First Bird
| Firearms - Shotguns |
 My partner had insisted that today was my day. He said he absolutely would not yield to my typical demand that he take the turkey with the extended range of his 10-gauge.So off we went in the dark swamp, treading hillocks of grass between patches of black water and bamboo. I sank once into the mud, but only to my ankles, and it didn't slow me down. We knew there was a gobbler there--we had hunted him the week before and had to cut the hunt short due to family issues. He was a smart bird, we knew that, but he was there, we were there, and the game was afoot. We stopped at a decision point, where the swamp trails diverged, and my partner hooted softly into the mist. On the third hoot, we heard a rattle. It sounded far away, but not. In the swamp it can be tough to gauge range. I tilted my head slightly in the direction of the sound and my partner nodded, just as slightly. It was still pretty dark, but we didn't have our masks on yet and our faces would probably look like headlights to a wary bird. I eased off in the direction of the gobble and tried not to move to fast, or to splash, in my eagerness. Breathless, I dropped to a broad tree and got into position. My partner settled in behind me and to my left. After the sound of the stillness settled around us, he yelped softly, a tree talking hen, as if the gobbler's presence were as yet of no real consequence to her. Silence. We waited. After 10 minutes my partner executed a perfect fly-down cackle. More silence. Suddenly, a gobble! And it was close! With every nerve tingling, I waited. I was so rigid it is no wonder I was sore all over that night. But he never came in. After an hour I ventured a sideways glance at my partner, who gave a tiny shrug. Disappointed, I eased up--realizing that the gobbler could be watching me--and managed to stretch without too much movement. It was daylight, and I was full of maybe's: Maybe we could make him gobble again. Maybe he didn't see us. Maybe he found a hen. Maybe we could wait him out and get him going again. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Long story short, that gobbler kept running us around the same little hill. It was actually pretty comical, if it hadn't been so frustrating.It was eleven o'clock when I dropped with exhaustion against my seventh tree that morning. I have to say, my partner was as determined as I was, and very patient. He dropped to a tree also, and once again went into calling, this time backing off from the more aggressive calls he had been trying to some soft purring. He had his slate call in hand and was about to yelp, I think, when I shook my head no. Just wait, I mouthed. Nothing to lose. Fifteen minutes later, I saw a bright blue and red head, then I saw the tail. He was strutting, but he was also moving in fast. He still looked way out of range to me, but I eased my gun on him and got ready. Now I don't know why that gobbler finally decided to throw caution to the winds, but he did, I shot him, and his tail feathers are still over my fireplace to this day, with a plaque my partner carved for me. © April 2007 |
