Turkey Hunting, in the Rain, with a Twelve Year Old. Part 3

“Still having fun even with the missed opportunities?”

“Yup. Dad, I can’t wait to actually take a good shot at a turkey. Think we’ll get one here?”

Nathan still had enthusiasm in his voice. My overriding fear has been projecting my desires upon his hunts.  Without the ability to echo locate birds by calling and getting a gobbling response, chasing turkeys in the fall requires so much more effort then in spring. Bumping the flock more then once has typically changed their habits; habits I’ve spent the past few months figuring out. The operative word is “I,” and admittedly, there is a conflict between wanting to keep the birds for myself and sharing them with Nathan knowing he might not be patient enough to put himself close enough for a shot. Fortunately, my selfish thoughts only pass through and don’t stick around..

Expecting an enthusiastic 12 year old boys to be able to sit still for an hour, not drag his feet through the dry leaves, or truly understand how difficult it is to put the birds in front of him, is unrealistic. So what if he gets busted. If he learns how to move with stealth and good woodsmanship while enjoying the outdoors does scaring off a flock of turkeys really matter in the grand scheme of things? Not at all. He is out in the woods and not sitting around at home.

The farm road skirts the edge of the pasture and is defined by an electric fence and the woodsline. Sometimes there are cattle in the fields making the stalking a bit of a challenge. Seems turkeys don’t really like the company of cows.

“Hard to say unless we go take a look. If they are here we can sneak around and get a shot. We just need to be careful popping up over the lip of the field.”

This plot of land borders the Connecticut River and is supposedly the bottom of ancient Lake Hitchcock, an Ice Age lake which abruptly drained 10,000-12,000 years ago. This rapid draining left the steep ravines and convoluted topography we hope to exploit when sneaking up on a flock. Many of these ravines are covered by open hardwoods and capped by extremely flat terraces which have been cleared for farming and grazing. A fortunate byproduct of this terrain is fantastic turkey habitat.

The cow pasture and terraces are separated by a creek just large enough to keep the cattle from wandering randomly between the high ground and the lower pastures. With the cows down low the turkeys should have no fear and inhabit the fields above.

Climbing the dirt ramp in the rain is quiet except for the increasing sound of our breathing. Approaching the lip we drop to hands and knees finishing the ascent by crawling towards the base of the honey suckle. Looking through the brush we don’t need the binos to pick out three flocks of birds. One about 200 yards directly in front of us; another sunning themselves under an apple tree 300 yards to the west; the last bunch is spread out among the old stone walls and scrub brush dotting the hills to the north and too far away to consider chasing.

The birds straight away begin disappearing over the far bank. My watch says 1:20 PM. In the event we are busted by the apple tree gang, there is a good chance this group will be available in the coming days.

            Nathan grabs the binos and slides beneath the brush propping himself up on his elbows laying prone to keep out of sight.

            “There’s a bunch of hens and a few toothbrush toms. They’re just hanging out pecking at stuff. There are a few of them wandering off to the right.”

            “What do you ant to do? Watch a bit more or try to get set up on them?”

            “Let’s move and try to get to the pine trees.”

            Nathan slides back through the brush and hands me the binos. We drop back to the creek and move along the floodplain towards the head of this small valley. Nathan scrambles up the bank to see if the flock has moved.

            Approaching the crest of the slope, Nathan crouches behind the ragweed lining the border between the trees and the field. He stands peering over the vegetation and suddenly drops to his knees. He look down at me and rapidly points up the hill.

            Without making a sound my mouth moves, ”What?”

            Nathan mouths back and points up the hill, “They’re right there.”

            Now in full pantomime we communicate for him to keep moving to the right and try to get around the pine trees at the bend in the field, set up and wait. The wet ground helps him move with a bit of stealth but his need to keep an eye on the birds increases the chance of him getting busted. If he does, he does and with a bit of self-convincing I’m okay with whatever happens.

            I reach the trees before Nathan and we set-up on the back side of an overgrown pasture pine. The flock should be on our left, walk past the trees and away from our position while providing a chance to draw the bows and get a shot.

            The clucking and yelping to our left grows louder as the birds close the distance. To the right, we begin to hear the moooo of cows. The clucks grow louder as does the mooing. The cows down in the  creek bottoms become visible though the trees; the turkeys are abeam of our tree and 40 yards out. They stop, perriscoping their necks to scan the area. Nathan and I don’t breathe to keep any motion to a minimum. When the large black cow steps into the field the turkeys turn and move across the field and are no longer a valid target.

            Nathan lowers his bow and whispers,” Dad, we were busted by cows! That’s so un-cool. Coyotes or bobcats or something considered a predator is one thing but cows? “

            “A first for me too. Let’s sit here for a few moments and let the birds run from the big scary cows before we scoot back down the hill. We should head home. I’m pretty tired.”

            “Sounds good.”

            Watching the turkeys hustle away from the approaching herd of cows really is amusing. The flock stops at the treeline before melting into the weeds and disappearing. Nathan and I get up and begin the 10 minute walk back to the car. We decide to head across the creek bottom and take a direct route to the road to avoid mixing with the herd of cows, and a few bulls, still on the other side of the creek. 

            The slope is open pines with a carpet of fallen needles to absorb each footfall so we move with almost no sound. YELP, YELP, YELP; a hen begins to call together the flock which must have scattered when the cows moved through to head up the hill and subsequently scare off the birds we were on. Tilting my head and pointing my thumb to the right indicating a move to the large bull pine where the slope meets the flat puts us near the closest cover.

            The kee-kee-kee and sharp clucks allow echolocation of the flock’s assembly point. “You see ‘em?” I whisper pointing towards the slope across the flats.

            “No. They sound like they might be on the other side of the creek.” Nathan replies.

            Our current position is pretty good and a successful kill will require the birds to move across the flats and up the hill towards the fields behind us. There is a small clump of brush in the flats but the risk of getting busted is too great so we sit still and listen to the calls which come for out in front of us. The sounds are becoming less frantic and beginning to coalesce within a small oak grove 150 yards away. The flock is back together but appears very paranoid. There is no pecking at the ground or wing flapping. The birds are very still and their head movements are small as they scan the surroundings for predators and latecomers to the assembly.

            When the flock starts purring and the clucking loses a bit of the sharp edge we count eleven hens and one soul patch jake in the mix. Soon the turkeys seem much more relaxed as they begin pecking at the ground, scratching, with much less examining of the surroundings. The creek flat by the oaks is devoid of understory and the birds begin moving towards the fields up high which unfortunately, is away from us. We’ve been sitting for almost forty-five minutes so the knobby forest floor has created a few numb and sore spots on both mine and Nathan’s butts.

            “You want to try and end run those birds and get up the hill ahead of ‘em?” My tone of voice is apathetic.

            “Nah. We’ve been going pretty hard all day and I’m kinda cold and hungry. It was pretty fun hearing those birds calling and we didn’t get busted. There’s always tomorrow and we know where they are and there’s a ton of turkeys in here.”

            When the flock moves out of sight we stand up and brush the pine needles off our pants. Good boots have us walking right through the creek and across the swampy areas which drain into the floodplain. Cows stop eating and turn to watch us stroll across the pasture, jump the barbed wire fence and move along the road to the car.

            Nathan and I encountered a lot of turkeys, heard some awesome calling; and learned a huge amount about the habits of flocks in the rain. No we didn’t get off a shot but watching my son made this one of the best hunting days I’ve ever had.