I was limp as a rag when I got home Monday evening. What TR left out was we chased those birds up and down what can only be called the Iowa Alps a couple of times that morning. We took a break for lunch and a few came out behind the cabin. TR rose to the occasion and chased em, shot a couple of loads but in the end the stutters ran.
We figured the “north birds” were spooked and wouldn’t be around so like he said, we set up on the south ridge. TR was takin a nap in his comfy but creeky chair when I spotted a hen a couple hundred yards away. I woke him up and we called to the hen. She stayed well away from us but wasn’t spooked by the set up. TR eventually had to leave for the funeral and I told him I wasn’t even gonna look at the north ridge because I knew that’s where they’d be.
Sure enough, Just a few minutes after he left I sneaked a peak at the north ridge and there they were. Two huge toms and 7 hens. Their heads were red as a ripe tomatoes. I watched them through TR’s gooed up glass. They seemed to be sitting in the shade just resting with their harem. I decided WTF, I’d give em a couple yelps and see if I could get them to come the 409 yards to my set up. I drew in a lung full of air, coughed because I’m not used to that much fresh air all at once, then let the call have it. I blew so hard my ears popped, my eyes bugged out and the call flew outta my mouth. I was a bit dizzy. I thought I had popped an aneurysm or something. I picked the call out of the dirt, spit on it a couple of time to get the deer crap off it and popped it back in. This time I didn’t inhale quite as deep, got the call centered just right and let loose with a series of yelps that probably had all the dogs in Clayton County howling in pain.
I could see that the big gobbler had poked his head up and was looking in my direction. Probably wondering what was dying on the far ridge. I got the slate out and hammered it as hard as I could too. Now both toms were lookin. The hens started working to the east and the toms stood there looking at my set up, 4 hens and a pretty boy that were bobbing in the wind making them look, well, like decoys bobbin in the wind. The toms started down the hill in my direction. I let myself believe they were leavin a sure thing to try and come over to me and beat up on the pretty boy. 45 minutes later the hens on the north ridge worked their way back from the east and there were the two toms, still in tow.
So the afternoon was as frustrating as ED (or so I’ve been told). You see what you want (turkeys), you try to make things happen (call), but the parts that are supposed to respond don’t (the toms stayed on the north ridge). The bastards gobbled and gobbled and gobbled.
Why didn’t I go after them? Remember I had been mountain climbing all morning and I was spent. My city legs were as wobbly as a toddler’s and I could hear TR in my head saying “You know what has killed more turkeys than anything? Patience.” Several hours later TR and his show off brother, who had seen hens and gobblers while sitting on the 5 gallon pooper bucket, came up the ridge in the new for TR Jeep and mercifully gave me a ride back to the cabin and a cold beer. I had to pack up my 800 pounds of gear and head home, limp yet surprisingly satisfied.
One of the expeditions up the mountain chasing that northern flock we passed several mountain goats and some old guy with a flowing beard and two stone tablets who was looking for a burning bush.
We got to a cedar tree and TR whispered “belly crawl up to that wind toppled cedar and get in the branches. I’ll try to call them down to you”. Well, I haven’t crawled on my belly for several pounds so I elbowed and kneed with my butt in the air the 30 yards or so up to the spot. TR started calling. Nuthin. He walked farther back in the woods and called again. Nuthin. He came back to his first spot and gave me a shrug of the shoulders. I got up to my knees and looked back at him. He put his hand up in a signal to freeze.
Crap. I’m still panting like a dog from the climb 30 minutes ago. So I freeze on my knees and he points up the hill. I remember thinking “I sure hope the last climbers to attempt this summit left behind an oxygen bottle or two”. I slowly turned to look. I could see the head of a hen. I dropped back down to a sitting position and fired off some hand signals to TR. He looked at me like a dog that has heard his name but can’t understand the words. So I ran through the signals again: Index finger pointed at my chest, then two fingers pointed at my eyes, then my index finger in the air, then a slashing motion across my chest, then two fingers doing a walking motion then I pointed east. Who wouldn’t understand that? I see one hen walking east. He still looked at me like I was nuts or something.
TR started moving east so I “Bonker Crawled” up the hill a few yards so I could see over the crest better. Then I spotted the gobbler but he hadn’t spotted me. TR was looking up the hill at me so I went through some more signs. Index finger at chest, two fingers at eyes, index finger in the air, stroke my chin, palm down to ground, two fingers at my eyes and shake my head no. TR gave me double palms up complete with shoulder shrug that I understood to mean “WTF are you tryin to say?” Anybody who knows anything should have realized I was saying “I see one gobbler sitting tight he hasn’t spotted me”.
I sneek a peek back over the crest. The gobbler is still sitting there, I have some weed stalks between us and I can see 5 hens so I duck back down. TR is looking at me like a coach who is down to his last bench player in the finals, you know, full of hope that the scrub can pull off a victory. I send more signals. Index at chest, two fingers to eyes, index finger pointed up, stroke my chin, five fingers up, slash across chest, index finger pointing at ground making a circle then palm down patting ground, index finger back my chest, palm down and move it back and forth with a little wiggle toward the turkeys, index pointed at TR, hand cupped beside my mouth, bob my head.
Again I get the classic two palms up “No comprende” sign from TR. I’m sure that by now all of you have figured out my signals meant that I saw a gobbler with 5 hens all of them were sitting tight I am going to Bonker Crawl to them and I want TR to yelp to distract them.
I decided to let my actions speak louder than my signals. I started to Bonker Crawl. I went maybe 10 yards or less. I was breathing like a prize fighter in the 15th round. I snuck a peek. The hens were a little anxious but the tom was facing away, prolly about 25 yards or so. I couldn’t Bonker Crawl any closer because my butt would stick up to far and the hens would bust me so I decided to catch my breath, slowly get to my knees and see if I could get a shot. I looked back at TR. Even at this distance I could tell he thought he was watching the clowns at the circus.
It was time. I slowly rose up; they were still there but just about ready to run. I brought the crossbow up, tried to find the gobbler in the scope, he wasn’t where he had been, took the scope away from my eye so I could see what was goin on and all I saw were turkeys headed south into the cedars. Crap. I signaled to TR, index to chest, tow fingers to eyes, index pointed at ground in circling motion, index finger pointed south. Interpretation for those of you who still need help: I saw all the turkeys headed south. TR motioned me to come back down the hill.
I got up and walked down the hill to TR. “What the hell were you tryin to say?” So I went through my litany of signs. The sign that hung him was the slash across the chest. “No beard” and the rubbing of the chin meant “Beard”. TR looked at me and very patiently said “If youda just grabbed your man boob instead of the slashing motion I’da gotten it.” Ouch, that hurt.
Now we have a full set of signs, What I see, what I’m going to do and what I want you to do, always in that order. If the partner objects he raises his middle finger and shoots back some signs, what he sees, what he wants to do and what he wants me to do. Then I raise my middle finger and go back to the cabin for a beer.
And yes, much to my chagrin we decided the squeeze of the man boob is the sign for a hen, stroking the chin with short strokes is a jake and long strokes is a gobbler.
So Team ED is indeed on the board with dysfunction leading the way.
Truth be known about the Bonker Crawl, I stole one of TR’s little blue pills. I really did try to belly crawl, but I was leavin a furrow.
