Flirting with The Boss

If I don’t kill a turkey in Arkansas this year, I still have enjoyed the 2014 spring turkey season more than any other.

Here is the short version of the first week:

DAY 1

Like 2013, opening day was gorgeous in these pine hills.

I’ve hunted this particular patch of property extensively for three years and worked gobblers in different places. On Saturday I hunted a logging trail intersection between three pine thickets. I put three hen decoys and a B-Mobile Pretty Boy gobbler decoy in the road where they were visible from all approaches.

It was late when birds got vocal, but I was thrilled to be close to at least four different gobblers. One bird flapped to the ground with a thud about 100 yards up the hill.

It had a deep, throaty gobble, and I suspected it was the same bird that I worked in 2012-2013. If so, it would come into this little hollow to gobble and strut. There it would find the decoys and, ultimately, a trip on my shoulder out of the woods.

Instead, all of the gobblers went the other direction.

In the afternoon I went to a sunlit apse in a stand of oaks, to the same spot where I killed a trophy gobbler late on April 20, 2013, at about 4 p.m. It was almost a replay. At 4:31 p.m., a bird approached through the dry leaves. From a safe place in the brush, just out of range, a gobbler stopped and surveyed the situation.

It took one look at that strutting gobbler decoy and ran like the wind. I will not use that decoy again.

Around 5:30 p.m., an army of red ants objected to my position in their leaf pile. I got ants in my pants and had to dance.

The hunt was finished.

DAY 2

I hunted a different part of the property Monday morning before traveling south to hunt Lafayette County WMA. I hoped to score early and spare myself the long drive south to the swamp.

I went to the area where the gobblers went Saturday.

The plan was good, but my execution was poor. A hot gobbler closed fast from an unexpected direction, but it would probably refuse to cross the road. A gobbler knows where it expects to see hens, and you had better be in shooting range when it reaches that point.

I only moved about 30 feet, but the bird was closer than I thought and I bumped it.

Later, just before I left, I saw two strutters in an open spot that was unapproachable. That was information I could use Tuesday.

DAY 3

In the dark, I placed the hen decoys near the spot where I saw the strutters Monday. To my surprise, a hen came out of a thick, nasty tangle of brush in sight.

She was only about 20 feet away, but she did not notice me. About 30 minutes later, around 8 a.m., The Boss announced his arrival. It was the bird with the deep, cello-toned gobble. He was in range, but I couldn’t see him in the vegetation.

With my mouth call, I purred and a clucked. The Boss thundered in response. Finally, preparation was about to meet opportunity.

The Boss had other ideas. He veered north and stayed in the pines. A crow taunted him relentlessly.

The Boss gobbled at the crow but would not respond to my calls. He proceeded into a wooded draw and found a hen about 20 minutes later. A loud commotion accompanied that tryst, and The Boss continued into the heart of the pine thicket.

At about 10 a.m., another bird gobbled in the thick stuff where I first heard The Boss. I didn’t see it, but it sounded like a jake.

DAY 4

I was sure I had The Boss patterned. I set up before sunrise without decoys in a clump of brush at the edge of the draw.

I wore a gillie poncho, face net and gloves that concealed all human features.

Dawn was quiet, but I heard clucks at about 7:30 a.m. I saw their bobbing shapes through a screen of brush. They were probably hens, but I raised my gun in case a gobbler trailed them.

The girls were enjoying a friendly morning stroll through the neighborhood.

They clucked and purred all the latest woodland gossip, but they stopped when they saw me. They were 8 feet away. They were curious.

“Oh, my, what is that ugly thing?” Purr, cluck!

Purr, cluck!

“I don’t know, but it looks positively awful!” Purr, cluck!

“Is it dangerous?”

“I just can’t imagine where it came from.”

By now it was clear no gobbler was behind them, and my arms were tired. I lowered the shotgun. The movement provoked a cacophony of cackles. One hen ran into the woods, and the other flew up to a low tree. It was too small to bear the hen’s weight, so it lurched, bounced and swayed like a mechanical bull. She flapped and cackled, and that brought a furious response from The Boss, who was listening from his strutting zone atop the hill.

The hens purred and clucked loudly, and I mocked them. They cut and cackled, and I mocked them more. That really aggravated them, and all our trash talk fired up The Boss.

The hens were eager to go to him. One bird came out of hiding and the other bird flapped out of the tree.

I couldn’t allow them to get with The Boss, so I flapped my arms. That turned them back, but it also infuriated them. They cut and cackled, and I copied every note.

The Boss thundered from the woods, but danged if he didn’t turn and walk away. That really upset the hens, and they fretted loudly about not being able to follow him.

All of that commotion summoned a 2-year-old gobbler who ghosted in to size up his opportunities.

I didn’t dare shoot that bird with the Boss gobbler so close. He’d leave the country for the rest of the season.

About 15 minutes later, a third hen joined the first two. They massed at the edge of the trail and flew across, cackling maniacally, like teenyboppers rushing the stage at a Justin Bieber concert.

I met those hens again at about 5:30 p.m., back at my spot in the oaks. The Boss was not with them, but he’s more of a morning guy, anyway.

I know where he goes for breakfast.