Introduction
The outdoors has special meaning to me. I caught my first fish at age 4 and shot my first duck at age 9. Nearly four decades later I still get excited when I get to spend any time outdoors. A lot has changed during that time but the anticipation and experiences are still similar and just as exciting. It’s a great place to be....Read More
These days I enjoy many different types of hunting. I’m an avid, some might say rabid, waterfowler. I love to bowhunt and have traveled the country doing so for various big game species, although I’m fairly content with Kansas whitetails and turkeys now. And when it’s not hunting season I’m usually fishing. I love to fish for walleye, crappie and channel catfish. I’m at home on the front of my boat on a big reservoir or wading a small Flint Hills stream. It’s all good.
Throw in a recent bout with the trapping bug and decades of camping with family and friends and it’s obvious I have an addiction for the outdoors.
Many of my most memorable outdoor experiences in recent years have centered on those with my children. My 18-year-old daughter and twin 12-year-old boys have been a major part of my outings. Watching their eyes light up as they realize the wonders of Mother Nature and her bounty likely has even more meaning than my own personal satisfaction. Spending quality time with them outdoors carries significant and substantial meaning, no matter what we’re doing.
In this Blog I’ll attempt to relay some of the enjoyment and satisfaction I get from being outdoors. Topics covered will be broad in scope and run the gamut. It’s all fair game. If you can sit at your computer and read a particular entry and it stirs you to try it, or helps make your experience more enjoyable, I will be pleased. And if it does nothing more than make you smile or laugh that too, will please me. The outdoors is truly a great place to be!
Good luck!
Marc Murrell
Friday, April 12, 2013
"SPRING" TURKEY SEASON
I opted to wait until the weather moderated just a bit. I'm all about enjoying the morning as much as killing a turkey. Turns out this morning was above average for enjoyment, but not so much for shooting a big ol' tom. I'd still give the experience a 9 on a scale of 10.
It was 29 degrees with light winds when I met a friend who invited me along on a hunt on the edge of the Flint Hills. We bundled up like we were deer hunting in the winter, rather than turkey hunting in the spring. Coveralls, stocking hats, gloves and the works weren't too much. As we readied our clothes and gear we heard the first gobble of the morning.
And it wouldn't be the last gobble, either. The creek bottom had no fewer than a dozen different gobblers and they were hammering as it got light. Two pairs of geese cruised low at different times, honking the whole way and it was a natural-sounding symphony some would pay money to hear. A handful of deer had a front-row seat and listened intently.
We'd call occasionally and the birds would answer. But the gobblers had plenty of female company and when they hit the ground they went three different directions. Unfortunately, none of them were our way but we could still keep tabs on them with their occasional calls.
We kept calling and started to get a couple gobbles that sounded as if they were moving our way. It wasn't long and a half-dozen black spots emerged down and across the bean field from where we sat at the far edge.
"I think they're jakes," my buddy whispered as he got his binoculars up. "Yep."
I'm not opposed to shooting a jake but I like for them to put on a show. If a young tom acts like he owns the joint and comes in strutting and gobbling then that's what I pay to see and I'll punch one of my tags. These jakes were like the 3 Stooges times two.
They would run towards our decoys in stages and stop. As another eased by the entire group would take off like a bunch of kids heading towards the lunch line. It didn't take them long and they eased up to our decoys only 15 yards away. Blankly and blinking, they stared at our decoys, several of them displaying a weak attempt at a half-strut. They reminded me of a bunch of teenage boys at a middle school dance staring across the gym at a cute girl trying to get up the nerve to go talk to her.
We let the jakes ease back off in the direction they came and started calling again. Several series later our calls were met by a short, but thunderous and deep gobble. It was getting closer and he popped out near where the jakes first entered the field.
"Now we're talking," said my buddy looking through his optics. "That's a big ol' bird."
He strutted and gobbled and started our way. He was about halfway across the field to our location when three hens entered the field straight across from us. They had the six jakes in tow now and the king of spring was having none of that and took off after the hens. Our optimism turned to pessimism and bad words to boot.
A north wind made our seated location a bit chilly, but we stayed put as we still heard birds and the others were still within sight. Deer passed within easy rifle range and a few even got into bow range before smelling us. We called in two more jakes who acted as squirrely as the first bunch and they, too, got a free pass.
We decided to get up and chase a distant gobble we'd heard earlier. Trying several more locations to no avail we made one last stand on a creek bottom. Although we could hear hens calling in the timber we never heard another gobble. As I walked out to get my decoy, my buddy got my attention and pointed behind us across the creek. Two toms, one in full strut, and two hens were less than 150 yards away and they never made a sound as they walked behind us heading away. We watched as a coyote had the same dinner ticket idea we had and circled them. The birds never moved an inch and simply watched the curious canine with heads stretched high.
We tried to get ahead of these birds but when they finally saw us they had a much different response to a two-legged threat. They got the heck out of Dodge. We decided it was time we do the same and called it a day shortly after lunch.
The only thing I returned home with was a bleached-white deer skull (I'll use it for coyote trapping this fall), an antler tip I picked up hoping it was lucky (it was not) and a fuzzy, slightly out-of-focus picture of a nearby doe.
Despite not filling a tag the morning was a success and I can't wait to do it again. I'm just hoping spring actually does arrive and I can dress accordingly.
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