Coming back to Camp/ On Locator Calling

This may be weird to y'all, but there is nothing that quite compares in my life to being away from camp for 2-3 months and then coming back in. I spend the whole winter fretting about the place. It's weathered ice storms, tornado and so on, and it is always such a relief to see it. In the time away I've had to deal with the holidays and the stresses of life at the plant. I really get to missing the place.

What's more, there is a perfect time capsule of the end of deer season waiting for me, right down to the paperwork for the taxidermist and the processor. In between coming through the door and getting the first fire lit, I see where my life was when I walked out and it shows me how much has changed.

It's getting so the first trip back in late Winter is more than Christmas, and the there is nothing quite like the feeling I get when the water's back on, the fire's built and the bags are in from the car, and I can finally go out back to my spot and look out over the fields bathed in moonlight and take that first sip of good scotch. In a little while, I will have to get the grill going and put the steaks on, but for that one brief bit of time, I can be at peace with the world.

. . . but so much for that.

You know, I seem to learn more about turkey hunting just sitting on the back of the house in the morning than anything else this time of year. Take this morning for instance. I went out at 0630. Sunrise was at 0700. I owled and got nothing and started owling every 5 minutes or so.

0635 -- First gobble. It came from Dead Skunk Hollow. Not only was it the first of the morning. It sounded miserable-- clipped and garbled and. . . then I got to thinking. This guy was not gobbling the previous morning. This might be this turkey's first gobble ever. About this time the crows cranked up and a barred owl down in another hollow close by the house started up.

0650 -- The crows came over and mobbed the owl. The owl turned himself inside out with a chuckle, but it took a good long time for a second gobbler to sound off. This one was way down in Hootin' Holler.

0700 -- Sunrise. Everything was quiet.

0710 -- Geese started up from the Linking River bottoms. Both the first and second gobblers responded. This is the second year in a row I've heard winter gobblers responding to geese over crows and owls. Remember that guys: goose honkin' may be an ace in the hole as a locator. The geese moved up Willow Creek and then settled into a place in the bottoms nearby. This in turn set off everything-- turkeys gobbled, crows, owls. Finally the coyotes, a ridge or more over to the north, chimed in. This lasted for 5 minutes and then everyone suddenly decided to shut up and get on with their day.

The Shamanic Signature Series Custom ScratchBoxes

New for 2007! The Shamanic Signature Series Custom ScratchBoxes! Now don't all go crowding each other. Somebody's gonna get hurt. Yes, here they are, the bestest turkey calls the shaman's has ever made. Actually they're the first ones. See, I lost my glass call a few years ago. I wanted a new glass and an aluminum. I checked the prices and . . . Whew! Angus' bagpipes had set me back quite a bit, so I figured the time for innovation was at hand. It turns out a company by the name of Shipley's Custom Sawing of Cadiz, Kentucky makes the parts for making your own calls. I ordered a bunch of stuff from their website and the order arrived promptly. I had all the fixings for 3 scratch boxes: Left to right across the bottom: Aluminum, Slate-on-Glass, and Glass I turned the glass one over so you could see the sound holes. I also ordered enough material for three strikers: ash, hickory, and purpleheart. I already had nice lucite and carbon strikers, but they have them as well. The whole thing set me back under $50 with shipping. I spent an evening sanding, a couple mornings before work varnishing, and a little time before dinner gluing, and I was done. For the surfaces, I started out with 200 grit sandpaper, and then finished off with a little diamond abrasive pad they for $2.25. I'll probably use a scrap of wood, now that I'm done, to permanently mount the pad. It's supposed to last a lifetime, and it did an excellent job of fine-tuning all three surfaces. The sound? Best I've ever heard. Also, by cupping my hand over the back, I can vary the tone and volume, so these calls are quite versatile. Because I'm a bit of a duffer at this, and I did not want to spend a lot of time and money on them, I opted for the cheapest materials they had, including poplar pots. The poplar did not take a stain very well, so I did everything in one of those quick dry varnish/stain concoctions. If I had been interested in a quality showcase piece I could have gone for walnut or something more exotic, and then done a hand rubbed finish on them. As they are, I think the turkeys won't mind the shortcuts. Shortcuts? The strikers were done in a pencil sharpener. Does that qualify as a shortcut? Custom Sawing recommends Liquid Nails for an adhesive. I used carpenters glue for the wood-to-wood joining and quick-set epoxy, gluing the surfaces to the pots-- just because I had some left over from another project, and I'd lost the cap. Custom Sawing has kits and materials for box calls, duck calls, deer calls. This is kind of the Heathkit of turkey calls. The parts require minimal finishing and a minimal knowledge of woodworking.

The shaman and the turkey

From The Quaker Boy Forums . It just started-- check them out!

“ . . .So,” said the shaman, “As it turned out, the buck was just pulling my leg the whole time. All that talk about him being too gamey and tough was just a bunch of hooey. Those bucks, they’re such liars!”

“There was probably nothing strange in any of it!” said the gobbler, hopping back down off the stump to snatch something he’d spied moving in the leaf litter. “He might have just been saying all that to save his skin.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” said the shaman, remarking to himself on the capacity of the turkey to draw such a quick conclusion. “I’ve learned over the years that you just cannot trust talking deer.”

“Talking deer! Phooey!” said the gobbler. “Who ever heard of anything so preposterous?”

“I would quite agree,” said the shaman. “By the way, am I keeping you from anything?”

“No,” said the turkey. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing.” said the shaman. “It’s just that I usually see you this time of day out wandering with your compatriot—what’s his name?”

“You mean Jake?” said the turkey. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be along. I heard him having an argument with a coyote this morning. I’m sure he’ll be along any time now. He never misses our time together under this oak.”

“Oh.”

“So, “ said the gobbler. “How did it all turn out?”

“With . . .?”

“With the buck.”

“Oh! Him? I shot him and ate him.” Said the shaman, “He was wonderfully tender, and we got lots of meat off of him. It was all good.”

“I’m glad you did not take him too seriously.” Said the gobbler. “All that wasted effort and all—it would have been a tragedy for you. I had that happen with a spring lizard once. He ran under a log, and I had such a time getting him out.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, when I finally did, he tasted awful. It put me off lizards for a long time.”

“Tragic.” Said the shaman. “I’m so glad you recovered.” The shaman got up and stretched. “Well it seems that I must be going.” He said.

“So soon?”

“Yes,” said the shaman. “I can go on like this all morning, but eventually even I find myself insufferable. Say hello to your friend Jake when you see him. If you all stay around here until Spring, I’ll endeavor to have you both for dinner.”

“That would be most gracious.” Said the gobbler. “We will look forward to it.”

The shaman comes back to camp

From The Quaker Boy Forums -- just started.

The wind was stiff enough that it blew the door open as soon as it came unlatched. It was snowing lightly, but it wasn't cold enough to stick. It was cold, it was muddy. It looked like the sky was going to open up.

The shaman bolted the door and kicked a clod off his boots and surveyed the inside. In the murk, you could still see an open box of thirty-thirty and a broken grunt call on the dining table. An orange vest hung off the back of a chair. The mice had carried a box of D-Con out into the middle of the floor, and you could tell there was a dead mouse somewhere.

The shaman went over to the panel box and started flipping breakers. The lights came on. He went to the stove and started a fire. After a few trips out to the trPublishuck and a run out to the cistern, all the bags were in and water was starting to fill the pipes. It was starting to warm up.

The shaman then performed the one great act of magic that he had come to do. He reached down and pulled up the gun case he had brought in, and opened it up. There, inside, was a rudely camoflaged 12 GA pump shotgun. He hefted it out of the case; after checking the chamber, he cycled it three times and walked it over to the rack.

"There," he said. "That's better." Then he reached down to the pile and pulled out an old ammo can and opened it. He grabbed an old cedar box call and held it up for a moment to examine it's trail-worn finish and then started to pull on it. It sounded horrible. He rummaged around and found a piece of chalk and then tried again.

"Yeeeaat. Yeeaat. Yeeaat-aat-aat-aat-aat." It was as if the very Gates of Heaven had opened. The day was not so gloomy. The room felt rich again.

The shaman looked satisfied at his work, for in an instant the sleeping deer camp had been transformed into Turkey Camp. The world had turned. The hearty and profane world of deer hunting had been banished. The camp had become sacred once more.

The preparations for the coming of Spring and the Season had begun. Soon men would begin their pilgramage back to the woods after a long Winter's sleep, looking for redemption. Soon large winter flocks would start to break up and the gobblers and hens would begin their yearly dance. Soon it would be time.

"It's like a second religion," said the shaman once. "You can be anything you want to be and still be a turkey hunter. All it demands is your complete and undivided attention for a few weeks a year, and in return it will haunt your dreams forever. If you don't believe me, take a call out once into the Spring woods and give it a stroke or two. If that old gobbler answers, you will have your calling for life. That old gobbler hooked you and you will never get away."