blueridge
Well-known member
Had an enjoyable opening weekend hunting the home farm with my old man. My dad got one by 7:30am, like always, sitting in a deer box of all things, drinking his coffee in a roller chair and carpeted floor. Tom just follows some hens to within 40 yards of him. Happens every year, I swear.
I was calling (on the ground, with a decoy set out, on the edge of a field, you know, like you’re supposed to do
) and over the course of the weekend had toms hang up at 100 yards twice, and another time was pinned down by hens feeding 30 yards to my left while two big toms pursued a hot hen 80 yards to my right.
I have them patterned pretty well due to topography, so the last evening I set up in between their evening feeding section and where they often roost. Like clockwork, I hear them flying up at 7:20pm into their roost tree 75-85 yards to my right. They came in the opposite direction from where I was expecting them.
Next thing I know what I assume is a big old hen flies from the woods on the hill opposite me and lands 15 feet up the exact tree I am sitting against. It starts putting and I can’t believe it doesn’t see me right there looking up at it. It turns around on the limb and faces the direction from which it came, with its head on the other side of the trunk. That’s when I see it’s wanker (at least I think I do) then lean forward and make out the 4-5” beard. Well, shit. It’s a little’un.
Then I start my deliberations: It’s not one of the rope draggers I’ve been seeing and really want. ... But this is my last chance this weekend before I have to head home. ... I am not keen on shooting a bird off the roost. ... But this isn’t really even a roost tree, just an intermediary on his way to the big tree still a ways away. ... Aww, hell, what’s wrong with it anyway? Steve Rinella would do it.
You know how those inner dialogues go.
Anyway, he is on the lowest limb on the opposite side of the trunk from me. I slowly raise my gun almost straight up and start leaning to the right, peering up and around the tree as I contort into a sideways Matrix backbend. Only to see his tail. He turned around again! So I slowly start leaning to the left, wishing I could shoot left handed because I know the instant he sees me he is going to take off. As soon as I can just make out the full length of his head come into sight I line up my turkey sights and KABLOWWW!!
That s.o.b. flies away in an equally loud explosion of feathers. How could I have missed?!?! Well, you dumb-ass, the barrel is below your fancy fiber optic sights set up for 50 yards, and you just blew the side of the tree off!!!
I laugh. I cuss. I feel like crying. The rain was picking up and it was getting dark, so I cross the creek to get my decoy and start heading out.
My dad texts me from the, you guessed it, deer hunting box!, 200 yards away, where he had been all dry and cozy. Wants to know if I wanted picked up with the truck. I say yes. I walk out with just my gun, my decoy, my shame, and my embarrassment. He says he heard the shot. “Where’s your bird?”
“It’s too soon, Dad. I am not ready to talk about it yet.”
I was calling (on the ground, with a decoy set out, on the edge of a field, you know, like you’re supposed to do
) and over the course of the weekend had toms hang up at 100 yards twice, and another time was pinned down by hens feeding 30 yards to my left while two big toms pursued a hot hen 80 yards to my right.I have them patterned pretty well due to topography, so the last evening I set up in between their evening feeding section and where they often roost. Like clockwork, I hear them flying up at 7:20pm into their roost tree 75-85 yards to my right. They came in the opposite direction from where I was expecting them.
Next thing I know what I assume is a big old hen flies from the woods on the hill opposite me and lands 15 feet up the exact tree I am sitting against. It starts putting and I can’t believe it doesn’t see me right there looking up at it. It turns around on the limb and faces the direction from which it came, with its head on the other side of the trunk. That’s when I see it’s wanker (at least I think I do) then lean forward and make out the 4-5” beard. Well, shit. It’s a little’un.
Then I start my deliberations: It’s not one of the rope draggers I’ve been seeing and really want. ... But this is my last chance this weekend before I have to head home. ... I am not keen on shooting a bird off the roost. ... But this isn’t really even a roost tree, just an intermediary on his way to the big tree still a ways away. ... Aww, hell, what’s wrong with it anyway? Steve Rinella would do it.
You know how those inner dialogues go.
Anyway, he is on the lowest limb on the opposite side of the trunk from me. I slowly raise my gun almost straight up and start leaning to the right, peering up and around the tree as I contort into a sideways Matrix backbend. Only to see his tail. He turned around again! So I slowly start leaning to the left, wishing I could shoot left handed because I know the instant he sees me he is going to take off. As soon as I can just make out the full length of his head come into sight I line up my turkey sights and KABLOWWW!!
That s.o.b. flies away in an equally loud explosion of feathers. How could I have missed?!?! Well, you dumb-ass, the barrel is below your fancy fiber optic sights set up for 50 yards, and you just blew the side of the tree off!!!
I laugh. I cuss. I feel like crying. The rain was picking up and it was getting dark, so I cross the creek to get my decoy and start heading out.
My dad texts me from the, you guessed it, deer hunting box!, 200 yards away, where he had been all dry and cozy. Wants to know if I wanted picked up with the truck. I say yes. I walk out with just my gun, my decoy, my shame, and my embarrassment. He says he heard the shot. “Where’s your bird?”
“It’s too soon, Dad. I am not ready to talk about it yet.”
