This day started out more or less the same - alarm blaring reveille at 5:00am, cats scrambling to intercept my feet in the dark, wife grumbling that it's too early - except today was another day to turkey hunt!
I met my NRA Instructor and friend at the farm with the streaking reds and orange of sunrise just beginning to set the mood for a brisk stroll through the cow pastures in the thirty degree air. The hunting began five hundred yards away at the tree line on the other side of the electric fence. In my backpack was a thermos of coffe, water, snacks and a wire loop.
The wire loop was the handiest. It held the patridge (roughed grouse) by the feet from my backpack before 7:00 am. My first shot attempt was a dud. My bolt on the Mossberg 20ga was not fully closed, and the trigger pull only snapped it shut without striking the pin the primer. Luckily the bird wasn't flying and casually waited for me to chamber another round and fire!
So, while my nephew Wamj was still sleeping, I continued my pursuit of the elusive Maine turkey. I heard the flock traverse the ridge above me, but moving ahead to cut them off was fruitless. But all was not lost for the morning and we broke for lunch. I put the partridge breast in a seasoned crock of barbeque baked beans, and let the cats snack on the tid bits.
Smokey and Frankie knew what to do. George, on the other hand, didn't have a clue.
By 2:00pm, Wamj was finally awake. So I dropped him off a map and gave him a general idea where I would sit to wait in the hemlock notch for the flock to return. My other good friend staked out the field. At around 5 o'clock, I checked my bolt. It was still closed. Ten minutes later, the Tom was strutting toward me at 25 yards. No misfire this time and I bagged my first turkey ever.
He weighed 18lbs with a 7-1/2" beard and 3/4" spurs. The wire loop made for an even more important tool in its second application of the day.
And I have to give credit to my nephew, John Lennon... er... Wamj, for gaining permission to hunt on the farm. Without the good fields, fence lines, cover, and feed that a farm offers, the Western Maine hills can be a pretty hit or miss place to hunt turkeys. Thanks Wamj.
So a fine day hunting, afoot and afield. And the patridge that soaked in the seasoning for the afternoon is now picked clean. Frankie gave it his all, too. But the second wing got the better of him!
Thanks for tuning in guys!
I met my NRA Instructor and friend at the farm with the streaking reds and orange of sunrise just beginning to set the mood for a brisk stroll through the cow pastures in the thirty degree air. The hunting began five hundred yards away at the tree line on the other side of the electric fence. In my backpack was a thermos of coffe, water, snacks and a wire loop.
The wire loop was the handiest. It held the patridge (roughed grouse) by the feet from my backpack before 7:00 am. My first shot attempt was a dud. My bolt on the Mossberg 20ga was not fully closed, and the trigger pull only snapped it shut without striking the pin the primer. Luckily the bird wasn't flying and casually waited for me to chamber another round and fire!
So, while my nephew Wamj was still sleeping, I continued my pursuit of the elusive Maine turkey. I heard the flock traverse the ridge above me, but moving ahead to cut them off was fruitless. But all was not lost for the morning and we broke for lunch. I put the partridge breast in a seasoned crock of barbeque baked beans, and let the cats snack on the tid bits.
Smokey and Frankie knew what to do. George, on the other hand, didn't have a clue.
By 2:00pm, Wamj was finally awake. So I dropped him off a map and gave him a general idea where I would sit to wait in the hemlock notch for the flock to return. My other good friend staked out the field. At around 5 o'clock, I checked my bolt. It was still closed. Ten minutes later, the Tom was strutting toward me at 25 yards. No misfire this time and I bagged my first turkey ever.
He weighed 18lbs with a 7-1/2" beard and 3/4" spurs. The wire loop made for an even more important tool in its second application of the day.
And I have to give credit to my nephew, John Lennon... er... Wamj, for gaining permission to hunt on the farm. Without the good fields, fence lines, cover, and feed that a farm offers, the Western Maine hills can be a pretty hit or miss place to hunt turkeys. Thanks Wamj.
So a fine day hunting, afoot and afield. And the patridge that soaked in the seasoning for the afternoon is now picked clean. Frankie gave it his all, too. But the second wing got the better of him!
Thanks for tuning in guys!
