrong! Guess my hosts didn’t know exactly who they had invited since the curse of the outdoor writer seems to follow me everywhere.
    Daybreak on the first morning saw me and buddy Mark Schaefer of Bushnell optics sitting on a field edge—a Pretty Boy decoy set up in the field to keep us company.
    “I’ve been watching these birds for a few days now,” our guide told us. “They come out in this field and through here every day.”
    Yeah, except today. Mark and I sat dead still, listened to some far-off gobbling and watched a few passing-through hens for a couple of hours before we just couldn’t take it any more.
    “Mark,” I whispered. “Let’s do something. Think I’ve had enough of this.”
    Schaeffer agreed and we quickly headed off in the direction of the last bird(s) we heard gobble. On the way, our guide was indeed successful in getting the birds—we felt as if there were two or three—to courtesy gobble, but they certainly were not psyched about joining our party. We closed the gap some more until we were within 60 yards of the greenfield where they holed up. That’s when they quit responding completely. Not a slip-gobble, courtesy response—nothing.
    Now, if I’m an invited guest on a hunt, it’s always been my policy to keep my calls in my vest—unless I’m asked to join in the fray or desperate measures (i.e. we’ve got nothing to lose) become necessary. Although our guide was a more than capable caller, it was obvious to all that the birds had likely walked off. With nothing to lose, I reached for my boat paddle box call. I cutt and yelped hard on the box—game on! The birds responded instantly.
    Schaefer had played this game before. Like a cat, he slipped down the creek bed in front of us and to within 40 yards of the field edge. Once I saw him set up, I ran the call again. Again the birds responded. They had cut the distance. Boom!
    Mark’s thumbs up told the tale, but I kept calling. Two birds responded once or twice, but then it was obvious that they had enough. Schaefer’s big adult gobbler was in the 21-plus pound range with a 10-inch beard. Vengeance was ours.
    Stay tuned for “We Hunt ’Em Cause We Hate ’Em” Part II.
    Have a tale (and photo) of a particularly infuriating spring gobbler? I’d love to hear it. If we run your story on the Strut Zone, a boat paddle will be yours.—Gerry Bethge

The Maine Event

I pulled a timeworn slate and striker from a zippered vest pocket, and settled in—not for long it turns out.

Casually late (forecasters had called for heavy rain, but it didn’t), I hadn't park my truck at the local southern Maine farm until around 7:15 a.m. that cloudy opening “A Season” morning. After the walk into the far woods over a big green pasture, I’d heard gobblers sound off on their own. Cursed briefly by indecision, I took longer than I should have to find a good setup, but settled on one. My first series of yelps were cut off with multiple gobbles. I laid the pot and peg down at my side, and aimed my shotgun in that direction, scanning the woods the way we do. They hammered back, closing the distance. I felt that sweet tension we all hunt for . . .

Two birds appeared out of range, heads painted red, white and blue with that taxidermist's brightness, and I pinched off the safety. Another came from behind them as the first two angled to my right. My gun barrel slowly flowed with them, eyeing the far turkey, which hopped up on a log, then down again. Would that bird bust me?

The other two were soon wing to wing, coming fast. Both gobbled at maybe 20 yards, and one popped into a hardcore chump-hummmmmm strut, then out of it, passing behind cover. Leaning slightly to my right side, I aimed my shotgun toward the empty space on the other side of a smallish tree where I hoped the strutter would pass. The rear bird stopped, periscope up—wary black eye burning a hole in me.

The strutter leaned forward, took a short tentative step and looked too—its last one ever. The 3-inch load of 5s did the job. At the shot, the Up Periscope bird jumped on the dead gobbler in a brief show of pecking order advancement, stepped back and putted. I stood, and it hustled off with the other survivor. My watch read 7:58. Maybe the shortest turkey hunt I've had in some time, but you'll hear no complaints about my “The 43 Minute Maine Gobbler.”—Steve Hickoff

Girls Rule

No one holds the wild turkey in higher regard than I do, but there are times when sheer exasperation gets the best of me. Take last Saturday for instance. A long-awaited hunt with my 15-year-old daughter Amy was at hand and we were instantly confronted with a pig-headed longbeard that decided to quickly close the gap on our setup—from behind. He’d gobble hard whenever I called at him, but he had absolutely no intention of circling out in front of us to where Amy could shoot him. Time moved excruciatingly slow and although Amy sat rock still with the 20 gauge resting on her knee, I knew that the showdown could not last forever. At the 20-minute mark, the gobbler got quiet and I knew for sure that he was either coming or going. Wrong! I eased around our setup tree for peek behind us. There he was—25 yards and looking hard. With enough screening cover at our backs, I managed to slip back into position without hearing the dreaded alarm putts of a fleeing gobbler. The standoff continued. After another 15 minutes of dead silence, it was time to do something—even if it turned out to be wrong. Craning my head around the tree for another look behind us, I was stunned to see the gobbler still standing there.

“Okay, Amy,” I whispered to my daughter. “What you’re going to have to do is roll over on your stomach, get to your knees and then stand up and shoot the bird.”

“Yeah, right dad,” she said sarcastically. “He’ll see us for sure.”

Making certain to keep our setup tree and screening cover between the gobbler and us, we made our move. Miraculously, the bird was still there as we gained our feet.

“Okay, kid,” I whispered. “Use my arm as rest, put the bead on his head and shoot him.”

Which is exactly what she did.

“What can I tell ya, dad,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “Girls rule.”

Her second-ever spring gobbler weighed 18 pounds and sported a 9-inch beard. We’ve put him in the freezer for Thanksgiving.—Gerry Bethge

No Gobbling? No Problem

The reports of shutmouth gobblers are starting to come in by phone and email as the early peak of gobbling fades in some parts of the country, and dominant male turkeys settle in with their hens. They may gobble on the roost (to call hens to their position), and go silent (once the girls arrive). Nothing unusual about this, but some guys quit when it happens. Don’t. Pay attention to the evidence turkeys leave behind . . .

Hunters use the term “sign” to speak of one or many examples of evidence left behind by the quarry they’re hunting. Look for this . . .

1. Damp droppings say turkeys were there recently.

2. Concentrated feathers, old and new, can indicate a roost site when slightly dispersed, or a predator kill when tightly compacted in a small area.

3. Mixed sets of new and old tracks indicate turkeys use the area regularly.

4. Raked areas in the woods, along field edges, or in food plots, often indicate feeding zones. Hens go there. Spring gobblers follow.

5. Track size can indicate the sex and age of turkeys.

6. Lots of sign indicates bigger groups of turkeys, while spare evidence reflects fewer numbers.

7. Dusting bowls are fresh if the soil is loose, and other sign in them or even nearby is new.

Old sign may indicate turkeys have left the area for other food sources.—Steve Hickoff

Semper Fi Gobbler

As turkey hunters around the country go at it at full bore, the Strut Zone e-mail box begins to fill up with stories and photos from successful hunters. Here’s one of my favorites sent in by Cpl. Larry Rucker, U.S.M.C. Keep those cards and letters coming folks—Gerry Bethge

I'm a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan, so as you can imagine there is not a whole lot of hunting opportunities for me here. This whole hunt started in early February when I found out we would have some leave coming up, I got excited—it had been 2 years since I had turkey hunted. I got home 5 days before the season, and much to my amazment they were already gobbling. After about 5 days of close-but-not-close enough, I went with my cousin Alex to his hunting club in North Mississippi. We were to hunt a beautiful creek bottom. At about 5:50 the birds started sounding off everywhere. We heard one bird gobble close but he was across the creek, and shut up. We moved up and set up on some other birds. After calling for about 30 minutes a bird gobbled behind us but it sounded far off. However, still another bird slipped in from behind us. I waited and as soon as he came out from behind a tree, I smoked him. To make things even better, I was able to get a public land bird while hunting by myself—2 birds in 10 days makes for exciting leave. Now I'm in Japan annoying all my friends with turkey stories just like the old days.

Clearing Up the Piebald Mystery

A few weeks ago on the Strut Zone, I wrote about my “piebald” turkey sighting from a few years back. I saw them one time before they vanished and have been wondering about them ever since. Were they wild turkeys or had they escaped from a someone’s pen? Check out this note from Strut Zoner Jeff McDaniel about his son’s once-in-a-lifetime trophy gobbler.

—Gerry Bethge

Here’s a photograph of my son, Joe, and an unusual turkey he shot on May 6, 2006. I’d never seen one like it. I contacted the Illinois DNR. Paul Shelton who called it a silver color phase. He referred me to Dr. Michael Romano from Western Illinois University. He, too, concluded it to be a silver color phase. Scott Vance of the NWTF agreed stating that it’s distinctly different than the smokey-gray phase wild turkey. I also took the bird to the 2007 NWTF convention in Nashville. By all accounts, no one had ever seen another like it although some folks said it was nothing more than a tame bird shot on a farm. Even when presented with DNA documentation confirming that the silver bird was wild, some refused to believe it.

Well, ... the hunt itself was memory that I will cherish forever. My son, my hunting buddy, harvested a bird that has no comparison. I have only found one other photo of another that is close, while the NWTF states they knew of three.The one you saw would have been a grand, rare trophy.

Jonathan Harling: Up Close and Personal

OL’s Strut Zone caught up with South Carolina turkey hunter, television personality, and outdoor industry public-relations man Jonathan Harling between recent spring hunts: 

Steve Hickoff: When, where, how, and/or why did you first start turkey hunting?

Jonathan Harling: I owe it to my dad for getting me started in all types of hunting. He always made sure I was into sports or in the woods. I remember vividly the first time I heard a bird gobble. I was about 10 years old and my dad and I were hunting our property in Edgefield, S.C. He called the bird in, but for some reason I never saw him. The next thing I knew, the bird was walking off putting and I told my dad to call him back. He just laughed and said maybe next time.

SH: What's your most memorable turkey hunting experience?

JH: Each hunt is memorable in its own way . . . especially when I've either killed a bird or called one in for someone else, but the most memorable hunt will be one that I went on this year. I was able to take my 4-year-old son, Jackson, with me (his first turkey hunt). We had a great time. I let him run his box call and he actually sounds really good. We did hear a bird gobble and Jackson got excited, we set up and he got in the shooting position with his (plastic) gun. We didn't kill the bird, but it will definitely be a hunt I'll never forget.

SH: Where did you/will you hunt this spring?

JH: I hunted at Buck Run Hunting Lodge in Estill, S.C. The food, lodging, guide service and hunting property were excellent. Unfortunately, the birds just would NOT cooperate. They were definitely tough Easterns. However, I'd book another hunt with them in a heartbeat. Then Virginia with Jim and Sherry Crumley, and a few others within the outdoor industry, and Missouri with Ray Eye to film a Winchester Turkey Revolution show (airs on Versus).

SH: You can only use a box call, pot-and-peg, or mouth call. Which one do you choose and why?

JH: I actually sound better on my pot-and-peg (M.A.D. Super Aluminator/WoodHaven Striker), but I would prefer a mouth call. It's very versatile. You can make all of the necessary hen calls that you need to call in a gobbler. Plus, when you're set up on a bird or just sitting and calling, it cuts down on the amount of movement you make. You would be amazed at how many turkeys people have probably called in silently and scared away without ever knowing the bird was there because of reaching for a call.

SH: What three products do you insist on taking to the turkey woods each spring?

JH: In addition to my calls, shotgun and Winchester Xtended Range shells, the three items I insist on taking to the woods would have to be:

1. ThermaCELL (www.thermacell.com)
2. Nikon Binoculars—8x36 or 8x4 (www.nikonsportoptics.com)
3. Decoy

SH: What advice do you have for people who want to start turkey hunting?

JH: When getting started in turkey hunting, it's important to find someone that's experienced to go with, so they can help you with the basics, such as safety, how and when to call, setups, patterning your gun, etc. I'd also recommend joining the NWTF. You can get a ton of turkey hunting tips through their magazines, television shows and Web site (www.nwtf.org). Not to mention, if you get involved with an NWTF chapter, you place yourself among other turkey hunters. The main thing to remember is to have fun . . . they're just turkeys. Too many people take it personal (including myself at times) when they don't kill a bird, miss or just don't hear one gobble. Go out and enjoy your time in the woods.

—Steve Hickoff