Came in for lunch after working on a couple of old Stribbling reproductions with the orginal paddle design. I was thinking about my old turkey mentor and decided to put this story down for my son and grandson.
Second Log Dump Turkey
Some turkeys from the past you remember the whole hunt as if it were yesterday. Every detail is clear and in color. Others you can’t remember the details. The hunts are fuzzy and in black and white. I believe this was the second turkey that I ever killed. It happened on Ashbrook Island in about 1975 or 1976. This one is in PANOVISION color and clarity as they used to show at the beginning of the old John Wayne movies.
My mentor in the turkey hunting business was Mr. Jack. I have told a few of his tales and hunts, but the main quality of being a mentor is that you be unselfish. I do not remember all of the turkeys that Mr. Jack put me on. Mr. Jack was an old school teacher. The first A.M. that I went turkey hunting with him, I tagged along and was told to pay close attention to what he did. That afternoon he set me in a spot and said, “Blind up and a gobbler will come walking down the dyke this afternoon. I was on my own. He had imparted his turkey wisdom to me that morning and it was my time to show what I learned or what I did not know. YOU KNOW there 101 ways to mess up on a turkey. That afternoon I set up on the sunny side of the tree, and when the gobbler was coming down the dyke, like Mr. Jack said, he spotted my movement inside my net blind and I made a poor shot on him as he was running away. This was my Turkey Failure # one. Never blind up on the sunny side of the tree.
The first turkey that I killed was a fall bird that Mr. Jack put me on behind the old black truck NE of the mess hall. He said, “When you get to camp about 3:00 PM, walk out past the black truck and there is a flock of turkeys. I did that, heard a stick pop over a rise, crawled up and killed my first bird.
That next year, about the second weekend of the spring season, Mr. Jack asked me to join him up at the Island. I boated up Lunar Chute to camp late that Friday evening. In camp around a nice meal of Camp Lake crappie that he and Mr. Roy had caught that afternoon, Mr. Jack told me that he was going to set me out at the second Log Dump road. The second log dump road turned into the middle of the 8000-acre island. He indicated that he had worked a couple of turkeys about 250 yards down the road earlier in the week. He told me to walk 200 steps down the road and set up. Early the next AM, I was let out at the second Log Dump Road. Mr. Jack said, “When you finish your hunt just walk into camp. It’s not that far.” He continued on down the rim road toward the dyke where I had missed the turkey, the year before.
I loaded my Browning over and under with 2 three inch WW shells and walked down the road. It was early. I walked 200 yards and started looking for trees in the dark to set up on. Not seeing a big tree, I walked another 50 yards down the road and sat down beside a tree and faced north as Mr. Jack said, “They are roosted on the North or left side of the road. I got my gloves on and head net on, put my gun across my lap, and popped a Penn Woods single reed mouth call in my mouth. I did not have to wait long and a hen tree yelped a couple of times behind me and the two long beards cut loose. They were just where Mr. Jack said they would be. To my left and about 75 yards off the road on the North side. I waited. They Gobbled!! And They Gobbled!! Mr. Jack told me to wait till about fly down time to start calling. ---- HECK --- I did not know when they flew down, so I waited a while longer until it was getting almost good light. Nervously, I squealed out a series of three soft notes on my Penn Woods mouth call. Thankfully I did not swallow the darn thing and both turkeys came back with booming gobbles. The next minute, looking in their direction, I hear wings flopping and see one Big Bird flap a few times and come almost straight down out of his tree. I hear his feet hit the ground but cannot see the birds on the ground. Waiting I hear one bird gobble. I waited and I heard him gobble again. This time he sounds like he is more muffled and headed north away from me. I again squeal out 3 notes louder this time. SILENCE. Just when I think all has gone astray to the North side of the island. Two birds pop out behind a couple of trees 35 yards in front of me. There I sat, two magnificent big gobblers directly in front of me. -- Gun in Lap. There was one tree about 10 inches in diameter about 30 yards in front of me. It was the only tree in the immediate area. I wait. Then they move - to my right. I have decided to shoulder the gun when the lead bird gets behind the small tree. I shoulder the gun and when his head clears, I pull the trigger. He starts flopping back behind the grass clumps that he was walking in. I jump up, move quickly the 35 yards and put my foot on his neck. At that point the other gobbler jumps straight up flying to my left. With front bead just in front of his nose, I passed on the shot. No sense being a game hog. I shouldered that 20 lb bird, 1 ¼ inch spurred bird and made the short walk back into camp before the bird got too heavy.
I think back on that turkey, Ashbrook Island, and Mr. Jack. You come to realize that there was not a finer southern gentleman and turkey mentor than Mr. Jack. It is still in PANAVISION.
