The First Great Hunt of the Season.

The seventh day of the 2015 spring season fell on a Thursday. This day was the first great hunting day of the season.

6:30 Wednesday morning when driving towards home after a whole unsatisfying hunt, I spotted three toms displaying in the field by the tree. The location is a fifteen-minute walk from the house traversing fields with a few strips of woodland to wade through. After work, the dog needed a good walk so heading to the tree to see if any branches needed trimming was the mission.

For the past two years I’ve been in grad school with the intention of finding a better paying career. Hasn’t quite worked out as planned. To earn some cash I continue to work as a landscaper and fine gardener. Any holes being cut along field edges and beneath pine trees are always pruned in with cut made for visual appeal in addition to good horticultural practice. While the dog sniffed around in the grass, my ten minutes removed a few buckthorn and honeysuckle saplings along with some deadwood to fashion a bowhunter sized grotto. Judging distance in dim light is often difficult.  A few of the cutoffs were pressed into service demarcating 15, 20, and 25 yards.

Thursday at 4:45 the dekes were set at 20 yds. The calls were properly arranged on my leg; one arrow on the nock and another set to the side in case a second shot presents itself. Time to just sit and enjoy the increasing light and wait for the show to begin.

By 5:00 there had been a few far off gobbles but nothing sounding close enough for a response. When a gobble came from the next field over a bit of second guessing set in about my location. Too late to move so just sit it out.

The crack of sticks coming from the woods to my right caught my attention bringing me from near boredom to pie eyed. Moving my eyes to the limit in order to peek with minimal movement preceded a slow turn of the head, my eyes scanning the trees. A short flash of white gave the deer away.  Two does moved with caution along the woods line stopping to bob their heads before dipping them down to nibble on the new sprouts just breaking the from beneath the soil. The wind didn’t betray my location and the deer approached the decoys moving past me at 15 yards. For once I could smell the deer without being detected. The decoys have lured in more deer than turkeys.

The deer left the field and the only sounds were songbirds and the breeze moving the swollen buds causing the branches to rub against each other. A crow flew overhead cackling to its mates. A few geese passed above. Never saw them but heard the reverberation of honks. My watch read 6:15 and if something wasn’t dead in fifteen minutes it was time to break camp and head home to begin the workday.

A faint yelp made it over the rise from the swamp into the field. The double sided cedar scratchbox responded with a few clucks and cuts. Several hens responded. My calling cut them off. With the clock working against me trying to sweet talk any following toms didn’t seem a good bet. Angering the hens seemed like a good play. If the girls come looking for a fight just maybe the boys will follow them in.

The other side of the cedar scratchbox has a bit higher pitch. Drawing it across the walnut peg gave a loud  series of raspy yelps which were cut off by the hens closing in on my hide out. A few minutes of frantic yelping brought two hens into the field. The handheld calls were placed into my boot top to keep them available and quiet. The release hook slid through the D-loop with my finger pressing the backside of the trigger blade to avoid an unintentional disconnect. The bow rotated from the horizontal resting position on my thighs to the vertical alignment needed to draw and shoot.

The hens moved across the field towards the dekes; their heads scanned from side to side. Yelp yelp, in rapid succession, short pause, yelp yelp, short pause; this pattern just kept repeating itself.  An occasional cluck broke the pattern but the hens kept up this banter of one to three short yelps.

Being female it was illegal to shoot these birds during the spring season. Some insect began boring into the exposed forehead just above the head net. My instinct was to swat the bug but fear of getting busted and sending the hens into alarm mode overrode the need to stop the bug from biting me. Slow movement might be okay. The move to my forehead was deliberate and steady.. The hens were looking in my direction when my index finger popped the insect. The hens continued yelping and moving my way.

When they stopped a few yards from the decoys my watch read 6:30. I had to leave soon and with no evidence of approaching toms the bow was lifted into a shooting position. The bowstring remained still as my draw arm pantomimed coming to anchor. While at “full draw” the hens shook out their feathers adding a bit of rustling to the cacophony of the morning. They didn’t spook validating my 3-D camo and technique.

With the same deliberation as squishing the bug on my forehead, my foot located several dried sticks shed from the pine tree. Snapping them made the hens nervous and soon they made a purposeful escape back into the woods.

Why was this hunt so successful? The camo works fantastically well allowing me to draw on birds only 12 yards away. Listening to the hens communicate was insightful. I hadn’t realized the yelp was common vernacular. Until this mo hunt it was assumed the yelp was a longer series and used only in the vicinity if toms. My odds of becoming a harvester this spring had just gone up.