Emerging from sheer rock cliffs of the Tongue River Canyon I paused at the aid station to refill my water bottles and grab a couple handfuls of pretzels and M&M’s. An aid station worker sent encouragement “only five miles to go!” After a couple minutes, I nodded to Jake indicating it was time to get on with it.
The first day of turkey season comes with excitement and anticipation like what a child experiences on Christmas Eve. Distance gobbles and strutting toms glistening in the sun fill a turkey hunter’s dreams as they wait for first light on opening day. Confidence is high as the memories of last year’s successful hunts are still fresh in the mind and the failures long forgotten.
“This is the spot” I said as I put my truck in park and grabbed my fishing pole. Blake and Eric had a surprised look on their face as they gathered their gear and watched me make a v-line for the creek. A small stream of water that you can step over suddenly turns into a pool of water with the help of a beaver damn. Not exactly what you would expect for a honey hole in Colorado, but I had been here before and knew it would produce.
Five missed calls and 33 new emails. I slid the phone back in my pocket and stared at the Y in the trail contemplating my dilemma: go to work or keep looking. An October snow storm prompted me to take a couple of hours off in the morning to go hunt my favorite stand. The wind was right and I knew the rut was kicking off. It was a Wednesday and I told myself I would sit until 10:00 am. I could return phone calls on my drive back home and should be at my desk by 11:15 a.m. It was already 10:30 a.m. and I hadn’t been able to find a single speck of blood.
“Look deep, and if you stare at the water long enough you’ll get your opportunity” – Boat Ramp Wisdom
Simple, yet profound, this advice was solicited from a fellow bow fisherman at the boat ramp. His craft was anchored to the dock at the same time we were pulling out. There was one big difference: he had a paddlefish laying in the bottom of his johnboat and I did not. I congratulated him on his catch and asked if he had any tips. That prose of wisdom was all he provided.
The first rays of sun beamed over The Loess Hills as I backed my truck up to the trail. After a light warm-up of basic calisthenics and stretching I organized some bananas, bagels, granola bars, running chews, Gatorade and water on my tail gate. I deposited a dollar in the donation jar and gazed down trail. No music. No pre-race camaraderie. No starting gun. After a few seconds I started to run.
Calling in a springtime turkey is a deceitful ploy. The hunter mimics the sounds of a hen in hopes of luring a tom into range. When the curiosity of the gobbler gets the best of him, the result can be an adrenaline filled hunt and meat on the table. There are three “types” I play in the turkey woods: The Copy Cat, The Drunk Chick, and the Shy Librarian. Deploy these tactics on your next turkey hunt to increase your chances of filling a tag.
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