Two days ago I hit the deep spring forest with the intentions of making violent contact with a nice gobbler, one that would fit comfortably on my table. I had my 75 year old Wingmaster passed on to me by my father, a nice selection of No. 2s, lots of cameo and a great attitude.
My second blind of the day was located 75 yards above my brothers backwoods pond. On the good years, that would be the wet years, the entire one acre bog and depression is filled with water---and all the other things that go with it.
This is a good year, meaning that the place is alive with the sound of music. Some years I have had to move because the peepers frogs were so loud there was no chance of calling because all peripheral sounds drowned me out as if I was Jimmy Hoffa. This year as I sat among the thick White Pines above the pond, I was treated to a new dimension of unwelcome competition. First off, the geese, I believe two love struck pairs, would go into bickering like a couple of old hags fighting over a Brad Pitt look alike. I couldn't really tell if it was a couple of couples going at it or just a maternal squabble. But Jesus, would they get going, louder and louder. Finally one would fly off in a huff only to return minutes and go at it again. Nothing very articulate, just in-your-face get down swagger.
Then there would be a settling, a moment of peace. I would make a yelp or two for the turkeys and only to be be followed by a couple of Sandhill Cranes also laying claim to the pond. For reasons unknown, they revved up their trumpets to over 10 and then funneled it into a couple of twin Marshalls. Fortunately, there were but two and the obnoxious shenanigans lasted only a few minutes----every few minutes . I did a little turkey hen chuckles in between but got no response from a romantic gobbler.
In the moments when the two heavies, the geese and the Sandhills, were idle, or in love, or copulating the wood ducks would do some squeaking and the black birds rambled on in pleasant tones, but it was a zoo out there. I found myself thinking, "Oh shit, why don't you all just let loose, I ain't getting nothin' anyway. About then the Barred Owls started monkey talking, blah, blah, blah, yak, yak, yak. A few nice hoots were infused. I assumed they were largely chewing out the kids for spitting out the latest masticated mouse. I went home. What is the point? I can't win out there and the turkeys hate me besides.
The next morning it was off to Treb's holdings where gobblers have been heard and there is no immediate pond to host the jungle of buffoons all hell bent on making my day another shit-canning. While looking for ticks, that would be those little deer tick sons-a-bitches, there was a shuffle in the tree right above me. So I wrenched my neck around to catch the action and here are two pairs of Wood Ducks sitting up in the branches posturing in anticipation of getting laid. I mean, I thought ducks were supposed to be in water not sitting in the oaks carrying on. Again no turkeys. Oh, there was a distant gobble but not in response to me. I am a loser but maybe I was sent out there not to kill a lousy bull turkey but to take in the nature of it all. I found only one tick making a move on my leg in each place I visited, but saw probably 30 bird species all of whom were trying to get it on. I decide to go home and see if I could do the same---after a tick check of course.
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