Watching the Curtain Come Down

I really did not set out this weekend to put emotional closure on the season. Turkey season for me has usually been a frustrating experience-- no less due to the way it usually ended. Noon would come on the last Saturday, I'd get up and walk out and drive home, picking up something for Mother's Day on the way. If that. Most years, early on, I get one half day a year to hunt turkey and then that would be it. I'd remember season had ended right about the time I was putting the lawnmower away. So it was a real surprise to find this weekend unfolding the way it did. Everyone got a chance to come out and make a bow. For once I got to see the curtain come down.

In reality I was not even hunting the last weekend of season. I tagged out at the beginning of the last week and came home. Last weekend, I was shooting a Scottish Festival in Carollton, Kentucky. My son's band walked away with all the marbles. He played the Ceilidh on Saturday night. Bagpipes are pretty overwhelming-- no time to think about turkeys. I came back down to the farm this weekend to clean up camp and start breaking out the camping gear.

Saturday morning Angus and I made the rounds of the farm, picking up the blinds. I put out simple die-cut blinds in a few places before season in a few honey holes-- just some cord wrapped around three trees and camo on clothespins. I also put out boat cushions in these and some other spots where I know I may be waiting a good long time. These all have to come out and get put away for the summer before being redeployed elsewhere for deer season. Angus and I made about a 2 mile circuit of the place. Wouldn't you know-- we weren't even off the porch before being busted by turkeys. A gobbler and two hens from the Big Tree Crew spotted us and were gone. We did the blinds at Garbage Pit, Virginia, Campground, and Quarter Way, before stopping off at the Honey Tree for a boat cushion. About halfway through a thunder storm hit. It was warm rain and there was no getting away from it. It made for a fun trip. We walked through a couple of the food plots. The clover was out in profusion, and we could see signs that the overseeding we'd done by hand back in March was taking. It was funny too: in March you couldn't put your foot down without stepping on a deer track or a turkey track. With summer on its way, everyone has some where else to feed now. The tracks are all gone.

A sad note: we went up to Rooster's last night and found out the kitchen was closing. They just haven't been making a go of it like they used to. Food prices are going up, demand is down. Bummer. Anyhow, it was good seeing all you turkey hunters that came in during season. Maybe times will change and we'll all get back together.

So this morning, I wasn't exactly what you'd call smug. I did sleep in to nearly 6. I nearly missed sun rise. There wasn't a gobble. I thought that was a bit of a problem. Then the wind came up, and low-fifties started feeling like low thirties. I went and put on a layer or two and came back out. There was The Lone Hen, out making her rounds beyond Dead Skunk Hollow and Broken Corners. She was the one that lured my last gobbler to me. I think she has a nest down in Dead Skunk, and she sneaks out for a snack when she can. I was watching her through the binos when all of a sudden she had this major urge to leave.

A little later, I heard why: one lone gobble came from Broken Corners. It took about 10 minutes for the old beard dragger to make his appearance. This was the real thing. He came out into the pasture from behind the barn and strutted for a while, before walking off in the direction the hen had gone. He walked over the spot where KYHillChick puts her milk jugs, when she's playing with her 30-06. I knew that was a solid 450 yards.

I did not have any calls with me, but I decided to just see what I could do. I let out the best yelp I could and then watched through the binos. Sure enough, the old gobbler popped his head up, turned my way and then honored me with one loud gobble. It took a good half-second or more for the sound to reach me.

"Good bye to you too." I said.