By Brad Jones
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| OTHER CAMP WOODIE STORIES |
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Professional Instructors Camp Woodie and SCWA |
Those who know me know I love to hunt. From most people’s point of view I have an obsession with hunting. One that interferes with a lot of important things in life, like work. Spring time is especially the worst. Often times I try to sneak into the office shamefully late. It is hard to have an excuse when I come in muddy, dew dampened camouflage. Somehow I just have an irresistible love for the echo of a big boss gobbler through a lowland swamp. It is a feeling that I can not explain. It is like having a flock of greenheads flutter down through a Pin Oak Flat, or a 180 class buck appear from nowhere under your tree stand, or the feeling a woman gets when she opens that small box and the diamond reflects in her eyes. It’s great!
A young man, who just happens to be the Camp Woodie camper of the year, shares that same love for the wild turkey that I do. He is Joseph Hunsucker, and he happens to be from my hometown. When he arrived at camp last summer we conversed about turkey hunting back home. Each spring I try to get home as much as possible and chase those wary birds all over the Pee Dee. We made plans, right away, that we would hunt together the next spring. My time is pretty limited so I made sure to go ahead and pencil in some dates that I wouldn’t let other engagements get in the way.
As spring arrived Joe kept me up to date on what the birds were doing. I got home during the first weekend of April and headed out to the woods with him. We got on a bird right away and within an hour or less the bird was strutting and drumming on the shoulder of the road that divided Joseph’s property. He hadn’t given much of a show when he realized he was not in a good position. I had a marginal shot on him and I did what many good turkey hunters do. I flat out missed. I had the shot and I blew it! I disappointed Joe as much as I had myself. I didn’t know if I was going to get back home and hunt again or not and I had missed on our golden opportunity.
I had pretty good success hunting the next few weeks and a cancellation of a prior engagement allowed me to get back home for the last weekend of the season. I called Joseph up and told him of my plans to come back and give it one more try. I had only one turkey tag left to fill so I packed the video camera. I was planning on filming him but at the last minute I grabbed my bow.
On the ride to Bennettsville, my cell phone rang about dusk. Joseph told me he had put a nice longbeard to bed and he knew just where to set up on him. Needless to say, I got very little sleep that night and the alarm buzzed without need. I grabbed all my gear and headed out to pick up my hunter. We eased down a sandy road in the pre-dawn darkness to a stand of young pines that cornered a strawfield, cutover and deep swamp. I set my bow down behind me and began fumbling with my camo camera. I instructed Joseph to let me get all the footage I could if the turkey was putting on a show. “If he is wary or begins to act nervous, take him.” “I will tell you when to shoot,” I added. The dark skies began to give way to the rising sun and song birds began their beautiful songs. Five minutes passed but still no gobbles. A band of crows joined in and let out a string of caws. The swamp then erupted with the sound I love to hear “gobble, gobble.” Not one but two monarchs let loose no more than 150 yards off in the swamp. We just sat patiently and listened to the concert for about 10 minutes. Finally the load gobbles were muffled by the new growth of the swamp. I knew they were on the ground. I softly clucked and purred on my Haydel’s slate and then I spoke with a raspy yelp from my mouth call. That series was answered with a quick response from both birds. I kept both lips sealed and steadied the camera. Fifteen minutes, that seemed to be an hour, passed without a word. Then about 200 yards, a hen appeared in the hay field. She was soon joined by swinging beards. I once again let out a soft yelp and gained the attention of one of the Toms. I began recording about the time he started our way. I had the zoom in tight on him and saw as he stretched his neck towards us with a confident gobble. He went from a walk to an awkward run and was closing the distance. “He’s coming” I silently thought. Before long he was about 30 yards and in full view of my screen. He stopped extended his neck and walked into the dense cutover. Joseph was still sitting motionless but never shot. “Psssettt! Why didn’t you shoot?,” I asked. Joseph simply replied, “You didn’t tell me!” I had caught up in all the excitement that I forgot to give him the OK to shoot. Looks like I blew another good opportunity for Joseph this time.
We gave a few more calls to no avail when we decided to go to some other spots and give it a try. We had no luck even getting a gobble at the other spots. I told Joseph that we could head back over to our initial set up and give it a try for about 30 minutes. I promised my girlfriend, India, I would take her fishing at 11 and I better not be late.
We stealthfully sneaked back down the same road we had earlier that morning and glassed the straw field. We sat up on the corner and called a few times with the box call. Nothing! Fifteen minutes went by and the skies had darkened tremendously. I knew we were about to get drenched with those April showers and began packing my vest so I could keep those plans with India. Just before I zipped my box call thunder roared off in the distance and two sounds followed that sounded like gobbles. “Did you hear that?” I asked. Joseph nodded and the thunder began to roll a little more consistently and so did the birds. We got up and made one of many moves on the two wise gobblers. Rain began to fall and soon we were in a complete down pour. I thought it was all over when I saw two gobblers appear about 100 yards from us. They stood under an oak tree at the edge of the field. Soon the rain let up and the sun broke through the clouds. The only problem was that the two longbeards started out across the field in the opposite direction from us. By now I had my bow and the camera was still by the tree, drenched just like Joseph and I. For the next hour and a half we eased like cats, using the cutover as cover to get in front of the birds.
Finally we reached the tree line that separated the hay field from a clearing in the cutover. I explained to Joe to walk on his heals and roll his foot over the leaves. This would hopefully make as little noise as possible. I would often stop and scratch in the leaves to hopefully fool the birds into thinking we were hens headed to pay them a visit. Periodically they would gobble at our walking and allowed me to keep my bearings on where they were. We finally reached the field to the cutover. I knew the birds could not be more than 15 yards or so on the other side of the tree line. One more set of gobbles confirmed this. Now we just had to be patient and hope for luck. I turned my head away from the field and yelped short and soft hoping to coax the birds into the gap. At least Joseph would get another chance, they only needed to come another 20 yards max. We had been standing behind a wax myrtle forever, it seemed. Joseph was anxious and so was I but I tried my best to keep him calm. “Patience, be patient” I uttered over and over to him. We had already discussed the left and right issue but once again I stated “You shoot the one on the left and I’ll shoot the one on the right.” As soon as I finished a hen cautiously entered through the gap. I knew it shouldn’t be long. As she cleared and began feeding, I drew the bow. I held it, and held it, for over three minutes I held at full draw. Then like a dream, I saw those bronze bodies and beautiful red, white and blue heads appear in the gap. I quickly estimated the birds at about 30 plus yards. Mine was several yards further but he was on the right. Without much thought I whispered “One, Two Three” and thump, boom. When I began a full blown 40 yard dash I saw Joseph’s bird motionless and mine flopping wildly with my Beeman completely through him. It was amazing! The shouts of happiness were let out and the high fives were plentiful.
Thanks to a little luck and some thunder this was one of my greatest hunts ever. India wasn’t even mad!! She was proud of both Joseph, myself and our fabulous “Thunderbirds.”
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