“PeaEye – The Phantom of the Pipeline”

Well fellers, for those in the know, know that I left out Friday afternoon, lonesome, ornery and mean. It was to be my 13 year son Will’s first trip of the season. A broken hand right before the season had delayed my anticipated renewal together in the woods. It’d been almost 11 months since he’d taken his first two birds near the end of last season. I’ve surely missed his company, you can bet on that. When he arrived home from school Friday, he begged off on going. Said his feet hurt. Crimeinitaly, if they hurt before you go, you can bet they’ll hurt when we get back, is all I said. I guess the impending severe thunderstorms forecast for Saturday may have dissuaded him, but I didn’t push it. Don’t want him to feel he has to go. With that and the rain due for another weekend, I wasn’t in the best of moods but I left out knowing I’d get drenched and hoping I’d be rewarded with the blessing of slingin’ a bird over my shoulder. At least camp should be quiet; certainly the four wheelin’ deer hunters would not brave the impending bad weather. Wrong! Every weekend it’s been the same deal, they come to rouse and ramble, never to hunt. Oh well, I’m gittin’ off the soapbox and gittin’ on with the story at hand.

Saturday was indeed a day of thunder. I was hunkered in a covered deer stand for more than two hours and don’t mind sayin’, I said a few prayers for forgiveness at the crack of lightening and kaboom of thunder. I can tell you what; it was a mite bit louder than my SP10 gauge, that’s for sure. It finally eased enough to get out and I commenced to slow walk the loggin’ roads. If I didn’t run into birds, at least I should be able to find the vicinity they are in, via muddy three toes. Seven and half hours passed with only two hen sightings, should’ve been better. Surely the three hours of skeet shooting at camp had nothing to do with my misfortune. I closed out Saturday drying myself out by a roaring fire and refused the invite to the weekly party up a couple of camps. I needed time to myself and poke a log or two without somebody throwin’ four more on when what’s burnin’ is plenty.

Sunday had just an auspicious beginning, to say the least. Rain hampered my start and I figured the birds would be hangin’ on the limb for a few more hours anyway, so I slept in. ‘Bout 8:45 I wake, ready and head out. Not more that 50 yards from camp, my spirits sank to a new low and so did my truck. Seems our resident road engineer had decided the ruts in the road were gettin’ too deep, so he dumped nice soft dirt all up and down them. No need to pack ‘em, nah. Next truck will do that. Yeah, only about a foot or two, no more. Needless to say, I was mud stuck and luckily I got back to camp just as the engineer was shuttin’ the door to his truck. He readily pulled me out and I went the back way. Guess he meant well…………..good thing he hadn’t left already.

Made it to the woods, via the back door at about 11 am. Don’t expect to hear any gobblin’, so I go and head for the pipeline. They usually like to dry out there after a wet night. Well, I’m easin’ across the line and I glass a real red weed top. Surely, everyone’s seen those weeds that grow in fields that have a red top. Many a time have I been fooled only to find it to be a red weed. Well, I’m studying this one real hard and it seemed to come closer in my binoculars. I’m already in plain view even if it is a tom, so I move about 5 yards more and spy again. It’s still in the same spot. Weed. I continue across the line giving it one more glance. Guess what, that weed is walkin’ towards the woods. Dang, big headed weed too, not the juvenile weeds we’ve been seein’ in the line. Dangit, bumped and busted, now what. I decide to go about 70 yards inside the wood line and ease up to about where I think he went in at. I get there and call softly for about an hour. I think I hear drummin’, so I stay another hour. Nothin’ came and all got pretty quiet.

I ease on out towards the pipeline and found I was about 50 yards short of where I saw him go in. I’m just sittin’ there, contemplating what to do next, when ol’ PeaEye answered that question. Obble, obble came from just down the way, next holler over. Sounded like a jake gobble, so for kicks I shook my Primos gobble tube. Gobble, gobble, gobble, shot right back. I eased on down the line huggin’ the shadowy tree line real close, offering up a faint gobble from time to time. He liked it and replied each time. He’s just over the down hill side of the line, maybe at the edge of the hardwoods. I figure I’m eighty yards away, max. I find a nice stout and young maple growing on the edge and settle back. I let things get quiet and a crow lets me know my friend is still there. Pullin’ out a new Reynolds Glass slate I just got during the week, I sneak out some soft feeding clucks and purrs. I can hear him drum and click his wings. Just as I’m in mid cluck out pops a no beard jake 30 yards directly to my right. He goes to feedin’, looking for something behind him, yelps softly a couple of time, then goes back to bug snatchin’ and peckin’. Little no beard gets about twenty yards from me and takes a closer look at the new bush. I haven’t moved a spec. I guess he saw my pupils or I ain’t green enough. Whatever the case, he took a few tall strides towards the gobblin’ tom and was out of sight. I heard him say to PeaEye, “Squawk, yalk, wrack”, guess he was trying to tell his teacher that there was a square head stump in the bushes and he has a black stick in his hands. Good thing PeaEye forgot his jake language.

Things got real quiet for about a half of an hour. I’m hoping the game ain’t over. I pick up the glass again and went back to soft cluckin’ and I hear a purr. Down goes the slate; up goes the gun, at ready. Next thing I see is two jakes, one with beard chasin’ the one without. Man, I oughta shoot you jakes, I’m thinkin’, sorta ticked but then not really. About that time a bigger bird takes a run at the two jakes and when they clear out, I see swingin’ beard. Yeah buddie, down goes his head for a moment, up goes the gun and with a short cut and cackle on the mouth diaphragm, up came his nice wide red head. Boomyall and PeaEye took every bit of Nitro’s load at a mere 25 steps. Yeah man, slingin’ turkey over the shoulder makes it all worth while. As customary, I returned to my setup, gave a hearty and loud thank you to the maker of such a fine bird and eased back in nice relaxed frame of mine, no more lonesome ornery, or mean. Yeehi. PeaEye died fine with a 9.5 inch red beard, 1 inch needles, and weighed out at 20.07 pounds.