Last week, this column related the events of the first morning's turkey hunt and the initial minutes of the second morning's during the New York State Outdoor Writers Association's (www.nysowa.org) Annual Safari, held in St. Lawrence County and based at Basswood Lodge and Hunting Preserve (www.basswoodhunting.com) near Rensselaer Falls. That column ended just after I'd experienced a misfire of a new shotgun shell while a gobbler was a mere 10 yards away. But that was just the beginning of what would be a memorable morning in the turkey woods and fields.
I'll not relate what I said immediately after retrieving the shell that misfired, but it wasn't kind to the shell manufacturer, who will remain anonymous, at least for now. Accompanying hunters Bryan Noble, Jim Rheome and Leo Maloney were understandably sympathetic, but I also noted each was suppressing the urge to laugh. I had to smile myself when I thought of the ringside seat they had of the whole scenario. Oh well, strange things happen when hunting or fishing, and this was just another page that would fall under the Murphy's Law section.
Since there was another tom farther from the field that had been gobbling, we decided to head in that direction and see what we could do with it. We left the field and Bryan began to lead us through the woods toward the location we'd last heard gobbling from. Winding our way through the dense mixture of balsam and hemlock, we came to a huge hollow log that partially blocked our way. Bryan was first to step over it, but stopped after he had and looked down at something.
"Take a look," he said. We did, and there in the moist mud was a maize of coyote tracks. There were two small cracks about a foot long and two inches wide in the log next to all the tracks. We could see several pairs of eyes and small noses peeking out at us ... coyote pups. I moved down to the end of the log, which was also hollow and open, bent down and peered in. There, about eight feet away, were at least four pups. They immediately scurried toward the far end of their hollow wooden den. "Good thing their mom didn't see you," Bryan chuckled. "She might have taken a bite out of your britches." We laughed and continued on.
We reached a knoll of primarily large maples and beech. Bryan and Jim advised us that this was kind of a crossroads that the turkeys used when they traveled through the woods from one field to another. Bryan had to leave then to attend his son's lacrosse game. So the three of us quickly set up and began calling. The gobbler answered immediately, with double and triple gobbles. "Oh boy," I thought. "This tom is hot and coming in fast." Sure enough, the tom's gobbles kept getting louder as it moved toward us. Then I spotted a glimpse of grey off to my left. A deer? Then it passed through a brief open area. An adult coyote, and it was making a beeline toward the mouthy gobbler! Less than a minute later, the gobbling stopped. The coyote had hopes of an easy meal, but most likely had spooked the gobbler before it could catch it. Well, we were two for two – one misfire and one coyote interference.
Jim said he knew of a greenfield spur near a wooded knoll not far away where a big gobbler had been hanging out. He said they'd been trying to get the big tom all season, but thus far every tactic had failed. So off we went to try our luck which, up to then, wasn't very good. They say bad luck runs in threes. I guess that's true because just as we came in sight of the field near the knoll, a hen spotted us and went racing toward the woods. But, we reasoned, maybe she was waiting for the gobbler to arrive. So we put out a couple decoys, set up nearby and started calling. Half an hour later we'd neither seen nor heard anything. Jim decided to circle around and take a peek in the big greenfield. A few minutes later, he reappeared and waived his arms for us to join him. He'd spotted the big tom in the middle of the main field, feeding on grass and alone.
We scurried around the wood-line to a point that jutted out into the field. The tom should be on the other side. We eased into position and began calling. Nothing. So I slowly belly-crawled my way until I could look out into the field. No turkey was in sight. Jim muttered and reasoned the tom had moved toward another field a short distance away. We packed up and hustled toward it. As we neared it, we gave a few yelps, and the tom gobbled back – he wasn't quite to the field yet. Leo and I hurried to the edge where the tom should appear. I called and the tom immediately answered with a thundering gobble. Oh boy, here we go. He's coming.
Just about then, we heard a tractor engine roaring and getting closer. The neighboring farmer had chosen that exact time to harrow his plowed field that bordered the one the tom was heading toward. From the sound, the tractor must've passed right next to where the gobbler was. Although we waited, the tom never showed or gobbled again. It was nearing noon and legal quitting time, so we headed back toward the vehicles, retracing our route through the big field where Jim had first spotted the tom.
We were about halfway through the field when I saw something black just above the green grass about 75 yards away. "No, it couldn't be, could it?" I took a couple steps toward it, and up popped a softball-size head – it was the big tom. After being spooked by the tractor, he'd simply retraced his steps back to the field and began feeding. Needless to say, he didn't stick around when he saw the three of us "sharing" his field with him.
It would've been the perfect ending to an imperfect morning of gobbler hunting, but there was one more indignity. As we drove out the secondary road toward the highway, we could look out into the far side of the big greenfield on the slope opposite where we'd last seen the boss tom. There, a couple hundred yards away and feeding contently, was the big gobbler, along with three smaller gobblers and several hens. Leo and I looked at each other and laughed. A perfect ending!