Think fast feet, and light, small-gauge guns and gear to stay on top of changing turkey behavior.
Text and photos by John DePalma
Rain. Damn rain. Hunting toms when it’s wet is no picnic. As a matter of fact, it downright stinks. Three days of rain with no end in sight. Every thread of clothing was soaked. Boots caked with a gumbo mud coating. Gun sported a sludge cerakote finish. Patience was dampened to its core.
I finally made it. After crawling on belly and knees for the last hour and a half in mud and muck, I was within 75 yards of a flock containing five hens and three mature gobblers. At that point, I saw no jakes to screw things up, should I entice the group to come my way. We’ve all been there — hens on their way, tom in tow and a group of jakes messes everything up by being their crazy selves and causing tom to run them off, or vice versa. It’s one of those things that makes hunting turkey so dang fun. Provided, of course, one can maintain one’s sense of humor. Most turkey outings do not provide much dignity, but do allow for the opportunity to work on humility.
After the last night’s hard rain, all of the turkeys were on the ground feeding in cut corn. The rain held off for a bit, but the skies were filled with heavy spring dew. There was little to no calling on the roost, perhaps a gobble or two. When the birds flew down, silence was the name of the game.
Let’s see, a cold, wet evening for the birds, really no talking by hens or toms on the roost, no chatter at all once on the ground, and the distance I sat was as close as I could possibly get to the birds without being busted. All added up to a really fun outing. Anyway, we turkey hunters are not only resilient, but a bit deranged.
The birds didn’t move but 20 yards from their original landing zone for the next three hours. Since there was no chatter among the birds, I wasn’t about to fill the air with diaphragm or box call. On days like that, birds cannot be pressed or they’ll head for the hills in a matter of moments. One thing that I have learned through the years when hunting in wet conditions is to do what the birds do. If there is chatter, feel free to engage, but do so in a quiet manner. If there is no chatter, best be silent and simply wait things out.
Wait is what I did. With three hours already in the bank on these birds, I decided to give it another couple just in case they moved my way. While my hiding spot was wet, it was near a path I had seen this flock take not only the last couple days while glassing them from afar, but also in years past. Another thing that I have learned over the years when consistently hunting the same areas, is that birds will repeat what they do and where they do it. If not overly pressured, they typically live and roost in similar areas year after year and maintain the same rituals they have of feeding, traveling and loafing. So, back to paragraph one y’all – patience is key.
While I had my MOJO Scoot-N-Shoot decoy in tow, I was reluctant to bring it out as the situation just didn’t feel right to give it a whirl. It has worked wonderfully for me in the past on days when the weather is decent, but not so good for me on days like this when weather conditions are anything but adequate. Based on my history with this decoy in crap weather, I had a distinct feeling I’d mess these birds up if I pulled it out. I’d rather pass for the day than bugger the flock up and have them move to another area where I may not have permission to hunt.
Plus, I was hunting with my new Benelli ETHOS 28 gauge and did not want to risk a long-distance shot of more than 35 to 40 yards. (The gun was patterned with a full choke and Winchester 2¾-inch loads at that distance.) You see, I’m a lover of small-gauge, lightweight turkey guns. The ultimate joy I have found in hunting tom is getting him in close and enjoying the spectacle of his dance. Nothing in the sport is more satisfying to me. I had one day left in Kansas so if I had to pass for the day, pass I would, and that’s just what I did.
Day four of the hunt proved to be a total bust. Mother Nature dumped another inch of rain overnight. Her doings washed out the main gravel road and secondary prairie trail I used to get within two miles of where I roosted birds the night before. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a go. My long walk put me within 100 yards of the roost tree. But by the time I arrived, birds were already on the ground and had moved to a property I could not hunt. I sat on them until noon — they never moved. So, I pulled up stakes, loaded the truck and headed northwest to Nebraska where two days of hunting were on the menu. Rain. Damn rain.
Both Kansas and Nebraska have become two of my very favorite states to chase ol’ tom. Plus, they offer many other species to hunt. You’ll find a great variety of four-legged critters in each, as well as plenty of birds to chase; those on the ground or in the air. I suppose these would be considered “flyover states” by some, but both showcase a tremendous amount of beauty when you look around and hike the land. Anyway, with optimism in hand, I arrived at my location in southwest Nebraska.
On a string he came. He had roosted with a small group of hens on an island across the North Platte River from where I was set. It was late in the season, so hens had but little time or interest in his affections. He flew across the river and was on a strutted course straight at my Avian-X decoy set atop a new gadget I came upon this year – a STRUTT’N 360. I don’t think it’s a brand-new product to the market, but it was a newbie turkey gadget in my arsenal and one I found to be quite interesting. It’s basically a motor that a full body (or other) decoy sits on, and you can spin the decoy 360 degrees or stop and start it moving left or right — pretty cool.
Back to tom — if you recall me suggesting earlier in this article that jakes can mess up any good hunt, well, this is exactly what happened. As soon as the gobbler got within 75 yards and was coming on a dime, three jakes came out of nowhere to jumble everything up. End of day one in Nebraska. I hunted hard, put on a ton of miles, but never spotted or heard another gobbler.
Day two was going to be run and gun. Fun, but unfruitful days in Kansas, driving a ton and a long day one in Nebraska gassed me to the max. While I had plenty of property to hunt, I had no idea where I might find birds, as I never heard a single bird the prior afternoon and evening. So, I did what many great turkey hunters do: I slept in. After a well-needed slumber, donuts and Diet Dew were in tow. To the river I went to mingle among the cottonwoods and Russian olives.
A few hours and a few miles in, silence was the name of the game. The parcel of land I can hunt affords me another mile of river to search for birds. While I’ve seen a flock or two in the direction I went in the past, it certainly didn’t mean any were in the area. It is a beautiful locale with cottonwood roost trees on an island and plenty of Russian olives to provide cover to stalk through. So with a vest full of optimism, I headed west to what hopefully would be an encounter with tom.
Slow and steady; run like hell when necessary. Calling to locate birds at midday is something I have seldom found to be overly successful, especially late in the season when toms have become silent on the ground. I know it works well for some, but for me … not so much. With that, I moved slowly from Russian olive thicket to thicket, sometimes belly crawling, but glassing all the while. With a quarter mile left until I would reach the island on the far west end of the property, I heard a lone gobble. This was followed by another gobble from what sounded like a different tom. Time to find a low spot, bust across the river to the island and run like mad to get into position. My only worry was if the toms were beyond the property I can hunt.
My equipment was sparse: only the super lightweight Benelli ETHOS 28, MOJO Scoot-N-Shoot and three rounds of Winchester. Decades of chasing gobblers have run the gamut from 12 to 20 to 28 gauge. While I’ve popped a couple toms in South Dakota with a .410 in the past, the 28 is the preferred gauge on this hunt. Dropping into a low spot, I found a stretch of river I could race across that didn’t look too deep. No time to worry about getting wet — it’s time to find out if these birds were in a location they could be hunted. If that wasn’t the case, a siren call might lure them to cross under a fence and onto the property where I can take a swipe at them.
After crossing the river, I found a spot low enough where I popped up the decoy, got behind it and began a crawl of some 50 yards to where the birds might see it. I spotted two toms before they saw the decoy, only to find they were beyond the property line. Plus, the boys were with four girls. But after some 20 minutes of waiting silently, one of them gave a faint yelp. I volleyed back with my first soft yelp of the day. Somewhat surprisingly, she talks back as do her other female companions. Both toms now display in full strut, but not a sound from either. Time to strike up the band.
Staking my decoy into the ground and grabbing a box call, I filled the air with both it and diaphragm. I though to myself, If I go down, I’m going to go down swinging! The hammering of both calls not only revved up the hens, but fired up the toms who were now in a contest to see who could out-gobble the other. All I needed to do was get the birds to cross under the fence and come about 150 yards my way so I could get an ethical shot.
Lo and behold, hens cross under the fence. The yelping, cutting, purring of box and diaphragm, as well as the visual they have on the decoy have piqued enough interest to move them my way. The leery toms were another story, however, as they had not moved an inch from their previous location. Time to place the box call back into the vest and put the Shoot-N-Scoot to work. With decoy in left hand and Benelli in the other, I began to crawl toward the hens with hopes that the toms would be incited enough to see competition for their girls, and cross under the fence to the lifelike decoy.
Leave it to the girls. Once they caught a better view of the decoy approaching them, they headed directly toward it. I was able to split the difference between me and the hens and get behind the decoy next to a fallen cottonwood. Next thing I knew I had all four hens within 25 yards of my hide and the gobblers were on their way. It only took a few minutes and the toms joined the girls, and were just a few yards behind the hens, but at a distance where I could safely shoot. The farthest at 30 paces, the closer around 25. When faced with an opportunity of a tom-double, I always take a crack at the farther bird. If I make a clean kill on him, I may then have a respectable chance at tom No. 2.
Crack! The more distant tom went down and before the closer fellow knew what happened, I drew on him and to the ground he went. Girls putt like mad, run off and scurry upriver never to be seen again. With pounding heart now back in my chest, I was able to gather thoughts and collect the two handsome birds; one a 3-year-old, the other 2.
I am becoming more and more of a fan of the run-and-gun approach to hunting turkeys with a small-gauge, lightweight gun and minimal equipment. Sure, there will be days when sitting on decoys and waiting is wise, especially during inclement weather. But for me when the sun is shining and toms are tied to hens, a more aggressive approach can be the ticket. Really, turkey hunting is a risk-reward proposition. In this case, thankfully, risk provided reward.