The Chief finally completed an ungodly accomplishment. Last fall, the Chief was outwitted by a huge gobbler on two separate occasions, practically in his own backyard. These events left the Chief sleepless for several nights thinking how a pea-sized brained bird could outwit such an expert turkey hunter. He vowed revenge.
On Monday, May 5th, The Chief trekked into the woods well before first light to where he figured his feathered foe would be roosted. Gobblers seem to like this particular spot. The Chief had killed several birds in this area. The plan was to remain silent and wait. If this particular gobbler knew that the Chief was in the area he would surely be on guard. The Chief wanted the edge.
It seemed like hours before the little birds began chirping on this chilly, frosty morning. It finally broke light and faint gobbles could be heard in the distance, but the woods were strangely silent around the Chief. Only “drink your tea’s” could be heard. He began to think that it was a foolish maneuver to trek into the woods without first locating a gobbling bird. Just then a bunch crows made a noisy fly-through. The Chief eased his head out from around the huge white oak to observe the racket. But something else got his attention. He could now see the massive black outline of a turkey perched on a limb of a huge sentinel white pine no more than 50 yards away. A beard hanging down, way down. He wondered if this was the same gobbler that outsmarted him in November. No time to wonder; the gobbler and the Chief were now engaged in staring contest. The Chief won as the bird became restless and flew down out of gun range and putted his way out of sight.
The Chief began to analyze his mistakes; failure to locate and failure to search the trees were predominant. His analytical mind then went to work. He first took a shot of pear brandy, then another. He took out his beloved Cody slate call and prepared it. Next, a double reed mouth call was readied. The plan was to relocate and become a couple of excited hens as there seemed to be no hens in the area. He walked back out the logging road that he came in on and noticed that the road was littered with gobbler turds. A strutting zone.
The Chief found a dandy red oak with a comfortable scooped out depression at its base. The oak provided a clear view down the logging road to where it made a sharp bend. The Chief had been up since 3:45 a.m. and he promptly fell asleep in this comfortable setup. The Chief was awakened by a thunderous gobble! He had slept for over an hour! After collecting his senses, the Chief began purring to the gobbler with the Cody. The gobbler was coming, coming right down that logging road. The Chief readied his Mossberg 835 loaded with 3 ½” hevi-shot and aimed it at the bend in the road. He finally had the edge; he only had to squeeze the trigger at the proper time.
The Mossberg slammed the Chief back into the red oak. After readjusting his hat and eye glasses, he could see the bird flapping helplessly in the leaves.
The Chief walked up to the dead bird, recognizing him, and said, “I told you that I would be back!” The Chief then went home and drank a Straub to celebrate.
Currently I am in Kiel Germany watching the sail boats come in to Kiel harbor from my apartment window. This is start of "Kiel Week" a week long celebration of sailing with boats the size of sunfish to three-masted schooners plying the waters of the Baltic sea. The scene from my window is placid, but it is a different story along the promenade by the harbor. Basically it is a mile-long collection of bratwurst stands, beer halls, live music every 100 yards, and drunk Germans. Just think of a Penn State tailgate on massive quantities of steroids and beer. I can report that Duckstein bier fresh from the tap perfectly complements a bratwurst. A Konig's pilsner also quenches one's thirst while watching boats and babes. And, a good schwarz bier goes well with listening to an Irish folk band.
Barronette Afternoon
Pioneer Life or, Thirty Years a Hunter by Philip Tome