I posted Sunday about working two birds that should have ended in bangs, but neither did.
This morning I was after the one that I had the safety off on Sunday morning.
He's on public that gets some moderate pressure, but for whatever reason, no one had gone back as far as I was on Sunday. I don't know about Saturday as I hunted somewhere else.
Anyway, this morning he was roosted down a gradual hillside off of an old field maybe 150 yards. It took me a bit to get in position, but I liked it. It's pretty thick in there, but not too bad. I had a log road just below me, and expected him to come up it.
I let him gobble his brains out before giving him some soft yelps and clucks, to which he hammered. He held his ground for a good bit demanding the hen to come to him. I had put my call down.
I then could tell that he had moved closer and I started scanning left and right as directly in front of me was pretty thick.
Then the dreaded "dead period of silence" ensued. After a bit I relaxed, but still was scanning the woods. My eyes played tricks on me a couple of times thinking I had seen him step out maybe 120 yds away.
I thought I might have heard soft hen yelps at one time, so I figured that one had gone to him, like had happened Sunday, so I waited. And waited. And waited.
After probably 30 minutes of silence, I dug out my crow call. He hammered. He had circled me and was directly behind me slightly uphill less than 100 yds. It was thicker that way, so I stood up next to the large tree I had been leaning against. I could not see him.
I then cutt at him and he tore it up and started gobbling and coming closer. He gobbled a couple of more times. I had the gun up but was still having to guess where my possible shot might be. I finally saw him working his way through the downed treetops, etc. And just as he got two steps from my best chance at a shot he stopped. He was within 40 yards, but I could only see his head and part of his neck. And with my glasses I couldn't tell if there might be some trash just in front of him, so I held off. He had pegged me, and froze. After a bit, I tried to cluck ever so softly to get him to take 2 more steps, but he didn't like it and turned and went down the hill softly putting. Game over!
This comes to mind, and I guess it's true, but it's starting to play mind games with me. The saying "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" is often used to describe the belief that experiencing love, even if it leads to heartbreak, is ultimately more fulfilling than never experiencing love at all.
Wow, I've written a book. I guess that was therapeutic.
This morning I was after the one that I had the safety off on Sunday morning.
He's on public that gets some moderate pressure, but for whatever reason, no one had gone back as far as I was on Sunday. I don't know about Saturday as I hunted somewhere else.
Anyway, this morning he was roosted down a gradual hillside off of an old field maybe 150 yards. It took me a bit to get in position, but I liked it. It's pretty thick in there, but not too bad. I had a log road just below me, and expected him to come up it.
I let him gobble his brains out before giving him some soft yelps and clucks, to which he hammered. He held his ground for a good bit demanding the hen to come to him. I had put my call down.
I then could tell that he had moved closer and I started scanning left and right as directly in front of me was pretty thick.
Then the dreaded "dead period of silence" ensued. After a bit I relaxed, but still was scanning the woods. My eyes played tricks on me a couple of times thinking I had seen him step out maybe 120 yds away.
I thought I might have heard soft hen yelps at one time, so I figured that one had gone to him, like had happened Sunday, so I waited. And waited. And waited.
After probably 30 minutes of silence, I dug out my crow call. He hammered. He had circled me and was directly behind me slightly uphill less than 100 yds. It was thicker that way, so I stood up next to the large tree I had been leaning against. I could not see him.
I then cutt at him and he tore it up and started gobbling and coming closer. He gobbled a couple of more times. I had the gun up but was still having to guess where my possible shot might be. I finally saw him working his way through the downed treetops, etc. And just as he got two steps from my best chance at a shot he stopped. He was within 40 yards, but I could only see his head and part of his neck. And with my glasses I couldn't tell if there might be some trash just in front of him, so I held off. He had pegged me, and froze. After a bit, I tried to cluck ever so softly to get him to take 2 more steps, but he didn't like it and turned and went down the hill softly putting. Game over!
This comes to mind, and I guess it's true, but it's starting to play mind games with me. The saying "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" is often used to describe the belief that experiencing love, even if it leads to heartbreak, is ultimately more fulfilling than never experiencing love at all.
Wow, I've written a book. I guess that was therapeutic.
I went for a quick 2 hours this afternoon to see if I could get one of the birds I was on yesterday to fire up but no dice and had to leave for a baseball game.
