I'm not too proud to say I've shot a jake (or 4 or 5) in my turkey hunting career. In Tennessee a few seasons back I killed 2 on consecutive days. I'm trigger happy, and make no apologies for it. But I don't normally try to transfer my blood lust onto others. I say that as preface to the video you're about to watch, taken on my 2009 trip to Tennessee.
The hunter is Sean Collins, and this hunt took place on his farm in Giles County. Tennessee regulations allow a hunter to kill 4 spring birds, and at the start of this hunt, Sean had already tagged 3 April longbeards. That previous trio fell to the miracle of modern smokeless powder; for the 4th, Sean was toting his Hoyt Alpha Max.
When a gang of jakes showed up in our decoys spread, Sean decided, without any help from me, to thin the juvenile population a little. But he needed 2 tries!
Hey, sometimes it's nice to take a break from the pressures of chasing limbhangers!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
BLACK HILLS AND WHITE STRIPES
Several years back my brother and I took a May trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota to chase the subspecies of turkey named in honor of the late zoologist, Clinton Hart Merriam.
Meliagris gallopavo meriami, or the Merriam's wild turkey, is one of the 5 subspecies of wild turkeys that compose the slam most turkey hunters aspire to. Our 2002 trip was the first time either my brother or I efforted to bag this beautiful, white-accented cousin of the Eastern subspecies we routinely chase back home here in Indiana.
While the weather was fickle, and the birds scattered, we did have a great time in the beautiful western hill country of South Dakota. Ricky managed to tag a nearly-beardless 2-year old tom during a snowstorm, but try as I might, I couldn't connect. It was an awesome trip, regardless, and I wasn't even back in Indiana yet when I started making plans to go back.
So in 2003 I returned to the Black Hills with another hunting buddy of mine, Andy Edwards. Just 2 days into our week-long trip, Andy managed to connect on a beautiful bird that I had heard gobbling at dark the night before. Andy and I spent the next few days driving around the Hills in search of another lonely longbeard, eventually ending up back at our jumping-off point near the town of Lead.
The last day of the hunt Andy dropped me off, before daylight, in a spot that had proved to hold birds the year before. His plan was to trout fish most of the day, but check in on me at noon, and every 2 hours after that, in case I killed a bird. We had a designated meeting spot about 3/4 mile up the access road from where I was hunting, and Andy planned to spend about 15 minutes sitting tight each trip in, giving me a little flexibility for showing up.
At about 2:10 that afternoon, I was surprised to see my white Ford truck coming across the valley bottom I was watching. I stood up and waved for Andy, and he quickly drove to meet me. "Man, I was sitting in the truck playing tennis on my cell phone when a longbeard started up within 50 yards of the truck. I figured I'd better come see if you wanted to go after him."
That's all it took. By 2:20 I was sliding off the bumper while Andy drove on. But try as I might, I couldn't seem to strike that bird. I did a nearly mile-long end-around, covering the entire circumference of the roadside "bowl" Andy had heard him in earlier. In disgust, I walked back down the logging road and stood at our pre-arranged pick-up spot to wait for Andy to come back. The only problem was, in our hurry to get back to the bird before he shut up, we hadn't make any plan for exactly when Andy would return.
As it turns out, it didn't matter. No more than I'd hit the bend in the road where I'd been dropped off, that longbeard lit up all on his own about 1/4 mile east of where I stood. He was in a big cutover, full of a thick stand of pine regrowth. I headed up-hill to get above him, hoping I could make him come back toward the road where Andy had heard him earlier.
My first set of yelps got a quick response. By now the bird had been gobbling just fine on his own, but when I gave him the proper incentive, he started a darned-near maddening series of gobbles that would last until I pulled the trigger nearly 90 minutes later.
The hill I was climbing, now trying to cut him off as he streaked back my way, was the tallest and steepest around. Try as I might, I couldn't get to the top, or even far enough around the side, to get in front of him. Gobbling with every breath, that Merriam's longbeard proceeded right around me on the opposite side of the hill, then across the road and back into the bowl he'd been in when Andy first heard him.
I followed. He gobbled. I snuck closer. He moved away. I followed. He gobbled. I snuck closer. He moved away. This cat-and-mouse game went on for over an hour, with me worrying all the while that Andy would drive back up the road and bump the bird in the process.
Then, with only about 30 minutes of legal shooting light left, the tom crossed back over the road and started making his way east toward a mature stand of conifers. I figured he was headed to roost, and I might just as well see where. If Andy was willing, I could extend our trip by 1 morning, hoping to get a crack at this roosted bird.
So as the longbeard started putting ground between me and him, still gobbling his fool head off, I crossed the road and headed straight back uphill, hoping to get high enough to give him a good listen. In over 70 minutes of chasing him, I still hadn't layed eyes on him. For me, just seeing him was going to be a moral victory.
As I dashed toward the crest of the hill, I could tell the bird had changed his course a little. Slowing down to get a better fix on him, I was stunned to figure out that he was actually getting CLOSER. And, he wasn't wasting any time in doing it. I parked my camoed hind end against the nearest pine tree, and heart racing, barrel swaying, pointed upslope toward the approaching turkey.
At about 40 yards that gobbler finally showed himself, strutting down off the edge of an old logging lane. It took me a second to comprehend that he was actually standing there, in full bloom, with nothing between me and him but the clean cool May air of the Black Hills. "Never shoot a strutting bird" did enter my mind - for a second - when I centered my sights on his slick, red, strutting head.
I did pay him the courtesy of letting him touch off one last gobble before I snapped that thin clean line between sear and firing pin. As my payload arrived, feathers flew, and the gobbler started rolling downhill. I pounced. Only a couple of hours before I was facing the reality of going home from my second South Dakota trip without tagging a bird. I wasn't about to let this one get his feet, or wings, under him.
Post-mortem pictures show that, in my exuberance, that tom lost a few neck feathers. About 4 days earlier I'd poked fun at Andy for "denuding" the bird he shot as it flopped toward the edge of a pretty deep ravine. I knew the payback was going to stink, but with a huge "whoop" of relief I threw my partially-plucked longbeard over my shoulder and darn-near floated the 100 yards back to the access road.
No sooner had my boots hit the gravel then Andy came driving up. I figured he'd been waiting patiently back at the main road and heard my shot-and-holler. Turns out, he was just coming back in to check on me. Had he done so 5 minutes earlier he'd have ruined my hunt for sure. As it turns out, his timing was perfect.
It was nearly dark before we could start snapping pictures, but I'm not sure there were 2 happier turkey hunters anywhere in the Black Hills that night. As we drove back into Lead to get a hotel room - and a for-real shower (not just milkjugs of water dumped over our heads), we kept reliving the highlights of our trip. As we dug deep into the back of the truck for our "going to town" clothes, I asked Andy where he'd put my gun. Let's just say that Andy got the first shower that night. I got to drive 30 miles back out to the top of a nice green hillside, complete with scattered, white-tipped feathers, to retrieve my favorite fowling piece. It's a trip I'd make again in a heartbeat.
Meliagris gallopavo meriami, or the Merriam's wild turkey, is one of the 5 subspecies of wild turkeys that compose the slam most turkey hunters aspire to. Our 2002 trip was the first time either my brother or I efforted to bag this beautiful, white-accented cousin of the Eastern subspecies we routinely chase back home here in Indiana.
While the weather was fickle, and the birds scattered, we did have a great time in the beautiful western hill country of South Dakota. Ricky managed to tag a nearly-beardless 2-year old tom during a snowstorm, but try as I might, I couldn't connect. It was an awesome trip, regardless, and I wasn't even back in Indiana yet when I started making plans to go back.
So in 2003 I returned to the Black Hills with another hunting buddy of mine, Andy Edwards. Just 2 days into our week-long trip, Andy managed to connect on a beautiful bird that I had heard gobbling at dark the night before. Andy and I spent the next few days driving around the Hills in search of another lonely longbeard, eventually ending up back at our jumping-off point near the town of Lead.
The last day of the hunt Andy dropped me off, before daylight, in a spot that had proved to hold birds the year before. His plan was to trout fish most of the day, but check in on me at noon, and every 2 hours after that, in case I killed a bird. We had a designated meeting spot about 3/4 mile up the access road from where I was hunting, and Andy planned to spend about 15 minutes sitting tight each trip in, giving me a little flexibility for showing up.
At about 2:10 that afternoon, I was surprised to see my white Ford truck coming across the valley bottom I was watching. I stood up and waved for Andy, and he quickly drove to meet me. "Man, I was sitting in the truck playing tennis on my cell phone when a longbeard started up within 50 yards of the truck. I figured I'd better come see if you wanted to go after him."
That's all it took. By 2:20 I was sliding off the bumper while Andy drove on. But try as I might, I couldn't seem to strike that bird. I did a nearly mile-long end-around, covering the entire circumference of the roadside "bowl" Andy had heard him in earlier. In disgust, I walked back down the logging road and stood at our pre-arranged pick-up spot to wait for Andy to come back. The only problem was, in our hurry to get back to the bird before he shut up, we hadn't make any plan for exactly when Andy would return.
As it turns out, it didn't matter. No more than I'd hit the bend in the road where I'd been dropped off, that longbeard lit up all on his own about 1/4 mile east of where I stood. He was in a big cutover, full of a thick stand of pine regrowth. I headed up-hill to get above him, hoping I could make him come back toward the road where Andy had heard him earlier.
My first set of yelps got a quick response. By now the bird had been gobbling just fine on his own, but when I gave him the proper incentive, he started a darned-near maddening series of gobbles that would last until I pulled the trigger nearly 90 minutes later.
The hill I was climbing, now trying to cut him off as he streaked back my way, was the tallest and steepest around. Try as I might, I couldn't get to the top, or even far enough around the side, to get in front of him. Gobbling with every breath, that Merriam's longbeard proceeded right around me on the opposite side of the hill, then across the road and back into the bowl he'd been in when Andy first heard him.
I followed. He gobbled. I snuck closer. He moved away. I followed. He gobbled. I snuck closer. He moved away. This cat-and-mouse game went on for over an hour, with me worrying all the while that Andy would drive back up the road and bump the bird in the process.
Then, with only about 30 minutes of legal shooting light left, the tom crossed back over the road and started making his way east toward a mature stand of conifers. I figured he was headed to roost, and I might just as well see where. If Andy was willing, I could extend our trip by 1 morning, hoping to get a crack at this roosted bird.
So as the longbeard started putting ground between me and him, still gobbling his fool head off, I crossed the road and headed straight back uphill, hoping to get high enough to give him a good listen. In over 70 minutes of chasing him, I still hadn't layed eyes on him. For me, just seeing him was going to be a moral victory.
As I dashed toward the crest of the hill, I could tell the bird had changed his course a little. Slowing down to get a better fix on him, I was stunned to figure out that he was actually getting CLOSER. And, he wasn't wasting any time in doing it. I parked my camoed hind end against the nearest pine tree, and heart racing, barrel swaying, pointed upslope toward the approaching turkey.
At about 40 yards that gobbler finally showed himself, strutting down off the edge of an old logging lane. It took me a second to comprehend that he was actually standing there, in full bloom, with nothing between me and him but the clean cool May air of the Black Hills. "Never shoot a strutting bird" did enter my mind - for a second - when I centered my sights on his slick, red, strutting head.
I did pay him the courtesy of letting him touch off one last gobble before I snapped that thin clean line between sear and firing pin. As my payload arrived, feathers flew, and the gobbler started rolling downhill. I pounced. Only a couple of hours before I was facing the reality of going home from my second South Dakota trip without tagging a bird. I wasn't about to let this one get his feet, or wings, under him.
Post-mortem pictures show that, in my exuberance, that tom lost a few neck feathers. About 4 days earlier I'd poked fun at Andy for "denuding" the bird he shot as it flopped toward the edge of a pretty deep ravine. I knew the payback was going to stink, but with a huge "whoop" of relief I threw my partially-plucked longbeard over my shoulder and darn-near floated the 100 yards back to the access road.
No sooner had my boots hit the gravel then Andy came driving up. I figured he'd been waiting patiently back at the main road and heard my shot-and-holler. Turns out, he was just coming back in to check on me. Had he done so 5 minutes earlier he'd have ruined my hunt for sure. As it turns out, his timing was perfect.
It was nearly dark before we could start snapping pictures, but I'm not sure there were 2 happier turkey hunters anywhere in the Black Hills that night. As we drove back into Lead to get a hotel room - and a for-real shower (not just milkjugs of water dumped over our heads), we kept reliving the highlights of our trip. As we dug deep into the back of the truck for our "going to town" clothes, I asked Andy where he'd put my gun. Let's just say that Andy got the first shower that night. I got to drive 30 miles back out to the top of a nice green hillside, complete with scattered, white-tipped feathers, to retrieve my favorite fowling piece. It's a trip I'd make again in a heartbeat.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
DEER DAZE
It's official - Indiana deer season is now closed. The late archery season ended on Sunday, January 3. In an earlier post I shared a few photographs from the 2009 season. While looking around for some turkey images, I ran across a folder with several deer photos from years past, and thought I'd share a few. Some day I'll scan in some images from the pre-digital camera era, if for no other reason than to prove that I once had a full head of hair! Note: The photo comes first, the year/hunter/story after.
2007 - Archery: Randy Dickson (that's me)
This deer doesn't carry the biggest rack, but he did have great mass and was 5.5 years old (by tooth wear and replacement criteria). He also happened to be HUGE of body. We didn't have a way to weigh him, but I've killed 3 bucks that dressed over 200 lbs, and this one was far bigger than any of those. He also had a really cool hole in the back of his right main beam, with the beam being porous way out toward the tip.
2008 - Archery: Eric Sampson
Eric killed this deer while hunting with me in northern Indiana's Marshall County. The buck nets right at 140, which is awfully solid for an 8-pointer. As you can see, the deer had great mass throughout. While we were taking pictures, my brother called to tell me he'd just shot a buck with his bow......keep reading!
2008 - Archery: Rick Dickson
Ricky shot this deer late in the morning, approaching noon, well after most guys have normally left the woods. This is proof positive that when you're hunting good habitat in early-November, all-day sits should be the norm. This deer grossed in the mid-160s. He was absolutely worn out from chasing does - skin and bones - but his antlers didn't shrink any!
2001 - Archery: Randy Dickson
I killed this buck mid-afternoon on November 7 (my favorite day to be in a stand). He was with a doe that was coming into estrus, but hadn't quite made it yet. After pushing her around, out of range, for nearly 2 hours, the doe finally walked past my stand. He wasn't so lucky! It was nearly 70 degees that day - don't let a little thing like warm weather keep you from hunting (especially when the rut is kicking in).
2005 - Archery: Rick Dickson
A good, clean harvest of a nice 3.5 year old buck. My brother has since learned to pass these 120 inch bucks up - I'm not quite there yet!
2002 - Shotgun: Wally Palmer
This buck came out of standing corn to a ground blind set-up Wally had on opening day of the 2002 Indiana firearm season. The buck was approaching Wally's decoy, with bad intentions, when Wally sealed the deal. This is one of those deer that proves net score doesn't always measure the quality of a buck.
2003 - Archery: Randy Dickson
This is by no means a monster deer. But that's a monster smile on the face of my nephew, Brandon. I settled into a fresh stand at 12:30 p.m. on a cool early-November afternoon. By 1:00 p.m. I was walking out, having heard this buck "crash up" in standing corn boardering the woodlot where I'd just shot him. Talk about quick! When I drove to dad's to see if he'd give me a hand, my brother and nephew happened to be there. It was great to have 3 generations of Dickson deer hunters go make the recovery!
2008 - Shotgun: Baleigh Dickson
And in the air of saving the best for last, this is my niece with her first-ever deer. She killed it on opening day of the '08 Indiana firearm season. It was a perfect double-lung shot at 40 yards, and the buck piled up in the thick stuff about 30 yards from where he was standing when Baleigh let fly. The buck was a heavy-based 2-year old 9-point, and as the smile shows, Baleigh was happy to take him. And the best part of all (for me) was that I got to be in the tree with her when she pulled the trigger! The smile behind the camera was as big as the one in front of it!
There you are - a few of the deer that helped make the memories that drive me, my family, and friends back to the deer woods each fall. If you aren't part of the grand deer hunting fraternity, you probably don't understand why we cherish these moments so much!
OF WOOD STOVES AND DECOYS
When the weather is nice, I tend to keep busy outside. Mounting turkeys in the confines of the basement workshop doesn't seem like much fun when I could be squirrel hunting, gardening, fixing fence, managing food plots, cutting firewood - you get the point. But now that winter weather has really kicked in here in northern Indiana, spending evenings and weekends in the shop - 10 feet from the wood stove - seems like a pretty good alternative to making snotty "beardcicles" while shoveling out the driveway.
In December, I finished mounting the last of my client orders for 2009. Now I'm mounting turkeys that I killed, or were donated to me by family and friends. Once finished, these birds will be: 1) sold; 2) donated to NWTF functions; 3) used in the upcoming spring season. And the reality is that unless winter lasts until August, I'll never get around to mounting all the turkeys I have in my freezer. Right now I'm thawing out my 2009 spring Indiana bird. Once he's finished there will be a roughly12 more wild bird capes left to go, plus a few wild-colored domestics.
My 2009 Indiana tom - the next bird to become a Thrill Kill Decoy!
Last week I finished a bird donated by good friend and hunting buddy, Sean Collins. Sean lives in Giles County, Tennessee, and was kind enough to let me kill a good tom on his farm in 2009 (another one I haven't "decoyed" yet). When we finished that hunt, Sean said he had a bird in the freezer he'd been saving for me if I wanted it. I've learned never to pass up a wild bird in good condition. Turns out, not only was it in great shape, but the bird had extraordinary color. It's the prettiest bird I've mounted in a long time.
So as I finish each successive decoy, I'll post a few pictures. If I was involved in the demise of the bird, I'll even share the hunting story that goes with it. For the next several weeks I'll keep warm - and busy - in the basement, all the while wishing spring would hurry up and get here!
Snow might be flying outside, but in my mind I see decoy spreads and spring weather!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Beardzilla Lives!
And the follow-up good news is that Ricky (brother) and Brandon (nephew) saw this bird and his running buddy on December 12 while checking muskrat traps. They let me know about their sighting in a very simple text message - Beardzilla Lives!
I will note, if you listen to the audio, that this bird initially fooled me. I thought he had multiple beards, but that his overall beard length wasn't exceptionally long. By the time he left the field I'd come to my senses. I think he has just one really wide beard, and that it's easily longer than average. Doesn't really matter - he's a hoss!
Head Case!
As mentioned in a previous post, I think there are lots of reasons that a well-constructed full-mount decoy out-performs all other types of deeks. But it all boils down to realism, and one of the principal components in making a decoy look life-like is the head.
Thrill Kill Decoys are built using cast heads, as opposed to freeze-dried heads. We do this simply because we feel the cast heads are more durable and thus last longer. They're also fairly easy to repair (when your niece puts holes in them while gunning down her spring longbeard).
Taxidermists that use cast heads can purchase pre-painted heads, or choose to paint their own. For me, it takes about 90 minutes to complete a paint job, start to finish. (Full-time taxidermists can probably cut that in half.) Comparing the value of my time and materials to the added cost of a pre-painted head (about $25 more than an unpainted head), I feel I benefit financially from doing my own painting. But more than that, using an airbrush to recreate a head color scheme that fools live birds is professionally rewarding, and that's hard to put a price on.
An unpainted head comes to the shop as an essentially white casting, with ultra-realistic glass eyes pre-set. We prep the head to insure our laquer-based paint will readily stick, and then begin the painting process. When we've finished, we clean the eyes of overspray and let the head dry before spraying a sealer on it (normally about 24 hours post-painting). It's amazing how a decoy head "comes to life" once the overspray has been removed from the eyes - another reason why full-mount decoys are so much more realistic than cheap plastic birds.
If you have any artistic ability, you might want to give head painting a try. If nothing else, you can use an airbrush to repaint the heads on your plastic deeks. After all, plastic decoys are mass-produced, which means they are "fast-produced", and in the overseas shops that most deeks are made in, quantity, not quality, is the objective.
After all, if you were a wary old gobbler (or hen), which one would most likely fool you?
A finished hen head and an unpainted tom head
An unpainted head comes to the shop as an essentially white casting, with ultra-realistic glass eyes pre-set. We prep the head to insure our laquer-based paint will readily stick, and then begin the painting process. When we've finished, we clean the eyes of overspray and let the head dry before spraying a sealer on it (normally about 24 hours post-painting). It's amazing how a decoy head "comes to life" once the overspray has been removed from the eyes - another reason why full-mount decoys are so much more realistic than cheap plastic birds.
A wide range of paint colors are needed to paint a turkey head - tom or hen
A small "hobby" compressor will easily drive an airbrush
If you have any artistic ability, you might want to give head painting a try. If nothing else, you can use an airbrush to repaint the heads on your plastic deeks. After all, plastic decoys are mass-produced, which means they are "fast-produced", and in the overseas shops that most deeks are made in, quantity, not quality, is the objective.
After all, if you were a wary old gobbler (or hen), which one would most likely fool you?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
A Turkey Hunter Is Born!
My best turkey hunting buddy (next to my niece, Baleigh), is one Andy Edwards of Pulaski, Tennessee.
A couple of years back he had the great good fortune of finding a beautiful girl (Audra) with limited vision and even more limited judgement, and eventually convinced her to marry him. He outkicked his coverage, married up, fell in it. You get the point.
Well, his life got even better today. He and Audra welcomed their first child into the world at approximately 7:00 a.m. today. And Andrew Henry Edwards, at 8 lb 11.8 oz and 22.25 inches long, is a BIG addition to the Edwards' family.
Congratulations to Andy and Audra, and welcome to Andrew, who I know will grow up lucky to have a daddy that loves the outdoors, and sharing outdoor experiences with those around him. In that respect, baby Andrew and I are both blessed to have Andy in our lives.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
