April 4, 2025 • 23 mins
Flying deer have been a part of our culture since the first tracks were found on snow-covered roofs on Christmas Day. Turkeys that can do math are a wholly different animal in more ways than one. Brent’s sharing a listener's story and looking for answers to a 19-year-old mystery. Turn your ears on and let's see what you think. It’s time for MeatEater’s “This Country Life” podcast.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:05):
Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves
from coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
I want you to stay a while as I share
my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented
by Case Knives on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
the best outdoor podcast the airwaves have to offer. All right, friends,
(00:28):
grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some
stories to share, flying deer and counting turkeys. Turkey season
is getting craked up just about everywhere over the next
few weeks, and your old uncle Brent has got turkeys
(00:49):
on the brain. I got a good story from nineteen
years ago that involves my son, perseverance and a question
that's still unanswered. I'm gonna tell it and let you decide.
But first I'm going to tell you this story. This
(01:12):
story comes from This Country Life listener David Jackson. David
lives in Lead Hill, Arkansas, which is in Boone County
and close enough to Missouri to hit the show Me
State with the twenty two. I myself have chased turkeys
near Leadhill many moons ago, picking a few of the
ripe ones and toting them home to the flat land.
(01:34):
But David has offered the following for your approval. So
in David's words and my voice, here we go. It
was open in the morning a turkey season spring two
thousand and fourteen. My dad had recently passed away, leaving
(01:55):
my sister made the family's hunt farm east of Hardy, Arkansas.
For several years, my Dad, my sons, and I had
enjoyed hunting and camping there. Lots of memories were made.
As you can imagine, my brother in law had never
gotten a turkey, so I decided that this would be
the perfect time to introduce him to our farm and
(02:18):
hopefully both of us would be successful. But Dad and
I had taken deer, turkey and squirrel over there for
years from that farm, but the turkey population was superior
to that of the deer. They were everywhere back in
the day. This cool Chris morning turned out to be
exactly what we had hoped for. Clear skies do on
(02:40):
the ground, hot coffee in the thermost, and most importantly,
knowledge of where the turkey is normally roosted. At least
we thought we knew. The property north of Ireland was
known for noise, late nights and more noise. This must
have been the reason for the unexpected relocatetion of what
(03:00):
we called our predictable turkey roost, causing them to move
on the adjacent ridge on our southern border. I sent
my brother in law to the normal roosting ridge while
I chose to huddle up on the ground on the
edge of an ATV trail near the northwest corner of
our land. I just knew my hunting partner was at
(03:21):
the perfect spot. I'd seen them flying down many mornings
near this location. What we expected to happen that morning
did not happen, not even close daylight broke in a
few minutes past when I heard goblin to the south.
I had never heard a sound from my brother in
(03:42):
law's location, so I decided to just stay planted and
wait a few more minutes. What I didn't know was
that my brother in law also heard the gobbles too,
and he decided to leave his spot and head to
the south ridge as fast as he could go. Now,
have you ever hunted on a ridge? Sounds sometimes seemed
(04:03):
closer than they really are. His thought was the turkey
was close, but in reality it was much further. Ir
ATV trails allowed us to walk between various deer stands
on the property with ease. You could cover lots of
ground quickly and quietly. My brother in law made it
(04:23):
out to the trail just fine, but apparently had made
quite a bit of noise going through the woods from
that ridge he was on to the trail. What neither
of us knew was that there were several deer bedded
on that ridge right between us. I was thinking of
gathering up my stuff and heading south to that ridge
before they flew down and I heard the noise. Now,
(04:47):
I've heard deer running through the woods hundreds of times,
but from a deer stand. This was my first time
to ever hear him running from a seated position next
to a main trail in the dark. He had apparently
busted the deer from their bed, causing them to run
for their deer lives, and it was fight or flight,
and they chose the ladder. Fortunately for me, Most of
(05:11):
the deer ran just to the right, but one deer
one deer did not. I'm guessing it was a doe,
but I really couldn't say. It was pretty dark. All
I know is that that deer was big, But I mean,
running right down the trail right in my direction. This
(05:31):
dear didn't know I was on the ground in his path,
and I suspected at the last second it must have
thrown huh a new stuff on the ground. Well, that
stump was me and it jumped over my head. And
the last second was one of its back legs grazing
my left knee cap as it flew over me. But
it felt like someone took a baseball bat and swung
(05:52):
it at my leg. That that really just happened and
my injured? Is my knee? Okay? Are there any more
ore coming down that trail? Questions galower flashed through my mind,
but thankfully only that one made contact. Now I had
no clue that my brother in law had moved and
jumped his deer, and neither did he. I also didn't
(06:16):
know he decided to circle around and head to the
same ridge I was going to as well. We had
both heard the goblin on the south ridge and both
decided to head that way, coming in from opposite directions.
Even with the deer collision, I managed to get there
before he did, which turned out to be a blessing
(06:37):
and a curse. My path was pretty much straight up
the ridge while his was over and around and then
up quickly in position. A short time later, I saw
the tom's head and beard and ranged just twenty yards away,
and I let him have a three and a half
Winchester number five. That was the blessing. My brother in
(07:00):
law hadn't made it there yet. It was still down
the hill on the other side and was out of
range of my shot. That was also a blessing. The
curse was that I would have preferred him to be
the one to get that bird. It would have been
his first. He came running and asked me, did you shoot? Ah? Yep,
it was me. We were both shocked to see one another,
(07:24):
him thinking I was far away to the north of me,
thinking he was still up there where I had left him.
While hunter and gun safety were drilled into our heads
from childhood, this is case and point that you could
never be too careful. We celebrated and enjoyed fresh fried
turkey over the next couple of days. I supported the
(07:45):
sowordine for a week and wished that dear jump could
have been documented on video tape. Backed several turkeys since
that Chris Spring morning, but none have been more painful.
Safe hunting out there and watch out for those knee
knocking high flying deer. Well. David Jackson of Leadhill, Arkansas,
(08:07):
thanks for sharing your story and the reminder for the
rest of us to make a plan, have contingencies, and
communicate above all else. But according to David Jackson, that's
just how that happened. My son Hunter had been rambling
(08:32):
around on the planet for eight years and one month,
and it just smashed his first long beard a fortnight before.
It was an Arkansas opening morning double that had two
turkeys flopping after three shots from his twenty gauge pump.
He fired once and me sending two more after he
patiently handed me his age seventy, the last of which
(08:54):
hit its mark. It would be the fuse that burned
bright for several years until, for one reason or another,
his interest led him elsewhere. But that season we learned
a lot, both of us, me teaching him everything I
knew about chasing turkeys and he teaching me too that
to borrow Steve Vanilla's freeze, a fresh set of eyes
(09:16):
does find more beans. For our last tags, we were
hunting a farm in southeast Darkansas that had little to
no pressure and a good population of turkeys. We'd seen
one in particular that had a harem of hens that
frequented a section of timber and open fields. He roosted
along the edge of a big open pasture almost eighty
(09:37):
acres worth of prime manicured cowfu. The only irregularity was
a point of wood that pushed out into the fields
about sixty yards. Also, there was a spring seep that
acted as a natural watering hole and shade for cows
in the summertime. Was also where that turkey roosted. Nearly
every day, would pitch out into the middle of that pasture,
(10:01):
and the hens followed suit, usually joined by several jakes
who lingered around the edges, a flock of seven hens
that that gobbler pushed around the pasture like a cow
dog moves cattle, always keeping the tight rein on the
seven hens. I played every trick I knew on that turkey,
who would answer at nearly every call I threw at him,
(10:23):
only to strut in circles as he herded the ladies
around and around the open landscape. I called at the hens,
but he wouldn't let them leave. I called the jakes
up so many times I started being able to recognize
the differences in them. We'd become some paticos from our
many visits, all within sight and earshot of that old
(10:43):
boss Gobbler who paid attention to their ventures but never
tried to join their escapades. Now he was satisfied with
courting that gaggle of hens up and down the middle
of that pasture. Even though he was ruthless and heavy
handed about any of them straying off, he was unbothered
with the adding number eight to his hair. It was
(11:04):
like he knew his limitations, and apparently seven was it.
I tried a combination of calls and decoys and tactics
with him, diaphragms, box calls, slates, snuff box calls. Snuff
Tobacco used to come in small ten canadas, about the
size of a half dollar in circumference and three to
(11:24):
four inches long. Old timers would make them out of
an empty can. You cut half the lid off, replaced
that portion with latex held in place with a rubber band,
with a narrow gap between the latex and the ten Now,
with the bottom of the can removed and a little practice,
you can make some show enough turkey record that I've
seen make some old tough turkeys come in like you
(11:46):
had them on a string, But not this hickory nut.
He wasn't playing around with anything but the safety of
the middle of that pasture and those seven hens. Eventually
they walk off and disappear in the woods around the field.
Edges were so open from cattle use that there was
zero chance of moving on him. After he passed us up,
(12:08):
we just had to sit and watch him walk away.
Other turkeys would gobble, but it had gotten personal. No
other turkey would do. It had to be this one.
And that wasn't just for me. That was all Hunter.
He was on a mission to show this gobbler who
the real boss was. Whenever we employed the decoy, we'd
(12:30):
get there way before daylight and set up, only to
have him approach up to a certain distance from us,
and the decoy always out of comfortable range of Hunter's
shotgun and his ability to shoot it. This was his turkey,
and even though I might I might have smashed him
on a couple of occasions with my shotgun, I chose
not to even try. I was just as hypnotized by
(12:54):
wanting Hunter to succeed as he was, maybe even more so,
and we approached it every day like we were engaged
in battle. We had long given up the decoy the
last times we'd used it. The gobbler had gotten kind
of spooked, and I don't blame him. It was made
from foam, The paint had almost all chipped off of it,
and it wasn't that much of a true representation of
(13:15):
a hen turkey anyway. As a matter of fact, it
was ugly. It was only in my vest because I
had forgotten to take it out. It weighed nothing, it
favored nothing, but it folded up and stayed unnoticed in
the game bag. More accurate description would be that it
looked as much like a wild hen turkey as a
(13:35):
Hearsey's chocolate bunny looks like a wild rabbit. On day
number five of hunting this gobbler, we were once again
standing on the south edge of this big pasture, facing
the north way before daylight. A quarter of the property
laid to our left or our west from where we stood.
The other three quarters, obviously were to the east and
(13:58):
our right, and we were present on the west side
of that point of woods that stuck out in the pasture,
the one with the seeping spring. I told you about
this morning. The turkey gobbled on the south side of
the pasture, just like always, but he was further to
the right or the east, towards that end, further away
than normal, placing that point of woods between him and us.
(14:22):
So picture it in your mind. We were standing on
the edge of a cow pasture, twenty acres of open
pasture to our left and to our right was sixty
acres except for that point of woods that stuck out
in the field on the same side we were, and
the gobbler was roosted on the other side. We never
(14:45):
tried to get closer, and we never made a peek.
To tell you the truth, I was all out of ideas.
I heard him when he flew off the roofs, and
I split second later I saw him fly out into
the middle of that pasture in the early dawn. A
few moments later, the hens followed, and I heard Hunter
counting in a wisp one two, three, four, five, six, Dad,
(15:12):
six hens. Yeah, I see him hundred. I've been seeing
them for a week, No, sir, we've been seeing seven hens.
What was right? There had been seven with him, and
we waited for number seven to fly off throost counting
and recounting all the hens that he was ushering around
in that field like a bull elk does cows. I
(15:34):
wonder what happened to him, I told him I didn't know.
Maybe she was already sitting on the nest. But if
there was ever a chance for this hideous decoy virus
to work, it was right now. It was my last play.
He could see the wheels turning in my knogging, and
I grabbed him by the arm and we sunk deeper
in the edge of the woods, and Duck walked to
(15:54):
where that point of wood stuck out in the field.
From there, we got down on our bell, all up
the edge of that point to the opposite side, away
from those turkeys, both of us sopping wet from the
mud and morning dew. After crawling forty yards, I struck
that hen decoy up and keeping a big red over
(16:15):
between us and the turkeys. I crawled over to it
on the west side of that point, and sliding up
next to it, we sat down, facing the absolute opposite
direction from where they were. We couldn't even see them
when we got settled in, but round and round he strugged,
pushing those hens around as they fed more or less
(16:36):
in our direction, but on a course that would once
again keep him well out of range. Hunter sat on
my right and shotgun oriented toward that decoy in his back,
to the goblin and yeppling that was taking place right
behind his shoulder out in that field. Not turning around
was like trying not to watch a fishing partner's court.
(16:59):
Was all I could do to keep still, to not
roll over, and try to peek around the back of
that tree to see where they were. They hadn't made
a sound in what seemed like forever now, and there
was absolutely nothing between us and them but that big
red oak, no underbrush, nothing. We were as hid as
the terrain would allow, which was only good until the
(17:20):
turkeys got past that point of land and would then
be able to see us sitting against the base of
that tree, plain as day. Our only hope was that
raggedy decoy I had jobbed in the ground out in
front of us, on a sweet gum limb I'd cut
a week ago, and hopefully it would keep their attention.
The stake that came with it was lost to who
(17:42):
knows where, but that gum limb was a fitting substitute accessory.
That looked abouite as much like a turkey leg as
that decoy did a turkey. But we were all in
that peg legged out cast from the island of misfit
towards was our obi wan Kenobi. It was our only hope.
I looked down at Hunter and he was rock solid,
(18:02):
his shotgun propped up on his knee and aiming down
the barrel toward that decoy. I had to give it
to him. The little man was mission focused in front
side oriented. You good, buddy, Yes, sir, do you see him?
I looked up out toward the middle of that field,
and I did see them there. They were loosely taking
(18:23):
the same path they'd taken every morning before, rolling westward
down the middle of that pasture, with that gobbler taking
inventory every step of the way. He strutted around each hend,
turned his fan toward whichever one he was closest to,
as if she was the only gal in town. Bud,
they're out there right now. We'll be able to see
(18:44):
him in a second. We're still only six hens with him. Dad,
I'm looking number seven, and when he sees her, it's
going to be all over him. He was. He was
as confident as anything got seeing me not so much.
I gave it one in a million. Nothing else had worked,
(19:06):
and now I was betting on a turkey's math skills
to lure him within shotgun range of my eight year old,
and doing so, he'd had to be close enough to
see what no living entity should confuse with a live
wild Eastern Turkey hen, the same one that he'd been
leary of approaching two different times this week. Cut your
(19:27):
eyes over, Eddy, Now you ought to be able to
see him by now. They were moving at a slow
but steady pace, and the hens were feeding along with him,
right on their heels, strutting the whole way one hundred
and fifty yards from us. I glanced down at Hunter.
I washed him close to me, make sure he was breathing.
He wasn't moving an inch. I felt good about that.
(19:50):
I looked over stairs at that deco and lost what
little bit of confidence I'd built up over the past
few moments. The turkey gobbled and broke me from my
sneering gaze at that unreasonable facsimile of a hen Turkey.
I had not bought another one. I looked over and
he was looking in our direction. He gobbled again. And
came out of his trut, facing our direction, but looking
(20:12):
straight at that decoy. He didn't move, and after a
few seconds all the hens were looking too, and I
figured at any moment this was going to be the
repeat of every other interaction. Then, after what seemed like forever,
the hens went back to feeding, He went back to strut,
(20:32):
and all of them slowly fit toward our direction. Wait
a minute, were they actually doing this, son? Can you
see them? Yes, sir, they were covering those one hundred
and fifty yards at a snail's pacing. With every step
they made towards that decoy, I thought it would be
(20:53):
the last. The hunter never flinched. E been sitting that
way without moving from more than twenty minutes and was eight.
I was forty and about to lose my mind. The
ground was rock hard at the base of that tree,
with all the years of cows patting down that dirt.
On the thing between my behind in China was two
(21:14):
square feet of Arkansas and a butterbean sized piece of
flint I'd miss sweeping away when we sat down. That
seemed to be growing in both volume and sharpness with
each tick of the clock. I stared back at the decoys,
who were now starting to pick up the pace as
they came closer, and one by one they passed in
front of me and Hunter and either walked up to
(21:36):
or just behind that one legged raggedy decoy that was
twenty yards in front of us. They never gave us
a second look, feeding right on past her. Then the
gobblers strolled in and took his spot next to that
foam Jezebel fan, fully spread wings, dragging the ground and
drumming like it was his job. Hunter waited until he
(21:58):
stepped right in front of where his gun barrel was pointed.
Without moving an inch, he popped the safety office shot
that joker square in the left ear right then. Now,
from that day forward, that old raggedy decoy was known
as Number seven. No idea on what became of her.
(22:20):
We moved a few times since then, and she was
on our way out the day she lured Hunters Second
Turkey into its doom. The real question is King Turkey's count.
I have no clue, but it makes me wonder. I
(22:41):
appreciate so much all of you who's been the biggest
part of this country life. It's not possible without you,
and I encourage you to keep sitting in those stories
to my tcl story at the meadeater dot com. We
love sharing them with you. Thanks for listening to me
and Clay Bow here on the Bear Grease Channel. We've
got a lot of new stuff coming soon that I'm
(23:03):
really excited about and I know you're going to enjoy.
Knew this country life merch is coming in the next
few months. Folks are working hard to get it here
just as soon as possible. See y'all hang in there
until next week. This is Brent Reives signing off. Y'all
be careful
Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves
from coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
I want you to stay a while as I share
my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented
by Case Knives on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
the best outdoor podcast the airwaves have to offer. All right, friends,
(00:28):
grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some
stories to share, flying deer and counting turkeys. Turkey season
is getting craked up just about everywhere over the next
few weeks, and your old uncle Brent has got turkeys
(00:49):
on the brain. I got a good story from nineteen
years ago that involves my son, perseverance and a question
that's still unanswered. I'm gonna tell it and let you decide.
But first I'm going to tell you this story. This
(01:12):
story comes from This Country Life listener David Jackson. David
lives in Lead Hill, Arkansas, which is in Boone County
and close enough to Missouri to hit the show Me
State with the twenty two. I myself have chased turkeys
near Leadhill many moons ago, picking a few of the
ripe ones and toting them home to the flat land.
(01:34):
But David has offered the following for your approval. So
in David's words and my voice, here we go. It
was open in the morning a turkey season spring two
thousand and fourteen. My dad had recently passed away, leaving
(01:55):
my sister made the family's hunt farm east of Hardy, Arkansas.
For several years, my Dad, my sons, and I had
enjoyed hunting and camping there. Lots of memories were made.
As you can imagine, my brother in law had never
gotten a turkey, so I decided that this would be
the perfect time to introduce him to our farm and
(02:18):
hopefully both of us would be successful. But Dad and
I had taken deer, turkey and squirrel over there for
years from that farm, but the turkey population was superior
to that of the deer. They were everywhere back in
the day. This cool Chris morning turned out to be
exactly what we had hoped for. Clear skies do on
(02:40):
the ground, hot coffee in the thermost, and most importantly,
knowledge of where the turkey is normally roosted. At least
we thought we knew. The property north of Ireland was
known for noise, late nights and more noise. This must
have been the reason for the unexpected relocatetion of what
(03:00):
we called our predictable turkey roost, causing them to move
on the adjacent ridge on our southern border. I sent
my brother in law to the normal roosting ridge while
I chose to huddle up on the ground on the
edge of an ATV trail near the northwest corner of
our land. I just knew my hunting partner was at
(03:21):
the perfect spot. I'd seen them flying down many mornings
near this location. What we expected to happen that morning
did not happen, not even close daylight broke in a
few minutes past when I heard goblin to the south.
I had never heard a sound from my brother in
(03:42):
law's location, so I decided to just stay planted and
wait a few more minutes. What I didn't know was
that my brother in law also heard the gobbles too,
and he decided to leave his spot and head to
the south ridge as fast as he could go. Now,
have you ever hunted on a ridge? Sounds sometimes seemed
(04:03):
closer than they really are. His thought was the turkey
was close, but in reality it was much further. Ir
ATV trails allowed us to walk between various deer stands
on the property with ease. You could cover lots of
ground quickly and quietly. My brother in law made it
(04:23):
out to the trail just fine, but apparently had made
quite a bit of noise going through the woods from
that ridge he was on to the trail. What neither
of us knew was that there were several deer bedded
on that ridge right between us. I was thinking of
gathering up my stuff and heading south to that ridge
before they flew down and I heard the noise. Now,
(04:47):
I've heard deer running through the woods hundreds of times,
but from a deer stand. This was my first time
to ever hear him running from a seated position next
to a main trail in the dark. He had apparently
busted the deer from their bed, causing them to run
for their deer lives, and it was fight or flight,
and they chose the ladder. Fortunately for me, Most of
(05:11):
the deer ran just to the right, but one deer
one deer did not. I'm guessing it was a doe,
but I really couldn't say. It was pretty dark. All
I know is that that deer was big, But I mean,
running right down the trail right in my direction. This
(05:31):
dear didn't know I was on the ground in his path,
and I suspected at the last second it must have
thrown huh a new stuff on the ground. Well, that
stump was me and it jumped over my head. And
the last second was one of its back legs grazing
my left knee cap as it flew over me. But
it felt like someone took a baseball bat and swung
(05:52):
it at my leg. That that really just happened and
my injured? Is my knee? Okay? Are there any more
ore coming down that trail? Questions galower flashed through my mind,
but thankfully only that one made contact. Now I had
no clue that my brother in law had moved and
jumped his deer, and neither did he. I also didn't
(06:16):
know he decided to circle around and head to the
same ridge I was going to as well. We had
both heard the goblin on the south ridge and both
decided to head that way, coming in from opposite directions.
Even with the deer collision, I managed to get there
before he did, which turned out to be a blessing
(06:37):
and a curse. My path was pretty much straight up
the ridge while his was over and around and then
up quickly in position. A short time later, I saw
the tom's head and beard and ranged just twenty yards away,
and I let him have a three and a half
Winchester number five. That was the blessing. My brother in
(07:00):
law hadn't made it there yet. It was still down
the hill on the other side and was out of
range of my shot. That was also a blessing. The
curse was that I would have preferred him to be
the one to get that bird. It would have been
his first. He came running and asked me, did you shoot? Ah? Yep,
it was me. We were both shocked to see one another,
(07:24):
him thinking I was far away to the north of me,
thinking he was still up there where I had left him.
While hunter and gun safety were drilled into our heads
from childhood, this is case and point that you could
never be too careful. We celebrated and enjoyed fresh fried
turkey over the next couple of days. I supported the
(07:45):
sowordine for a week and wished that dear jump could
have been documented on video tape. Backed several turkeys since
that Chris Spring morning, but none have been more painful.
Safe hunting out there and watch out for those knee
knocking high flying deer. Well. David Jackson of Leadhill, Arkansas,
(08:07):
thanks for sharing your story and the reminder for the
rest of us to make a plan, have contingencies, and
communicate above all else. But according to David Jackson, that's
just how that happened. My son Hunter had been rambling
(08:32):
around on the planet for eight years and one month,
and it just smashed his first long beard a fortnight before.
It was an Arkansas opening morning double that had two
turkeys flopping after three shots from his twenty gauge pump.
He fired once and me sending two more after he
patiently handed me his age seventy, the last of which
(08:54):
hit its mark. It would be the fuse that burned
bright for several years until, for one reason or another,
his interest led him elsewhere. But that season we learned
a lot, both of us, me teaching him everything I
knew about chasing turkeys and he teaching me too that
to borrow Steve Vanilla's freeze, a fresh set of eyes
(09:16):
does find more beans. For our last tags, we were
hunting a farm in southeast Darkansas that had little to
no pressure and a good population of turkeys. We'd seen
one in particular that had a harem of hens that
frequented a section of timber and open fields. He roosted
along the edge of a big open pasture almost eighty
(09:37):
acres worth of prime manicured cowfu. The only irregularity was
a point of wood that pushed out into the fields
about sixty yards. Also, there was a spring seep that
acted as a natural watering hole and shade for cows
in the summertime. Was also where that turkey roosted. Nearly
every day, would pitch out into the middle of that pasture,
(10:01):
and the hens followed suit, usually joined by several jakes
who lingered around the edges, a flock of seven hens
that that gobbler pushed around the pasture like a cow
dog moves cattle, always keeping the tight rein on the
seven hens. I played every trick I knew on that turkey,
who would answer at nearly every call I threw at him,
(10:23):
only to strut in circles as he herded the ladies
around and around the open landscape. I called at the hens,
but he wouldn't let them leave. I called the jakes
up so many times I started being able to recognize
the differences in them. We'd become some paticos from our
many visits, all within sight and earshot of that old
(10:43):
boss Gobbler who paid attention to their ventures but never
tried to join their escapades. Now he was satisfied with
courting that gaggle of hens up and down the middle
of that pasture. Even though he was ruthless and heavy
handed about any of them straying off, he was unbothered
with the adding number eight to his hair. It was
(11:04):
like he knew his limitations, and apparently seven was it.
I tried a combination of calls and decoys and tactics
with him, diaphragms, box calls, slates, snuff box calls. Snuff
Tobacco used to come in small ten canadas, about the
size of a half dollar in circumference and three to
(11:24):
four inches long. Old timers would make them out of
an empty can. You cut half the lid off, replaced
that portion with latex held in place with a rubber band,
with a narrow gap between the latex and the ten Now,
with the bottom of the can removed and a little practice,
you can make some show enough turkey record that I've
seen make some old tough turkeys come in like you
(11:46):
had them on a string, But not this hickory nut.
He wasn't playing around with anything but the safety of
the middle of that pasture and those seven hens. Eventually
they walk off and disappear in the woods around the field.
Edges were so open from cattle use that there was
zero chance of moving on him. After he passed us up,
(12:08):
we just had to sit and watch him walk away.
Other turkeys would gobble, but it had gotten personal. No
other turkey would do. It had to be this one.
And that wasn't just for me. That was all Hunter.
He was on a mission to show this gobbler who
the real boss was. Whenever we employed the decoy, we'd
(12:30):
get there way before daylight and set up, only to
have him approach up to a certain distance from us,
and the decoy always out of comfortable range of Hunter's
shotgun and his ability to shoot it. This was his turkey,
and even though I might I might have smashed him
on a couple of occasions with my shotgun, I chose
not to even try. I was just as hypnotized by
(12:54):
wanting Hunter to succeed as he was, maybe even more so,
and we approached it every day like we were engaged
in battle. We had long given up the decoy the
last times we'd used it. The gobbler had gotten kind
of spooked, and I don't blame him. It was made
from foam, The paint had almost all chipped off of it,
and it wasn't that much of a true representation of
(13:15):
a hen turkey anyway. As a matter of fact, it
was ugly. It was only in my vest because I
had forgotten to take it out. It weighed nothing, it
favored nothing, but it folded up and stayed unnoticed in
the game bag. More accurate description would be that it
looked as much like a wild hen turkey as a
(13:35):
Hearsey's chocolate bunny looks like a wild rabbit. On day
number five of hunting this gobbler, we were once again
standing on the south edge of this big pasture, facing
the north way before daylight. A quarter of the property
laid to our left or our west from where we stood.
The other three quarters, obviously were to the east and
(13:58):
our right, and we were present on the west side
of that point of woods that stuck out in the pasture,
the one with the seeping spring. I told you about
this morning. The turkey gobbled on the south side of
the pasture, just like always, but he was further to
the right or the east, towards that end, further away
than normal, placing that point of woods between him and us.
(14:22):
So picture it in your mind. We were standing on
the edge of a cow pasture, twenty acres of open
pasture to our left and to our right was sixty
acres except for that point of woods that stuck out
in the field on the same side we were, and
the gobbler was roosted on the other side. We never
(14:45):
tried to get closer, and we never made a peek.
To tell you the truth, I was all out of ideas.
I heard him when he flew off the roofs, and
I split second later I saw him fly out into
the middle of that pasture in the early dawn. A
few moments later, the hens followed, and I heard Hunter
counting in a wisp one two, three, four, five, six, Dad,
(15:12):
six hens. Yeah, I see him hundred. I've been seeing
them for a week, No, sir, we've been seeing seven hens.
What was right? There had been seven with him, and
we waited for number seven to fly off throost counting
and recounting all the hens that he was ushering around
in that field like a bull elk does cows. I
(15:34):
wonder what happened to him, I told him I didn't know.
Maybe she was already sitting on the nest. But if
there was ever a chance for this hideous decoy virus
to work, it was right now. It was my last play.
He could see the wheels turning in my knogging, and
I grabbed him by the arm and we sunk deeper
in the edge of the woods, and Duck walked to
(15:54):
where that point of wood stuck out in the field.
From there, we got down on our bell, all up
the edge of that point to the opposite side, away
from those turkeys, both of us sopping wet from the
mud and morning dew. After crawling forty yards, I struck
that hen decoy up and keeping a big red over
(16:15):
between us and the turkeys. I crawled over to it
on the west side of that point, and sliding up
next to it, we sat down, facing the absolute opposite
direction from where they were. We couldn't even see them
when we got settled in, but round and round he strugged,
pushing those hens around as they fed more or less
(16:36):
in our direction, but on a course that would once
again keep him well out of range. Hunter sat on
my right and shotgun oriented toward that decoy in his back,
to the goblin and yeppling that was taking place right
behind his shoulder out in that field. Not turning around
was like trying not to watch a fishing partner's court.
(16:59):
Was all I could do to keep still, to not
roll over, and try to peek around the back of
that tree to see where they were. They hadn't made
a sound in what seemed like forever now, and there
was absolutely nothing between us and them but that big
red oak, no underbrush, nothing. We were as hid as
the terrain would allow, which was only good until the
(17:20):
turkeys got past that point of land and would then
be able to see us sitting against the base of
that tree, plain as day. Our only hope was that
raggedy decoy I had jobbed in the ground out in
front of us, on a sweet gum limb I'd cut
a week ago, and hopefully it would keep their attention.
The stake that came with it was lost to who
(17:42):
knows where, but that gum limb was a fitting substitute accessory.
That looked abouite as much like a turkey leg as
that decoy did a turkey. But we were all in
that peg legged out cast from the island of misfit
towards was our obi wan Kenobi. It was our only hope.
I looked down at Hunter and he was rock solid,
(18:02):
his shotgun propped up on his knee and aiming down
the barrel toward that decoy. I had to give it
to him. The little man was mission focused in front
side oriented. You good, buddy, Yes, sir, do you see him?
I looked up out toward the middle of that field,
and I did see them there. They were loosely taking
(18:23):
the same path they'd taken every morning before, rolling westward
down the middle of that pasture, with that gobbler taking
inventory every step of the way. He strutted around each hend,
turned his fan toward whichever one he was closest to,
as if she was the only gal in town. Bud,
they're out there right now. We'll be able to see
(18:44):
him in a second. We're still only six hens with him. Dad,
I'm looking number seven, and when he sees her, it's
going to be all over him. He was. He was
as confident as anything got seeing me not so much.
I gave it one in a million. Nothing else had worked,
(19:06):
and now I was betting on a turkey's math skills
to lure him within shotgun range of my eight year old,
and doing so, he'd had to be close enough to
see what no living entity should confuse with a live
wild Eastern Turkey hen, the same one that he'd been
leary of approaching two different times this week. Cut your
(19:27):
eyes over, Eddy, Now you ought to be able to
see him by now. They were moving at a slow
but steady pace, and the hens were feeding along with him,
right on their heels, strutting the whole way one hundred
and fifty yards from us. I glanced down at Hunter.
I washed him close to me, make sure he was breathing.
He wasn't moving an inch. I felt good about that.
(19:50):
I looked over stairs at that deco and lost what
little bit of confidence I'd built up over the past
few moments. The turkey gobbled and broke me from my
sneering gaze at that unreasonable facsimile of a hen Turkey.
I had not bought another one. I looked over and
he was looking in our direction. He gobbled again. And
came out of his trut, facing our direction, but looking
(20:12):
straight at that decoy. He didn't move, and after a
few seconds all the hens were looking too, and I
figured at any moment this was going to be the
repeat of every other interaction. Then, after what seemed like forever,
the hens went back to feeding, He went back to strut,
(20:32):
and all of them slowly fit toward our direction. Wait
a minute, were they actually doing this, son? Can you
see them? Yes, sir, they were covering those one hundred
and fifty yards at a snail's pacing. With every step
they made towards that decoy, I thought it would be
(20:53):
the last. The hunter never flinched. E been sitting that
way without moving from more than twenty minutes and was eight.
I was forty and about to lose my mind. The
ground was rock hard at the base of that tree,
with all the years of cows patting down that dirt.
On the thing between my behind in China was two
(21:14):
square feet of Arkansas and a butterbean sized piece of
flint I'd miss sweeping away when we sat down. That
seemed to be growing in both volume and sharpness with
each tick of the clock. I stared back at the decoys,
who were now starting to pick up the pace as
they came closer, and one by one they passed in
front of me and Hunter and either walked up to
(21:36):
or just behind that one legged raggedy decoy that was
twenty yards in front of us. They never gave us
a second look, feeding right on past her. Then the
gobblers strolled in and took his spot next to that
foam Jezebel fan, fully spread wings, dragging the ground and
drumming like it was his job. Hunter waited until he
(21:58):
stepped right in front of where his gun barrel was pointed.
Without moving an inch, he popped the safety office shot
that joker square in the left ear right then. Now,
from that day forward, that old raggedy decoy was known
as Number seven. No idea on what became of her.
(22:20):
We moved a few times since then, and she was
on our way out the day she lured Hunters Second
Turkey into its doom. The real question is King Turkey's count.
I have no clue, but it makes me wonder. I
(22:41):
appreciate so much all of you who's been the biggest
part of this country life. It's not possible without you,
and I encourage you to keep sitting in those stories
to my tcl story at the meadeater dot com. We
love sharing them with you. Thanks for listening to me
and Clay Bow here on the Bear Grease Channel. We've
got a lot of new stuff coming soon that I'm
(23:03):
really excited about and I know you're going to enjoy.
Knew this country life merch is coming in the next
few months. Folks are working hard to get it here
just as soon as possible. See y'all hang in there
until next week. This is Brent Reives signing off. Y'all
be careful
Host
Clay Newcomb
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