TURKEY TALK FROM THE BIG WOODS
5-9-2013
What’s as exciting as pulling Tom off a roost with the first light of a new day and watching him slowly and cautiously cut the distance between you and him over the rolling greens and browns of southern Wisconsin? Well, pulling him to you through Wisconsin’s big woods, and following the journey exclusively with his gobbles until he’s nearly in your lap.
I had one day to hunt southwest Wisconsin’s Grant County during season 2 and failed to score. My brother John Ellis of Muskego did take a real nice gobbler on that trip. He enticed Tom and a three-hen escort up from a wooded valley to its final mistake on a spring-tilled field ready for corn.
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| John Ellis called in and tagged this Tom in Grant County during period 2 in Zone 1 before coming to the north woods to hunt with a camera during the writer’s period 5, zone 3 hunt near Mosinee. | |
I bought an over-the counter tag for zone 3, period five. With John coming to work the camera over his own piece of the northern forest, we hunted with oldest brother Steve Ellis on public land near Mosinee. Steve usually tags a Tom, but on this day he would cleanly miss Thomas.
I’ve dueled with a single Tom for eight hours before killing the 26 pound bird from 10 yards during a season 6 showdown. I’ve called in and tagged a gobbling Tom talking like it was springtime on an October morning. But Wednesday, May 8th would be among my best days of turkey hunting ever. I never pulled the trigger and in fact saw one bird after 10 hours in the field. It’s a perfect example of the real story not always being what it seems. Let’s look inside the pages.
We woke to a billion stars with no wind and promises of 70 degree temperatures. After hiking in for a mile on a huge tract of public land, we separated to work our birds. At least two gobblers let me know where they were roosting and I moved in their direction to take a first stand close to first light. I sweet talked Tom with the pink veil growing in the east and enjoyed a conversation for about 45 minutes. It was apparent from their own clatter that a harem of hens also roosted thought the gobblers should just ignore that strange voice rising from the north.
The birds pitched down and quieted down after the first 45 minutes and I would never hear or see another turkey over the remainder of the morning. I rendezvoused with my brothers at 10:00 and found out from Steve’s “L” on his forehead” that the Loser Boy had missed. I promised him we wouldn’t talk about it in this Blog.
The Ellis boys for whatever reason have never taken lunch breaks in the field and we immediately split to start the hunt again. My run and gun tactic of moving north and calling from an overgrown logging road and hoping for a response wouldn’t carry me far before I would engage in some of the best action of my life. In fact, over the five hours planned for our afternoon hunt, I would move twice, take three stands, but never travel more than 200 yards. The jungle of the northland made such moves without detection an easier proposition than travel on southern agricultural land.
I called and Tom answered from the southwest. After talking to him for 30 minutes, a hen jumped in the game from a swamp in the northeast. She was loud, seductive, and letting Tom know that she had much more to offer than this “hen” making promises from the shadows. Because I was right in the middle of the two, I opted to stay off the diaphragm call except for the occasional, “I’m waiting Honey” whisper to let him know I was still there. I reasoned that I could not lose. If he wanted me, he would come to me and get paid with a load of number-5 shot to the head. If he wanted her, his journey would still most likely carry him right past me.
Over the course of the afternoon, I resumed with a more nasty talk of impatience, another Tom joined the discussion, and a gaggle of perhaps six boisterous hens moved slowly north to south to voice their opinions. The chorus …the racket…they made was like nothing I have ever heard. We had a rumble in the jungle going and I was soaking in every second. Any time the hens quieted down, I would fire them up again by screaming the message that I was the nastiest wench in the woods and they had better move out of town. Several times, the chorus from the forest, my own voice and two Toms looking for a little companionship collided.
Although I still had not seen a bird, twice I had my scattergun up and in the shooter’s position and watched over the barrel for his bobbing red head to appear. His gobbles rolled over me. He was right on top of me as he moved to join the harem. I guessed at most that he would need to move 20 yards for the shot. When he did, I would simply drop my head to place the sight and squeeze. It didn’t happen and the entire flock, finally together, finally quieted down after our three hour scream-fest.
I briefly spotted one of the birds and knew they were moving southwest. I moved too, closed to a position just outside the jungle they were in and screamed a call that let them know certainly I would be more worth their affections than any dozen hens. The return gobbles from two Toms that continued into the distance let me know that the “birds in the hand” syndrome was going to leave me the odd hen out.
A bit of rare advice to you from a person who considers himself an expert at nothing in the field. I am though, very successful at turkey calling with a diaphragm call. If I were you, I would learn to be as nasty and angry as possible on the call. Add it to your arsenal. Learn to fill your lungs and let Tom have your entire wrath. Of course you will be quiet and subtle at times, like first light wake-up calls or when bantering quietly with a lone Tom. But, there are many times when you can absolutely work the gobbler into a lather, and his gobbles will be talking over your own banter, with neither of you coming up for air for 30 seconds or more. It’s the best.
I didn’t fill a tag. I never pulled the trigger. I was a loser. But man, was I the winner.
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Dick Ellis