Column – The turkeys can't resist meIt is officially that time of year again. This is about the time I usually fall into a mild form of seasonal affective disorder. It’s nothing too serious.
By: Eric Morken, Alexandria Echo Press
It is officially that time of year again.
This is about the time I usually fall into a mild form of seasonal affective disorder. It’s nothing too serious.
It’s just that every time the pheasant and bow hunting season ends, I kind of lose my luster. Luckily for me, the promise of turkeys gobbling in the spring gives me something to look forward to.
I became addicted to turkey hunting two years ago when a friend of mine got drawn for a license in Minnesota. It was the end of January and our new obsession took us all the way through April.
My buddy shot his first turkey that spring because we were in the right place at the right time after a thunderstorm.
Last winter, I decided to commit myself to the sport in the months leading up to a trip out to Wyoming. I bought an assortment of diaphragm calls and locator calls. And what would a turkey hunting collection be without picking up a couple DVDs to get the blood flowing?
I lived for the days my two roommates would leave me home alone so I could slip in my Drury Outdoors’ Longbeard Madness 13 DVD. It was nice being able to go crazy on my Primos mouth calls with no one there to judge me.
I was committed to being good and not lucky last spring. All my preparation paid off with my first turkey on our hunt in Wyoming. Three friends and I drove overnight from Fargo to Hewlett, a tiny town near Devils Tower.
We were greeted on the 3,000-acre ranch we were hunting by plenty of strutting toms. We chased them up and down the canyons and through the pines that first morning until they disappeared into the hills.
That evening, the gobbles of roosting toms echoed all over the ranch. I used my crow call to locate a tom on the ridge closest to me as the sun went down on our first day.
We slipped in before sunrise the following morning. A few tree yelps on my slate call was all it took to get him to come up over the ridge. He came into sight about 20 yards away from me. When he got to 15 yards he let out his last gobble before I dropped him in his tracks.
All four of us took home our first spring toms on that trip. Those lonely nights spent alone practicing my turkey calls paid off.
It is about time I break out my Longbeard Madness DVD and my mouth calls again. Sure, it’s a weird way to spend an evening, but those turkeys cannot resist me come spring.
“It’s Our Turn” is a weekly column that rotates among members of the Echo Press editorial staff.