Tale of the Hunt

MISSOURI CHALLENGES

The rain came down at a steady pace as my life long hunting partner, Stew, stared out the window of his house and asked if I wanted eggs for breakfast. It had been over four years since I had matched wits with the elusive Missouri Gobblers. I had finally made it back for the opener in the spring of 1996 but the rainy weather was forcing me to wait even longer. As I finished my breakfast, I heard Stew say, “I think it’s letting up.” I peered out the window only to find a miserably wet field and rain still pouring from the sky. I was used to the much dryer climate of Southern Idaho and it appeared to me that it was going to rain for the whole two weeks I was planning on hunting. Stew pointed out a trace of blue in the sky and insisted on loading our gear and heading out as soon breakfast was over. I followed his lead but was somewhat hesitant due to the weather and the fact that it was already getting late in the morning. From my past experience with long bearded gobblers, it’s always a good practice to be in the field at first light.

By the time we reached our hunting spot it was after 10:00 am. Stew and I found a suitable ambush site and set up. The gobblers were completely silent at this point but the rain had stopped. Only a few minutes had passed and then I heard the majestic gobble of an ole Tom sounding off in the distance. I stood up and listened intently. He pierced the silence once more with another gobble and I motion for Stew to come towards me. We moved in the direction of the distant gobbles and just as we were getting a bead on the ole bird, he shut up. My yelps, putts, and purrs seemed to be falling on deaf ears. Stew positioned himself in front and to the side of me about 30 yards away. Time passed slowly and the gobbler stayed silent. About 30 minutes later Stew motioned to me asking if we should move. I gave him the “stay put” sign and we continued waiting. Another 20 minutes passed and I saw movement up in front of Stew. A hen made her way towards us. She walked right pass Stew at 10 yards and when she made eye contact with me at 15 yards she decided to move out. We both watched and admired as she made her unsure get-away.

Another 15 minutes passed and finally an ole Tom sounded off. This time he wasn’t too far. I motioned for Stew to come to me. We stood and listened together in an effort to come up with a successful plan. All at once, every bird in Missouri sounded off (Okay, maybe just the ones in the southern half). We listened to 3 or 4 different birds gobble, all of which were fairly close.

We hastily made our way in the direction of a bird only to find we had misjudged the distance. As we stood listening to several different gobblers sounding off, one alerted and flushed only yards away. We had gotten too close. Still having plenty of birds around we moved to a small point and set-up shop directly between two birds that were sounding off every few seconds. My yelps were answered immediately. Stew and I were about 20 yards apart facing each other. I was watching his back and he mine. We sat listening to these two birds going at it for about 20 minutes when Stew gave me the sign that he could see a bird behind me. I acknowledged him and held tight. The gobbler behind Stew kept sounding off and then I heard a hen calling to him. It had been almost 15 minutes since Stew first saw the gobbler behind me and it hadn’t moved towards us yet. Little did I know that Stew was watching TWO old long beards behind me. I kept looking over at Stew and could tell by his expressions that he could still see the birds. My yelps weren’t bringing them in. During this waiting process I had been listening to the hen doing some cutting so I decided to start chatting with her. I let out a cackle and then cut with her a couple of times. The gobblers behind me answered immediately. Love was in the air.

I continued to focus on using a cutting call with the hen. Stew was still holding his gun on point and his eyes were affixed on the birds behind me. Normally seeing Stew in this position would cause my heart to skip and sputter but he had been like this for over 30 minutes. I was intently listening to the hen and anticipating my next call when Stew rattled the timber with a blast from his Remington 1100. I almost jumped out of my pants. As I turned towards the direction in which he was shooting I saw the glimpse of a long beard running for the high county. Stew’s 1100 echoed throughout the timber again. Then I spotted a second gobbler trying to make his get-away over a little knoll. I shoulder my 1100 and squeezed the trigger. The gobbler rolled down the hill, gathered his wits, and started running again. I pelted him once more and ran towards him. When I stopped, I heard the leaves rustle over to my left. I turned and saw the bird that Stew and shot moments earlier. I yelled for Stew to get a handle on my bird and I would go etrieve his bird. Stew limped towards my bird as his leg had gotten cramped from the long spell of sitting perfectly still. Moment’s later Stew placed my bird beside his and we shook hands and congratulated one another. One bird weighed in at 20 pounds and the other 21.

Stew and I walked out of the woods very slowly that morning, stopping numerous times to admire and reflect on the morning’s hunt. We stood in silence at times knowing moments such as these are far and few between. By the way, thanks Stew, for insisting we go out after breakfast.