Turkey came into season over the weekend, and I think I found just about every variety of animal besides turkey.
If I had gone out to fill my squirrel poke, I could have hit two limits easily. If raven was on the menu, we would have been eating like kings.
If I had a bow (and knew how to shoot it), venison would be filling my freezer by now.
But instead, he wanted turkey: he had only been out once during the spring season, due to a home purchase and light remodeling.
And before you get any ideas, I’m not Davy Crockett: my dad taught me to fish really well, but he never took me hunting. What little exposure I did get as a teenager was from friends taking me out, usually for squirrels.
So overall, I’m self-taught and I know that going toe-to-toe with a devourer is hitting well above my weight class. They have the sharpest eyes in the forest, their sense of hearing is impeccable.
Even in their large fall flocks, they glide through the wood silently.
I ran up the ridges, banging along to a booth call, sitting in a tree, maybe 10 or 15 minutes at a time.
I couldn’t find any signs, no scratches, no droppings, no feathers.
But I did see a bobcat polishing along a logging road.
I was very still when I saw the little one, I don’t think he ever noticed me.
I think I heard a howl from across the hills, but it was probably just my mind playing tricks on me: when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail, and when you have a turkey tag, all the birds quack. a gobble
However, during a coffee break on a hill of oak trees, a coyote approached me.
I was sitting on a log, my shotgun leaning against a tree. He stared at me, as I did with him. So he must have sniffed me out, because he was turned off. I needn’t fear, I’ve never had the inclination to eat ‘yote, or any kind of canine for that matter.
I worried about boot leather looking for the herd, but when I looked at the time and realized it was 2 pm, I knew I had bigger problems on my hands: my wife.
But surprisingly, she wasn’t too upset that I stayed out so late, more worried than anything.
And when I groped to ask if I could go out again on Sunday morning, she even said yes, with the caveat that she’d be home by 10am.
So I am writing this to you at 10:30 am on Sunday to let you know that I am no closer to having turkey on the table.
If my dog learned to like the water and I could afford those expensive waterfowl charges, I’d be eating some geese.
I sat on the edge of a field, thinking maybe the thunder chickens would fly, but no dice.
So I took a little time to explore the shoreline, to see if the birds came near the water. No signal, no luck.
Coming out though, there was a moment where I thought I’d be in a footnote mentioned on a true crime show.
You know the line, “The trail went cold until six months later a hunter made a gruesome discovery.”
Yeah, I found this really big bone; I kept going back and forth if it came from a deer or if it was a femur. If it was a femur, he should probably leave it that way so the law could do his crime scene, but since it was just a bone, he didn’t want the law to come out for nothing.
So he picked it up and took it with me. I took some photos and sent them to Mark Hammond who was kind enough to inform me early on Sunday morning that the bone was in fact an animal bone.
Would you rather be eating turkey? Absolutely.
But did I have a great time? You know it.
Attain HENRY CULVY’S HOUSE at email@example.com or (606) 326-2653.