I’ve always considered turkey hunting
a fairly safe sport.
I understand that safe is a relative term, but at least the woods are not
filled with fellow hunters carrying rifles that could accidentally kill you
from a distance greater than the shooter could actually see you! For the
uninitiated, turkeys are hunted with a shotgun; a close range weapon. But for
some unknown reason, I can often find a way to hurt myself in the safest of
ventures.
March is a great time to be in the
woods. The sub-zero
weather has graciously passed, and usually (early on at least), there are no
ticks or mosquitos. To hunt turkey, you venture deep into the woods in the
pitch-black dark, find a likely place to stop, and listen to the woods
creatures as they wake up. Of course you mainly listen for the sounds of one creature
in particular, but it’s always exciting listening to them all. Most of the
successful hunters I know already know where the turkeys are roosting, but I
usually just go when I have time. I hope to either stumble on one, or get lucky
and call one up! This is a trial and error sport, but I have been fortunate
enough to actually fool one a time or two.
On this particular morning, after
calling, changing locations (and repeating this process several times) I
decided to call it a day. There were either no birds in my zip code or my rookie calling attempts
had them belly laughing as they headed for the hills; either way I was headed back
to my truck turkeyless. About halfway
back I came upon an open area with a big gobbler, standing squarely in the
center, doing his thing! He was fanning out his tail and his ugly head was
blood red, but before I could kneel down and try to make myself invisible…he
saw me. Okay, he kind of saw me. Had he fully recognized me for the armed
intruder that I truly was, the story would likely end here.
My heart raced as he halted is garish
sexual behavior and stretched his neck for a better view. Not really sure what to do next, I
pulled out my call and started making girlfriend noises. This seemed to put him
somewhat at ease and he would dance for a few minutes before assuming the “you
know I can fly” posture. We played this game for what seemed like forever, and
I think he finally decided that any woman that could resist the display he was
putting on was probably not worth having anyway. Time to run!
Luckily when he decided to run I was
prepared to shoot.
He was a little bit farther away than I would normally feel comfortable taking
a shot, but my quick reaction put him on the ground! Remember I said put him on
the ground…I didn’t say kept him on the ground! Before I could put my hands on
him, he jumped up and headed for the next county. He was moving pretty good for
a wounded bird, but I feel sure that it had something to do with the
overdressed, fat little old guy chasing him! Hunting adrenaline is a special kind
of drug, and with a borderline overdose flowing through my system, I caught
him! Okay…caught up with him. As I reached down to grab him, he decided to
fight back. This big guy rolled over on his back and did his best to bury the 1”
spurs in my hands or face!
Before I go any further with this
story I should probably tell you that this hunting story, while absolutely true,
happened several years ago and has nothing to do with the picture of me with
the bandage on my face. Actually, I went to the Dermatologist early Monday morning and had a skin
cancer removed. I come by this affliction honestly and that is why I posted the
picture of my face with the “old man” band aid plastered in the typical spot. The
hunting story sounds better, and I doubt many would have enjoyed a story about
my trip to the Dermatologist! But just so you know, I came away that particular
day unharmed and carrying a big Tom Turkey! What were you thinking happened?
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