Hammsolo
Well-known member
- Joined
- May 16, 2020
- Messages
- 1,946
I’m almost 3 months out of knee replacement. It’s been slow and steady this time, following almost 3 years of knee surgeries, to get to the point I’m walking flatland pain free.
I set the goal of being ready for Spring Turkey, Kayak Fishing, and Cinco De Bearo. Two of the goals are down!
I took Ol’ Blue after finding him preseason and 5 days of hobbling around the scablands of Washington. It was a great learning experience. I’m fairly proficient at woodlands birds, and am successful routinely. This was a new adventure that I cherished.
First step was to identify his roost, which was pretty easy due to there being only a few aspen groves in within spittin’ distance. I was cocky and thought I’d kill him easily on day 1.
Nope, I found a bluff near the roost, and set up an hour before dawn. I proceeded to over call when the gobbling started, but thought I was kickin’ ass. The birds proceended to fly down to the bluff, but out of range. Cover was nil, so I decided to sing the sweet songs of love to draw him in. Nothin’… Ol’ Blue kicked the feathers out of the four smaller toms and slowly walk away. I failed to perceive that any calling just pushed the birds away. There was gobbling, but the hens and jakes were silent… Nick just kept calling. FACK!
I proceeded to chase them all over the scablands, and even bust them at as close as 5 yards. I was determined to harvest Blue though and I couldn’t get a clear shot.
That afternoon I visited the roost, and created a new plan. I would shift my location closer to the bluff, and come in earlier. I showed up even earlier and fought to stay awake. I overcalled again. Blue was wise to the game and flew his crew in the opposite direction, and into an even harder to hunt set of rolling bluffs and with a few patches of spiked bush hell. I failed and failed again, but had a smile ear to ear.
So… the next morning found me hidden against the cliff waiting for the fly down, and I was confident. Through 546 trial and error episodes I sat silent. I was sure he would forget the predator sneaking in near his roost. Nope again… He bugged out ditching his ladies. This ended up being his undoing though. The hens flew for the cliffs!
They went silent and began feeding down the edge of the cliff. Blue began to gobble his was up the creek bed searching for the ladies. They never once called back to him. They must have made a date. I hobbled my broken butt up over the cliff, and started scanning down the jagged line. I could see the hens and jakes feeding along. I guessed on an ambush and hit my top speed of old lady with a walker.
I snuck up over the ridge to check when I hit a predicted halfway point. Damn, what was I thinking. A hen had turned back and happened to be starring at me. I was sure I was toast, but I decided to roll the dice. I hobbled my way to a fisher in the cliff where I knew I could double back on their location. As I arrived, I realized I hadn’t hear Blue for some time.
I became sadder than a puppy locked out in a rainstorm, but decided I’d slink around the corner. A gobble! Close! He had to be within 100 yards. I inched around the corner. I saw what looked like a rock through the grass, and assumed it was a rock. Nope again... I took a step forward and there was a hen staring at me, and my brain processed that the rock was a turkey with its head down. The hen bolted straight into flight off a cliff. Ol’ Blues head appeared at 36 yards, and his wings raised. I snapped the shotgun to my shoulder, set the glowing green bead and squeezed, and Ol’ Blue tumbled off the cliff.
This was just the start to an amazing weekend! I am so blessed to have what I dreamed of as a teen.
I set the goal of being ready for Spring Turkey, Kayak Fishing, and Cinco De Bearo. Two of the goals are down!
I took Ol’ Blue after finding him preseason and 5 days of hobbling around the scablands of Washington. It was a great learning experience. I’m fairly proficient at woodlands birds, and am successful routinely. This was a new adventure that I cherished.
First step was to identify his roost, which was pretty easy due to there being only a few aspen groves in within spittin’ distance. I was cocky and thought I’d kill him easily on day 1.
Nope, I found a bluff near the roost, and set up an hour before dawn. I proceeded to over call when the gobbling started, but thought I was kickin’ ass. The birds proceended to fly down to the bluff, but out of range. Cover was nil, so I decided to sing the sweet songs of love to draw him in. Nothin’… Ol’ Blue kicked the feathers out of the four smaller toms and slowly walk away. I failed to perceive that any calling just pushed the birds away. There was gobbling, but the hens and jakes were silent… Nick just kept calling. FACK!
I proceeded to chase them all over the scablands, and even bust them at as close as 5 yards. I was determined to harvest Blue though and I couldn’t get a clear shot.
That afternoon I visited the roost, and created a new plan. I would shift my location closer to the bluff, and come in earlier. I showed up even earlier and fought to stay awake. I overcalled again. Blue was wise to the game and flew his crew in the opposite direction, and into an even harder to hunt set of rolling bluffs and with a few patches of spiked bush hell. I failed and failed again, but had a smile ear to ear.
So… the next morning found me hidden against the cliff waiting for the fly down, and I was confident. Through 546 trial and error episodes I sat silent. I was sure he would forget the predator sneaking in near his roost. Nope again… He bugged out ditching his ladies. This ended up being his undoing though. The hens flew for the cliffs!
They went silent and began feeding down the edge of the cliff. Blue began to gobble his was up the creek bed searching for the ladies. They never once called back to him. They must have made a date. I hobbled my broken butt up over the cliff, and started scanning down the jagged line. I could see the hens and jakes feeding along. I guessed on an ambush and hit my top speed of old lady with a walker.
I snuck up over the ridge to check when I hit a predicted halfway point. Damn, what was I thinking. A hen had turned back and happened to be starring at me. I was sure I was toast, but I decided to roll the dice. I hobbled my way to a fisher in the cliff where I knew I could double back on their location. As I arrived, I realized I hadn’t hear Blue for some time.
I became sadder than a puppy locked out in a rainstorm, but decided I’d slink around the corner. A gobble! Close! He had to be within 100 yards. I inched around the corner. I saw what looked like a rock through the grass, and assumed it was a rock. Nope again... I took a step forward and there was a hen staring at me, and my brain processed that the rock was a turkey with its head down. The hen bolted straight into flight off a cliff. Ol’ Blues head appeared at 36 yards, and his wings raised. I snapped the shotgun to my shoulder, set the glowing green bead and squeezed, and Ol’ Blue tumbled off the cliff.
This was just the start to an amazing weekend! I am so blessed to have what I dreamed of as a teen.
we’re the same age. Thx man! Speedy recovery.
