I have been an avid hunter of small game from the time I first went hunting with my Dad and three older brother at the ripe age of six. However, my first encounter with a bunny wasn’t until I had reached the age of eight. Since then, no one could hold me back from hunting with the “Weber Gang”.

The “gang” included: Dad, Lee, Glenn and Howie. Although it wasn’t always possible for all of us to be a field at the same time, each season saw the “Gang” together for at least several wonderful days, in pursuit of the thrill and excitement of the hunt.

Back home in Garfield Heights, Ohio, we hunted the surrounding territory for bunnies and squirrel figuring we were fortunate to get a crack at a ring-neck or two during the season.

A lot of years past and in July 1961, I moved to a little farm located south of Albion, Pa with my wife June and our two sons, Lloyd and Russ. Lloyd was ten and Russ was three years old at that time. I found a virtual hunter’s paradise in our new home area. Grouse, ring-neck, and squirrel were everywhere.

That first small game season was fantastic. On the heels of the small-game season, Pa has the opening of Big-game season. Now I was faced with a totally new type of hunting: the white-tailed deer. Lloyd wasn’t old enough to carry a gun in Pa at that time, so he just tagged along with me that first day of Antlered Deer season. We saw white tails and more white tails, but unfortunately that is all we did see. It seemed as though every deer was a ghost in the thickets and slashing that surrounded our farm.

Dad had passed away in 1956, but two of my brothers came out for some of the best hunting any of us could have imagined when we were kids. Glenn’s wife, Grace, hunting with us as one of the “Gang” and I might add, she could and still can keep up with the best of field-hunters. In the fall of 1967, following the small-game season, Howie insisted on leaving his 20 gauge J.C. Higgins bold action for me to use in the big game season. After a little target practice with the rifle slugs, I was convinced it was a lot better than my 16 gauge single. I could place a slug into the center of a two gallon oil can at 75 yards. Ironically, Howie would only hunt with the “Weber Gang” the following two seasons, as he was stricken with an incurable disease in 1968 that would prevent him from going into the fields after the 1969 season.

It wasn’t until the big game season of 1967, that I finally got my first shot at an antlered deer. Lloyd and I teamed up and I got myself a respectable four point with a running shot at 60 yards in a red maple thicket from Howie’s gun.

Deer hunting for me had been a lot of work without much luck, but I found myself chomping at the bit for that first day of each deer season, always imagining a trophy rack hanging on a wall of our house, but only finding consolation in looking at that four point rack I mounted on a board back in 1967. Lloyd had collected two deer since I had gotten mine, one was a beautiful six point that he and the latest member of the “Weber Gang”, Russ, teamed up on. Russ did the tracking and Lloyd collected the trophy.

The fall of 1975, saw the closing of small game season approaching and big game season coming on but after going scoreless in chasing those “wily devils” through another cold and what now seemed inevitably, fruitless deer season. Lloyd and Russ kept trying to get me excited again by every trick they could think of. I heard stories of our past hunts that even I had forgotten. I finally agreed, although I did so reluctantly, to go with them for a few hours on opening day. Glen had brought out a .257 Roberts for me to use, and Russ was going to use the 20 ga., that Howie gave to me after he could no longer hunt with us and Lloyd would be hunting with his 35 cal. carbine. Glenn and Grace would be using a 35 cal carbine and a .308 pump, respectfully.

June, as usual, had a house full of people for the weekend. There was Lloyd and his wife, Lyn, daughter Michelle, Russ, Glenn, Grace, and of course June and me. The “Weber Gang” was together and the tales of yore were spinning from everyone. June recalled those days when we’d have the farm house filled with relatives and friends for some of the happiest days of our lives. And of course, the thoughts of those who are no longer with us, still remains vividly in our memory and hearts. Glenn as usual was masterminding the game-plan for Monday morning, but it seemed as though none of us quite agreed with where we should hunt. For one thing, the weather was fair, and with no snow for tracking we might do better just taking stands. We finally agreed to hunt at each ones own little “hot spot” for the first half of the day, then possibly putting on a silent drive for the latter part of the day. Sunday saw the Webers in church thanking our God for everything we can behold, and worshipping him in spirit and in truth. That afternoon, I recounted many of the blessings our family has received and what a wonderful heritage we have in this great country of ours. Each one of us agreed that we are grateful and proud to be Americans.

Getting together the paraphanalia for the hunt generally takes place late Sunday evening. Last minute instructions on safety and proper sportsmanship became the topic over coffee and a variety of “goodies” that June had bake the day before. Somehow, I still couldn’t get myself fully involved with the preparations as I normally would have and I recall telling Lloyd and Russ to call their buddies in Springboro so they could combine themselves into a bigger hunting party. I tried to convince them that I had finally lost all interest in deer hunting, but to no avail, I recanted and said I’d go with them, but that if they met their buddies in the field, they could still go on without me.

Monday morning finally came with the sound of the alarm clock at 5:30am. I got up but I felt like sleeping in. Russ was up and raring to go. Breakfast was coffee, eggs, and bacon for Russ and Glenn, Grace, and I had bacon, pancakes and coffee. June stayed in bed, worn out from listening to all the planning and instructions that were hashed and rehashed by all the nimrods the night before. Lloyd, Lyn and Michelle had gone to their own home Sunday night. Russ and I would pick Lloyd up at 6:15am, then drive a short distance and walk into a square where some pretty fair “racks” had been spotted. Well, at 6:15am, I was still sipping coffee. I then went upstairs to tell June where we would be and as usual, June reminded me to watch out for the boys and to be sure I had my compass and whistle. With a parting kiss, she said “get a big buck honey!” Glenn and Grace had already taken off for the “hot spot” in Jumbo woods. Russ and I had a 10 minute drive to Lloyd’s house and it was already 6:30am. We picked up Lloyd before 6:40am and reached our destination at 6:45am. Lloyd and Russ kept reminding me as we walked into the square, that we should have been on our stands before 6:30. I know they were right, but you can’t wish time back, so I told them to start concentrating on walking softer and stop talking so that we wouldn’t spook a big buck. About a quarter mile into the square, Lloyd broke off from us and took his stand. Russ and I continued on to the stands that we had chosen. Just before getting there, I asked Russ if he’d rather have the .257. Russ had broken his elbow while playing football and still had his left arm in a cast, so I thought he might have a better chance with the .257 as his stand was in an open field, and he could take more time in steadying himself for a long shot. He agreed and I took the 20 gauge. Somehow, I felt a quiet confidence as my fingers surveyed the action and grip of “Howie’s gun”.

The stand I took was on the edge of a long narrow meadow with scrub trees to the south, woods to the east, a red maple thicket that ran into a valley with large trees to the north. To the west was a narrow strip of saplings, grapevines, and a few hemlock. A beaten path leading from where I stood to the maple thicket and then into the valley was convincing proof that we were in buck territory. Russ went about 300 yards farther to the west into a mowed meadow where he had spotted a trophy rack the year before. Any buck crossing that field would give Russ a clear shot in any direction. Now it was a matter of watch and wait.

The weather was still fair, but I could feel the temperature starting to skid downward. The heavy clouds indicated that we would be in for some snow or possibly a cold rain. I looked at my watch and found it was just 7:30am. “Oh brother”, I hoped the boys would soon get cold enough to want to start walking, as I’m no one to stay in one place for any length of time, especially when I start getting chilled. To make matters worse, the north west wind was gusty. I kept looking in the direction of that maple thicket, envisioning a buck coming up out of the valley and straight at me. I also thought of how good it would be to have a hot cup of coffee, but I knew I’d have to wait for that, as Russ and Lloyd were carrying the thermoses.

Along about 8:00am, I saw a hunter at the east end of the field about 500 yards from me, crossing through the thicket and apparently continuing on into the valley. “Good”, if some of the hunters begin to move, also the deer would soon be moving. I looked at my right and saw Larry and Bruce, Lloyd and Russ’s buddies, walking toward me from the south. The cold wind made them decide to start walking. They saw me and came to my stand. They hadn’t seen a deer either but Larry said he had seen a lot of beds and “buck rubs” over in the maple thicket the Saturday before when he was grouse hunting. Apparently they were heading there till they saw me, but then decided to head back into the scrub tree area to the south and possibly get something moving toward Lloyd. They had barely faded into the brush when Russ came stomping up toward me. I could tell by his beat-red face that the open field stand was more than he wanted to take, even for a chance of bagging a trophy. His first words were “Did you see anything?’ I replied “no”, but then I told him what Larry had said about seeing those “buck rubs” in the maple thicket. Russ told me he had three deer in range on his stand but all were bare headed as usual.

I had just started to say we should locate Lloyd and possible organize a silent drive when Lloyd came into view. After exchanging questions of what was seen, we decided to have a cup of hot coffee and talk over our next move, as Lloyd had nothing to say that would cause us to get excited over any drive. Perhaps we should go into another square or locate Glenn and Grace over in “Jumbo”. I told Lloyd that Larry and Bruce had headed toward his first stand but their report to me had been just as negative as ours, except, no one has pushed that little maple thicket over next to the Big Valley and Larry had seen a lot of good “buck signs”. Lloyds eyes lit up, “we’ll have that coffee later, Dad, you wait right here, Russ you go to the edge of the valley, and I’ll walk down the meadow, and cut into the thicket at the east end, and push toward you and Russ”, he quickly ordered. “Hold on there”, I said, “I’ve got the shotgun and if any buck is bounced in that thicket, neither one of you would have as much advantage as I for a quick short shot”. I told Lloyd to walk to the edge of the valley and step back into the cover of a big old hemlock. From that point, he could cover the hillside and the thicket with his 35 carbine. Russ would stay right where I had stood and cover the entire length of the mowed meadow. Suddenly, I felt a warm surge of excitement as I started down the meadow, conjuring in my mind the thoughts of jumping a “Big Old Buck”.

As I started into the edge of the thicket, I held my gun at the ready position. I felt certain there would be a buck in there. Each step was more carefully placed than the last. I thought of how Glenn had taught me as a boy to walk softly. He used to tell me to feel for the twigs with my feet. Somehow, I could hear him telling me not to snap a twig. I know it doesn’t seem possible when you’re wearing hunting boots, but I sure did “feel” for those twigs that are one of nature’s early warning systems for her creatures. I started down the thicket in a zigzag pattern, going right to the edge of the valley and then back to the edge of the meadow. Each time I probably covered a length of 50 yards.

As I neared the middle of the thicket, I saw a “buck rub” on a small maple tree. The tender bark had been shredded from the four inch base, and up into its branches. “Wow, must be a big one”, I thought. As I covered each section of the thicket I saw “buck rubs” and beds on each pass. A feeling of expectancy welled up within me. I kept looking and actually thinking I’d jump a buck at any second. On the last pass that would take me to the very edge of the thicket, I suddenly realized that all my expectations were nothing more than a wild imagination. I’d be glad to complete the “drive” and get that overdue hot cup of coffee. I cradled “Howies Gun”, and as I stepped to within five feet of the north end south deer trail, a ray of the sun broke through the thicket cloud cover. The ray seemed to be more brilliant than normal as it beamed down just to the right of me. I looked over toward the stand I had told Lloyd to take, but he was in the back of a big hemlock and I couldn’t see him. I then looked to my left and I could see Russ had already started walking in my direction. I could tell he was just as anxious for that coffee as I was. I turned again to my right and just as I was opening my mouth to call Lloyd to join us, my eyes fastened onto a sight I’ll live with the rest of my days. Not more than 25 yards from me was the biggest buck I’d ever seen, alive or dead. He was absolutely magnificent. The sun beam was focused on him as though he were an actor on center stage. Just as suddenly, as I saw him, he also saw me. That mighty buck literally hunched down on his back side and with a fantastic burst of power, he was in mid air sailing through the upper branches of the maple saplings and heading away from me to my right.
I couldn’t figure why Lloyd didn’t shoot as I knew Lloyd must have seen him. I instinctively pulled the shot gun from my left arm and swung on him, but I found myself pushing at the safety. My 20 gauge pump that I used for small game hunting, has a push type safety. In less than a split second, I realized that I had to pull the safety back. By this time, the buck was into his second jump. The sun beams exposed his great figure, and as he seemed to glide in midair, I followed through pulling up toward his front shoulder and squeezed the trigger. I caught a quick glimpse of white and then, nothing!! I peered in literal amazement and almost stunned shock through the dense saplings. I thought I could hear a slight rustling of leaves, but that sound faded quickly. Russ came running up just as I ejected the spent shell. “What did you shoot at” he yelled. “The biggest deer I’d ever seen Russ”. I answered quietly, as my eyes kept searching through those saplings for a glimpse of that buck. I felt a chill come over me as I suddenly realized, there would be no chance of tracking him unless he let out a blood trail. I also remembered that other hunter was in the valley just ahead of where I’d last seen that “mighty buck”. I expected to hear a shot at any moment that would tell me how close I had come to getting a trophy of a lifetime. Although a mere thirty seconds or so had passed since I had fired, an eternity of time passed in my mind’s eye. Suddenly, Lloyd came running toward us. “Who shot?” he literally screamed. “I did Lloyd”, I said. “That is the largest rack I’d ever seen.” “Did you hit him?”, Lloyd cried out. “I think so, but I’m not sure. I had the gun right on him but I can’t be sure if I hit him.” Perhaps, I was in too much shock, but later the boys told me I was calm and quiet while all of this was going on. As I bent down to retrieve that empty shell, Lloyd said, “Aren’t you even going to see if you got him?” I responded quickly, “Yeah, let’s see if there’s blood or hair where I had shot”.

Before I even moved Lloyd cut through the saplings like a hound on a bunny trail, with Russ right on his heels. “You got him!! There he is. Wow, what a rack,” yelled Lloyd. “He’s got eleven points, twelve counting the stub where a brow point is busted off”, yelled Russ. I finally managed to reach the scene. There he was, his body had done a half somersault over the edge of the hill and landed on a short terrace that had hidden him from my view through the saplings. He was paralyzed from a broken spine, as the slug had ripped out a vertebrae just back of the shoulder area. I placed another shot into the base of his neck to finish him. In a matter of less than a minute, hunters from every direction converged on us. As I filled out my big game tag, Lloyd proceeded with the field dressing, while Russ held conversation with everyone present. I recall one hunter telling Russ about spotting an even bigger rack than I had gotten. I think he was trying to convince himself that another trophy was still available so as to salt his imagination for the remaining days of the deer season. Lloyd related to us his view of the deer just prior to my seeing him. That buck wasn’t jumped from the thicket. Instead he had walked nonchalantly up the hill from the valley floor and into the north west corner of the thicket, nipping as he went, at a sapling bug within twenty yards of Lloyd. Lloyd waited for a clear shot, because the buck was coming from Lloyd’s left and would give him a broadside view. He felt no need for a chance shot through the thick saplings. As the buck took that one last step into plain view, Lloyd placed his bead on the lower neck and was just about to squeeze the trigger, when the buck whirled and literally sailed out of view. In retrospect, I know Lloyd wished he’d have shot sooner, as a .35 Remington is a fine brush cartridge and undoubtedly would have found the mark. But that’s the way it was and there’s usually no second chance when it comes to a trophy white tail buck.

Pandemonium broke out when I got him home. The “Weber Gang” went over all the details of the hunt. Glenn called him a real “Buster”.

June told me as soon as she saw him, that I had to have his head mounted. Neighbors, friends, and a lot of people we didn’t know, came to see that “mighty buck”. Everyone seemed to have that look of astonishment, sprinkled with a little touch of envy as they viewed him. Now I know that bigger racks have been taken, and I’m sure that somewhere out in the Pennsylvania hills there’s an even bigger rack waiting for some fortunate hunter, but there certainly is no other buck quite the same as mine. Every time I look at the mount, the greatest thrill of my life is stirred up fresh in my memory. Lloyd and Russ can be sure that if the Lord wills it, their dad won’t have to be coaxed to go hunting for deer this coming fall. It feels good to hunt with those you love. I hope parents all over this country will take a tip from me, “Never give up that part of your American Heritage that gives us the right to bear arms. Teach your sons and daughters by example, the code of good sportsmanship that includes good morals, high character, honor, and respect for others and a love for God and for Country.”

Every hunting trip is comprised of three distinct stages. In order they are: contemplation, preparation and reality. Like most people who enjoy hunting, I have discovered that often there is more pleasure in contemplating a hunting trip than actually going on one. That is because the act of contemplating a hunting trip is purely a mental exercise and nothing ever goes wrong. As you close your eyes and imagine yourself and your hunting buddies camped near your favorite hunting spot, everything is perfect. A mellow, euphoric haze envelops you. The weather is never too cold or too hot. It never rains. The campfire is always just right. Getting camp set up goes smoothly and nothing that you need is ever left behind. Then too, from contemplation you always come home with a record buck. Because it’s so pleasant, some hunters even specialize in contemplation to the complete exclusion of the other two stages.

I know at least one hunter who has become so proficient at contemplation that he hasn’t spent a day in the woods in over twenty years. But the perfection found in contemplation only takes place in your mind’s eye. It is a sweet and beguiling lie. The preparation for, and the reality of most of the hunting trips that I have taken stand in stark contrast to pre-trip contemplation.

After a deer-hunting trip has been properly contemplated the second stage, preparation, becomes necessary. The object of preparation is to gather and pack everything that you will need while deer hunting. But there is pain. Finding the gear and packing it creates most of the pain that this stage generates, although there also can be a certain amount of pain associated with trying to convince your boss that you need an extra couple of days off. Frequently, when you fail to remember everything that you should take, disaster follows in the third stage of the hunting trip, reality.

It has been my experience that reality usually doesn’t even come close to matching the euphoria generated by stage one. The reality portion of a hunting trip can frighten and even discourage the uninitiated; I can illustrate by sharing my wife’s case. Her first hunting trip with me was her last. She too ventured forth wrapped in that mellow, euphoric haze that develops during contemplation only to find the rigors of outdoor life more than she could bear. She was a novice and even though I tried to help her, she just didn’t execute the “remembering everything” activity in stage two very well. She seemed to blame me for not remembering to bring enough blankets, for forgetting the dish soap and toilet paper, and for not bringing any mosquito repellent.

She wasn’t very gracious about the initiation process either. I tried to explain to her that doing camp chores was just part of the initiation and on the next trip she might have time to go hunting too, but she never seemed to understand. We were camped in the mountains about forty miles south of Rawlins, Wyoming. I thought that she might enjoy the fresh air and scenery. Instead, she complained incessantly. She complained about washing dishes in the stream, tending the fire, chopping wood, cooking, being cold in the mornings and fighting mosquitoes in the evenings after it had warmed. For some reason she insisted on bathing every day, then complained about the ice-cold water she had to use.

Because my wife’s lack of understanding of the outdoor life became apparent early in our relationship, I knew it would be a major obstacle to the longevity of our marriage. Naturally, I turned to others who shared my enthusiasm for the out-of-doors for support and companionship. That’s where my hunting partner Charlie comes in. Charlie is well acquainted with all three stages of a hunting trip and he understands that often there is considerable disparity between the stages of contemplation and reality. But even Charlie sometimes seems to forget just how big that disparity can be. The more divergent that the stages of contemplation and reality become, the crankier Charlie gets. I’ll show you what I mean. Here are a few of the details of our last hunting expedition.

As is proper and customary it began with stage one, contemplation. The very best contemplation occurs at a kitchen table over a hot cup of coffee, or in a cozy den in front of a crackling fire with a sullen gray sky spitting snow past your window. It was early last autumn and the conditions were perfect. As I recall, I began the conversation while leaning back in my recliner and toasting my stocking feet in front of the hearth.

“Gee Charlie, we ought to take two or three days at the first of gun season and run up to Park County. I hear the deer are really lousy up there this year.”

Being a veteran outdoorsman himself, Charlie, who was also leaning back and toasting his stocking feet, was quick to pick up on my lead, “Yeah, there’s a monster buck up there I’d like to get a crack at. I could sure use some venison in my freezer too, but do you think three days will be enough? I mean…we’ll want to kick back for awhile and just unwind, won’t we?”

Then I said, “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll need a day to set up and scout the area. If we get there early enough we can pitch camp, then catch a few bluegill for supper. Man! I love fish fried over an open fire.”

At that point, contemplation was gaining momentum. It was bearing down on Charlie and me like a love-struck buck homing in on his sweety. Experienced hunters and campers like Charlie and me understand the importance of giving way to the pleasant flood of mental pictures that washes through our minds during the first stage.

Charlie squeezed shut his eyes as he spoke, “Mmmm, there’s nothing better than fried bluegill with hot beans and biscuits fixed in an iron skillet. I can almost smell that campfire now. It’s my turn to bring the food.”

Stage two, preparation, began in this manner. It was 4:00 A.M. When the alarm went off, I sprang from bed. Well, “sprang” may not be precisely the word that should be used here. The truth of the matter is that when I failed to react to the alarm in a timely fashion, my wife planted both of her feet firmly in the middle of my back and abruptly straightened her legs. My hasty egress from the bed elicited an involuntary squeal from me that must have sounded like a war cry because Fanny, the family schnauzer attacked, thinking I presume that WWIII had been declared and I was the first of the Russian shock troopers to land. After signing a truce with our dog, I hissed at my wife, “What’d ya do that for?”

“You’re going hunting, remember?” she mumbled without opening an eye. As she rolled over and pulled the covers around her shoulders she said sleepily, “Have a good time and turn off the alarm.”

Not wishing to disturb her any further, I fumbled in the darkness for my clothes and the other necessary items that I had laid next to the bed the night before. In the process of feeling for my hunting boots with my feet, I stepped on Fanny again. She immediately assumed that I had intentionally broken our truce and retaliated. A man with a nature more timid than mine, or perhaps a man who is a bit more sensitive to the omens, would have considered the early morning events as a portend of even worse things to come and abandoned the expedition while yet a few good hours of sack time remained. However, I am, as my wife has so often reminded me, not a man who is particularly sensitive to anything or prone to needless worry. With determination that even a pit bull would have admired, I forged ahead.

I very carefully located the remainder of my paraphernalia and, after stubbing my little toe on the bedpost, hopped to the kitchen. I arranged my gear for a quick departure then made a pot of coffee. Charlie was supposed to pick me up at 5:00 A.M. and I didn’t want to hold us up.

It was 7:30 A.M. when Charlie pulled into my driveway. I downed the last of the fresh pot coffee that I had brewed over two hours before and limped out to his old F100. “Where have you been? You said you’d be here by five.”

Charlie seemed a little defensive. “I know I said five…Crimo-nit-ly, it looks like you’d give a fella a little leeway. How come you’re limpin’ anyway?”

“You could call it an old war injury,” I grumbled.

As we drove north to Park County, my mood lightened, but Charlie’s seemed to darken.

“What do you mean you have to stop again? Crimo-nit-ly! This is the fourth time. At this rate, we won’t get there ’til dark.”
“Well, if you’d have picked me up on time, I wouldn’t have drunk a whole pot of coffee now would I? The way I see it, it’s all your fault.”

I didn’t really need to stop the fourth and fifth times, it’s just that when Charlie starts to whine I can never bring myself to let up. I think it’s my killer instinct that makes me do that, though Charlie has a whole different theory. It’s a pretty crude theory too. I’m not sure, but I could have sworn that he was pounding his head on the steering wheel as I entered the gas station the last time.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at our favorite campsite. We were set up in less than an hour. It was when we tried to hook a few bluegills for our supper that the euphoric haze of stage one began to burn away.

“Crimo-nit-ly!” Charlie said. “It’s almost dark and I haven’t had even one nibble. My fingers are getting cold too.” He surveyed the leaden sky. “Kinda looks like it could snow, don’t it?”

“Let’s go back to camp,” I suggested, “we can fry some bacon and eggs for supper.”

A light snow covered the ground before we got back.

After carefully laying the fire, Charlie stretched out his hand. “Give me a match.”

“I don’t have any matches. You were supposed to bring the matches.”

“Me? Why was I supposed to bring the matches?” Charlie’s voice had raised half an octave.

“Because whoever brings the food is supposed to bring them. That’s why.”

“That’s a stupid rule, ” Charlie snorted, “who made that one up?”

“You did,” I said smugly. “You made up that rule the last time we forgot to bring matches.”

Charlie ignored my deadly verbal thrust. “Crimo-nit-ly! How are we going to build a fire without matches?”

Charlie was whining again, but this time I was sharing his pain and I thought I would control my killer instinct. Since he brought the food I knew that he would have only two items that could be consumed without cooking and the prospect of eating a can of sardines in mustard sauce with cold Beanie-Weanies on the side made me shudder. I remembered the last time we forgot matches and I ate that concoction. I had a terrible nightmare. Charlie claims my moaning screams still haunt his dreams and left him with a deep and abiding fear of the dark. I think he was a little embarrassed too, although he still insists the only reason he screamed was to help me frighten off the sasquatch I had seen. When I asked Charlie what made him think I’d seen a sasquatch, he said that when my screams woke him, he could see nothing in the darkness. But he got a whiff of the pungent, musty odor that permeated our tent, and immediately concluded that a sasquatch was nearby so he deemed it prudent to help me scare it away.

The temperature was dropping steadily and the prospect of spending a long, cold evening in the darkness caused an abiding funk to settle over both of us. Now, it was certain. The warm, euphoric haze of stage one was nearly gone. Then, I brightened.

“Hey, I have a survival kit in my gear. There’s a little block of magnesium, a flint and a piece of steel in it. We can start a fire with that.”

“Magnesium?” Charlie looked puzzled, “What’s magnesium?”

Charlie watched as I shaved off at least a fourth of the magnesium block letting the shavings drop into the bed of very dry grass and twigs that he had so carefully prepared. I knew a quarter of the block was excessive, but I was taking no chances. Next, I struck the flint on the steel trying to aim the sparks at the pile of magnesium shavings. My sparks missed the magnesium, but the dry grass around it began to smolder. Upon seeing the wisps of smoke, Charlie dropped to his hands and knees. Holding his face close to the glowing grass, he blew gently.

“Charlie, I wouldn’t.”

A tiny flame flickered to life, but before Charlie could withdraw the tiny flame ignited the magnesium. The sudden, brilliant burst of light in the gathering gloom temporarily blinded me so I can’t swear to what happened next. But when my vision returned, Charlie was hopping around the campsite, his full beard trailing smoke. And he was shouting some pretty vulgar oaths. I was amazed at the extent of his vocabulary. He had definitely graduated from “crimo-nit-ly” to the big-time. For a fleeting instant, I considered tackling him to keep him from running wildly through the trees and perhaps starting a major forest fire. However, my pragmatic nature emerged; I opted to feed tender to the fledgling flames. I attributed the aspersions that Charlie cast on me, and for that matter on my mother and several of my ancestors, to the excitement of the moment and decided not to hold a grudge.

Later, as I fried our bacon and eggs, I tried to assure him that very short beards and very short eyebrows were the “in” thing, but Charlie seemed a little sullen and distant the rest of the evening. Other than a couple of times when he muttered something about dangerous substances and nitwits not mixing, he wasn’t much inclined to communicate. In fact, he didn’t seem much like himself the rest of the trip.

Two long, hard, cold and fruitless days of hunting passed. We saw plenty of deer sign, but nary a buck. I remained optimistic, but Charlie’s general outlook on life continued to decay. It was the morning of the third day that he insisted on going home. I don’t think it was the magnesium incident, the forgotten toilet paper or even my snoring that drove him over the edge. It may have been the monster buck tracks we found in the snow around our campfire that morning, but more than likely it was the monster buck droppings that Charlie stuck his hand in as he crawled from the tent. He seemed to think the deer was trying to make some sort of statement. Charlie can be pretty sensitive sometimes.

Are you a boy who wants to start hunting like your mom or dad? This is what you should do buy an airgun.It is very good practice but make sure ur 12 or older. An airgun is a type of gun but needs batteries and does not need a license. It is very good practice. And cannot do much dammage. It wont even hurt a bird. Make sure to ask your parents first.
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Do you hunt public land? Has this happened to you?

You’re hunting your favorite spot high up in a ravine. Normally this is a productive area but for a couple of days now it seems like the elk have just vanished. They were here last year, you tell yourself. What’s going on?

As you glass down toward a neighboring ranch, you see a cowboy riding the inside of the fence line. At the edge of a small clearing he stops. This is the middle of bow season, but you watch in horror as he unlimbers a lever action rifle from the scabbard and points downhill. He doesn’t seem to be aiming at anything particular when the gun roars!

You can’t tell for sure, but in the returning echo, it sounds like the rattle of hooves scattering through the ravine and fading away down into the ranch.

If you’ve ever hunted on the public side of a private fence, you know what I’m getting at. How many times have you heard somebody say they heard somebody else say they heard from their uncle that a rancher was rounding up elk? Or maybe you’ve seen what I described above and wondered if those were just cattle running through the trees, or a herd of elk.

Here in Colorado, the Division Of Wildlife is trying to address the HOT topic — and frequent complaint — of “animal herding”.

By herding, they mean land owners either preventing elk from leaving private property or actively pushing them from public to private property.

As someone who has hunted and guided on both public and private lands, this is an issue I’ve dealt with a lot — from BOTH sides of the fence.

In my upcoming book, “Do-It-Yourself Elk Hunting”, I’ll talk in detail about specific strategies you should have in place before this kind of thing ruins your hunt. But let’s just take a step back from the trees for a minute and look at the whole forest.

First of all, the Division Of Wildlife is in a no-win situation. They are already stretched to the limit during hunting seasons. Most of the complaints they get like this don’t have enough evidence to prosecute successfully.

Second, there is no law on the books that specifically addresses herding. Generally it falls under the prohibition of “harassing wildlife”. However, there is nothing illegal about a landowner patrolling his fence or property line. If he happens to pass by a herd of elk in the process, that simply does not constitute harassment. You’re going to have a tough time proving somebody was herding elk and not just shooting at a grouse.

Third, every public land hunter — me included — has gazed longingly over a fence, either seeing or imagining a thousand elk on the other side. And of course you just know they’re standing there immovable, waiting to be shot like fish in a barrel by hunters who paid $3,000 a head.

Now I’m not saying that can’t or doesn’t happen.

But let’s suppose you do stumble across an incident like I described above. It sticks in your craw and must be the reason you’re not seeing elk.

What are your options? I hope you’re smart enough not to take matters in your own hands. Tangling with a pistol-packing cowhand equipped with a horse, a coil of rope, and a head full of Louis L’Amour stories is a bad idea!

You could get mad, drive to town, call the DOW and fill out a report. If you witness a flagrant violation, by all means go ahead. It’s even better if you had the presence of mind to fish out your camera and take a picture or video.

But look at your hole card. How much time have you got? Are the elk really all inside that fence? If you’re not finding elk, you’ve got a lot of work to do and very little time to get it done. Choose your priorities and use of time carefully.

Let me tell you, discouragement is your worst enemy on an elk hunt! When things aren’t going your way, there’s no more welcome friend than a good excuse. But excuses don’t put meat in the freezer — EVER.

Elk hunting is hard enough without fighting battles you probably won’t win. Hunting season is too short to spend time doing anything besides making boot tracks through the woods where the elk are. You don’t have time to fix all the reasons why elk aren’t where you want them to be.

My advice? Let it go. I promise you, the elk are not all on private land — at least not here in Colorado. Put your backup plan in action and get on with your hunt.

You do have a backup plan, right?

The answer to this is of course you are. And if they are not, they are aware of your presence. All the pre scouting and work to get your stand just perfect, might well be all for nothing. Have you ever been on your way to your stand and see tails fleeing or hear deer snorting? Sure you have, we all have. Now you get in your stand and your confidence and excitement level is not the same as when you started out. After sitting awhile with out seeing a deer you start to doubt your chances and abandon your stand. If this sounds familiar your not alone. This is something all deer hunters face and no sure fire solution. I have taken many hunters to a stand over the years as well as gone to a few stands myself. I have learned some things about how to increase your odds of the deer not knowing your in your stand. There are many products on the market that help hunters get deer to come within site, scents, calls, camo you name it it is all for the same goal. The problem is if the deer already know your there your in for a long day. Let me tell you about this one occurance I observed, This one stand I was in is at least a half a mile from any road that is solid bush and no clearings, and you could hear the traffic go buy . I had been in the stand about a half hour when this 11 point buck appeared. He was slowly walking and feeding without a care in the world. He could hear the traffic as well and paid no attention to it. Then for some reason a vehicle that I could hear heading down the road, started slowing down and eventually stopped. Now remember this is a half mile away from me with solid timber the whole way. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, the buck lifted his head and totally froze. There was a big broadleaf plant in his mouth and he even stopped chewing. The vehicle eventually strated off again and the farther it went the more relaxed the buck got . The buck eventually fed his way out site. Now you may think that this is nothing new or no big deal but all this took place with the buck only 20 yards from me, he never had a clue I was there. He showed more attention to a sound a half mile away from him, without any concern that I was above him. Now just imagine that vehicle that stopped out at the road was me, and I was on my way to the stand that i was already sitting in. Would that buck be in the area by the time I got to the stand? Would I be able to lure him back out with calls? Of course not , he would already be on to what was going on. Whitetails ( espeacially bucks) are creatures of habit and routine. The plan years ago to get to a stand was use the four wheeler the majority of the way then walk the rest. Makes sence right? wrong. In 1995 a older gentleman from New York was hunting with me. Getting off the four wheeler and starting our walk in the dark was starting to get to much for the hunter. One morning he asked me to take him right to the stand with the four wheeler , I stated that this would spook the deer and to walk in quiet would be best. He then stated that we were probably spooking them more by trying to walk in quiet, he said take me right to the stand but do not turn off the four wheeler or shine a light up to the stand to help him see to get in, once he was in the stand and set up I was then and only then to get outa there. The old fellow killed a good buck at first light that morning, he told me that evening that as soon as I left him he was watching the lights of the four wheeler weave its way back through the bush when two bucks started to spar about 100 yards from him. Now those bucks were probably sparring while we were on are wat in, and seen and heard the four wheeler coming. They simply stopped and watched the four wheeler come and then go and resumed there match. As daylight approached they had no idea the hunter was in the stand. The 11 pointer I watched from the stand that listened to the traffic, I had someone bring me to the stand with the four wheeler that day, once i was in the stand the four wheeler left, eventuallly it got back to the road and i could hear it being loaded in the truck. I heard all of that and so did the deer. If you can get the deer in your area to get accustomed to hearing a four wheeler coming in and going out with out ever being shut off I would bet you see more deer. To the deer when they hear you coming they think trouble is coming, when the four wheeler leaves they think trouble gone. Do not shut the motor off tho , let the deer concentrate on the bike. My trail camera pics also prove this method works, I have had pics of deer looking in the direction that I always approach when I come to exchange the card for the camera and then I get pics of deer right after I have gone. Try it this fall for yourself early in the year start riding into your stand, sit a few minutes with the motor running then leave. The deer will get accustomed to this activity and figure they have you patterened. Have a friend bring you in to your stand when season starts, maybe you can return the favour to your friend. I hope this helps someone get the trophy buck of there dreams…………………….Shane Gulbrandsen www.gulbrandsenoutfitters.com

It was the second Friday of the 2006 Spring Gobbler Season, May 5th; a cool, foggy morning in Greeenbrier County, West Virginia was awaiting us as the alarm clock rang-in the arrival of 4:30 a.m. I would be accompanying a new hunting companion, my fiance’s Father, Dave Keadle. We would be hunting a piece of prime real estate known for lots of wild game, especially long-beards. This hunt marked the first opportunity I had to experience this gently rolling pasture land surrounded by hilly, hardwood hollows. Over a quick bowl of cereal that morning, we discussed plans to set-up before daylight at the edge of a large cattle grazing field. “This field”, Dave said, “is visited by Hens hoping to catch a slow-moving grub or insect for an early morning feast; and strutting Long-Beards hoping to corral a lonesome Hen.” The set-up also provided a great location to listen for the ringing echoes of early morning gobbling.

It was a set-up Dave was very familiar with. The morning before, Thursday morning, as I was preparing for work, my phone rang. It was Dave calling just minutes after ending a successful early morning hunt from this same ambush spot. He proudly spoke of how he ended his two year drought by out-smarting a monarch four year-old Tom that weighed an impressive twenty-pounds, had 1 ¼” spurs, and a 10″ long-beard (see photo). A true trophy for these West Virginia Mountains that frequently experience hard winters. Needless to say, Dave had piqued my interest for the next day’s hunt.

We were greeted that Friday morning to cool temperatures and a slight chance of scattered thunderstorms but that didn’t dampen our enthusiasm as we abandoned the Chevy Blazer for a short hike to our intended set-up. The ambush spot selected, at the edge of the field, consisted of an old Walnut tree with a fallen, leafless tree beside it that would provide a comfortable back rest, good camouflage, and adequate back-drop for concealing us from our intended game. We could see for nearly three-hundred yards in one direction of the field. Obviously, it was a good vantage point for eyeing unsuspecting approaching game evidenced by the presence of several droppings left by a wily coyote around our Walnut tree.

For whatever reason, perhaps it was the dense fog or perhaps Dave’s shotgun blast from the previous day, but the birds weren’t very vocal that morning. Only one squeaky attempt at a gobble from a Jake no doubt, and a couple of faint, distant gobbles up a hollow from the left of our set-up; too far to move on them, we chose to be patient and stay put. The only excitement of the morning came when, due to our heightened sense of anticipation and awareness, we caught a glimpse of something black moving through the thick fog; we both thought for a fleeting moment, “there he is”, only to be disappointed to find a newly born calf moving through the mist.

So, after a couple of fruitless hours on the stand, we concluded that the Long-Beards must be enjoying the company of Hens; perhaps that’s why they weren’t gobbling, we surmised. Besides, it was approaching 8:30 a.m. and the fog hadn’t lifted so, we decided to use the cover of the fog to slip into the woods and re-position ourselves in an area Dave felt a cruising Gobbler may visit, an area he’d experienced some success in prior years. “It was time to make something happen”, Dave suggested and I, being the impatient one, agreed.

But, just as Dave and I were entering the wood-line I noticed a pick-up truck driving through the middle of the field heading in our direction. Dave suggested it was the owner of the property, Joe, probably checking on his cattle. We waited to greet Joe and thank him for extending the invitation to hunt his beautiful farm. When Joe finally approached in his red Ford F150 pickup he was grinning from ear to ear as he stuck his head out the window and said, “You’re hunting in the wrong spot!” Dave, looking confused, responded, “What do you mean?” Joe, still grinning, said, “As I pulled into the farm there was a big one strutting not fifty-yards behind your vehicle. He was walking slowly up the hillside where that spring is!” With a look of disbelief, I turned to Dave as he raised his eyebrows, smiled and said to me, “I know where he’s heading, let’s go!”

Dave explained that he felt the big Tom that Joe had pushed out of the valley would either return or keep climbing that hillside and show himself on the opposite ridgeline (also a field). Dave quickly suggested that we move to an area that provides a good view of the valley floor and the opposite ridge so, we eagerly moved to a brushy fence-row that would conceal us while we scanned for the big Tom. I clipped a few shrubs and over-hanging branches to give us better visibility and we settled in. While waiting patiently, we quietly discussed a strategy for a stalk in the event the old Tom showed himself again; knowing he probably wouldn’t come to a call after being pushed. Our wait wasn’t long.

Only thirty minutes had passed and the fog quickly disappeared allowing better visibility when I caught movement on the opposite ridge. I pointed to the spot where I last saw the movement as Dave slowly raised his weathered binoculars for a closer look. I could hear the excitement in Dave’s voice as he gasped and softly exclaimed, “Yeah, that’s him, a nice one with at least a ten inch beard. That one is bigger than the one I shot yesterday!” The big Tom was five-hundred yards away and moving away from us, right to left along the ridge. We had considered that scenario and all we could do at that point was to wait for him to move behind some cover so we could move in on him. As he slowly disappeared behind the foliage of a tree-line we quickly but, quietly began our stalk.

We moved about two-hundred yards when Dave realized that if we went any further the keen Tom may spot us. So, Dave eased up closer to the top of a rolling knoll to gently peek over the hill to see if he could locate the Long-Beard. After a few seconds, I saw Dave’s head quickly duck down; a sure sign he saw the Monarch, I thought to myself. Dave turned to me as he squatted, nodding to confirm the Tom was still there, and motioned for me to move forward to his position. Dave said the big Tom was still feeding slowly on the other side of a ravine and that he just moved behind the cover of more trees. “Now is the time to make another move before the Tom is in the clear and will spot us for sure”, you could hear Dave’s urgency in his voice as he quietly began giving instruction.

Dave noticed a log lying on the ground along a tree-lined fence-row about thirty-yards ahead of us, as he pointed he said, “That would provide a good ambush point if you can get there.” He anxiously encouraged me, “belly-crawl to that log, set out a couple of decoys if you think you won’t be seen.” I immediately began my belly-crawl, taking it slow and keeping low. I tried to keep the cover of the tree-line between me and the Tom in case the Long-Beard moved into the clear and could have possibly picked up on my movement. The grass was still soak-and-wet from the dense, foggy mist that, until thirty-minutes earlier, had choked the morning’s sunshine. The cold, wet grass soaked through my Mossy Oak camouflage and down to my bones giving me a slight chill.

Dave set-up thirty-yards back, slightly down the hill, behind a couple of thin shrubs. I didn’t worry though because Dave’s camouflage blended in perfectly with the landscape; “there’s no chance of the old Tom making Dave out”, I thought to myself as I turned to get approval to continue my crawl. I was able to set-out my Jake and Hen decoy, enough enticement I thought to bring the Tom to within range if he spotted them. I was in position, settled with the gun resting atop the log. All I could do now is wait. “That Long-Beard can’t be too far away”, I thought anxiously.

As I lay there, prone, scanning the horizon looking for that red-head to appear anywhere, I couldn’t help to think what a privilege it is to be a sportsman and experience this rush of adrenaline while taking in the peaceful serenity of God’s wonder. And to share and create life-long memories with friends or family members from trips afield just caps off the experience. If everyone could experience this once, only once, it wouldn’t be so misunderstood, I thought to myself.

It seemed like forever that the old Tom feed through the ravine. I worried, “maybe he’ll keep feeding away from me and head to the safety of the woods, or perhaps he’ll pop out of the ravine and be out of range.” These nervous thoughts raced through my mind as I waited, patiently scanning for any slight movement. However, just as Dave had scripted, the monster Tom, with his long-beard skimming the ground, swinging side-to-side with his every step, was suddenly there, quartering away from me. The old Tom took his time feeding through the ravine, just out of my sight, for nearly thirty-minutes but, now, seemingly out of no where, he was right in front of me. My heart seemed as though it would jump out of my chest; you’ve been here before, I said to myself in trying to calm my nerves. It’s not about the kill for me; it’s about the feeling that overcomes me at that very moment.

Still on my belly and hidden behind the log, I froze. I needed to swing the barrel to the left to take the shot. There was the stump from the fallen tree that was shielding me from the Monarch, when he goes behind that stump I can re-position for the shot, I suggested to myself. The big Tom cleared the stump, and after a few pecks to grab some clover or butter-cups he stopped and stuck his head into the air to survey the landscape. This is it; steady yourself; relax; breathe; don’t jerk the trigger; and whatever you do, don’t jump the shot and peek; keep your head down, I barked to myself repeatedly in a matter of seconds. As the adrenaline rushed through my body, I patiently placed the sights on that tuff of hair that I wanted to hit and I slowly began to squeeze the trigger. Then, BOOM!, it was all over; no need to call to him, no need for the decoys. The shot found its mark. The majestic Tom went down instantly, a quick, clean ending to such a deserving foe (see photo).

Two days, two trophies, two memories that will last forever. I can’t wait to try it again tomorrow. It really doesn’t get any better than this!

Although there are several ways to increase your odds at determining how far a gobbler is, judging distance is a skill that must be learned through practice. A lot of novice turkey hunters do their homework (practice calling, pattern their guns and outfit themselves in full camouflage) only to go afield without a skill that is equally important.

It has been proven in military field tests that the average person estimates range with a probable error of 30 percent. If the average, untrained person has a 30 percent error handicap, it’s a pretty sure bet that a lot of turkey hunters head to the turkey woods unprepared.

“When considering all the reasons for missed shots or lost birds, failure to accurately judge the distance to a target is probably the most common,” said Rob Keck, CEO of the National Wild Turkey Federation. “A hunter must be able to determine when a turkey is close enough to make a clean kill. Just like patterning your shotgun prior to the season, you should also practice judging distance.”

Range Finder Success

One way to judge distance accurately is with a range finder. Find landmarks, trees, rocks, etc., to note distance when you set up. When a tom strolls within range, you’ll be ready to shoot rather than squinting through the peephole of a range finder.

“If you go the route of using a range finder, don’t make the mistake of trying it out for the first time when you’re turkey hunting,” Keck said. “A little pre-season preparation at home will go a long way toward success later.”

Game Time

Another method that works well can be quite a bit of fun. Have a partner place a turkey decoy at an unknown distance in the woods, as you sit down and guess the yardage. Vary the terrain, lighting conditions, and thickness of brush to make the scenarios look like true hunting situations.

Remember to sit down to estimate range just as you would when turkey hunting. Take turns at this game and your range estimation will dramatically improve. Several NWTF chapters have incorporated this game into their Xtreme JAKES (Juniors Acquiring Knowledge, Ethics and Sportsmanship) youth events with quite a bit of success.

Decoy Distance

Another way to determine distance when in the turkey woods is by using your decoys as point of reference. When you set your decoy, step off the distance back to your setup. If you place your decoys at 20 yards in front of you, for instance, you know a gobbler strutting in the same location is also 20 yards away.

In the Zone

“Accurate distance estimation can also help in other ways. For most turkeys, there is a threshold of 25 to 30 yards where mistakes — usually hunter movement — seem to be more critical than when a gobbler is inside this distance,” Keck said.

“When a bird walks into this “hyper zone” practically any hunter movement can spell disaster. Inside 25 yards, a gobbler’s best judgment is full retreat if he becomes suspicious.”

According to Keck, another helpful way to accurately judge distance — when you have time before setting up — is to step off distances of 20, 30 and 40 yards and place markers at those distances. These markers — often stones or sticks — help by giving you a point of reference to determine whether the bird is in the desired range.

Regardless of your approach, accurately judging can help ensure a clean kill, as well as keep a gobbler from busting your setup. Use these helpful hints in the turkey woods this spring and take notice of the difference a few yards truly makes.

So you’ve never hunted turkeys with a bow? It’s okay. In fact, it’s really not that hard. Of course, it’s not easy either, which is exactly why so many sportsmen are giving up their shotguns for bows and arrows during spring turkey hunting seasons.

Bowhunting for turkeys IS out of the ordinary for some people, especially those who’ve spent more time patterning 3 1 / 2 inch turkey loads that travel 1,300 feet per second.

For those who’ve arrowed a turkey with a bow, or even tried, they’ll do it again because of the thrill and exhilaration. It’s a challenge that separates one spring turkey hunter from the rest. It’s the difference between choosing chopsticks or a fork to eat Chinese food.

“Hunters who have killed several turkeys with a gun might be looking for a new challenge, and bowhunting is it,” said Jason Gilbertson, editor for the National Wild Turkey Federation’s Turkey Call magazine. “While it’s not the most popular way to kill a turkey, it is one of the most rewarding. More people are going after their grand, royal and world slams with a bow because it is such a major accomplishment. That speaks volumes for the popularity of turkey hunting with a bow.”

This popularity is evident considering the number of wild turkey records submitted to the NWTF’s headquarters in Edgefield, S.C. More than 500 birds taken with a bow have been submitted to the NWTF’s wild turkey records since 1987. In 2005, 82 birds have been registered.

Get On the String

If you are up for an ultimate bowhunting challenge, test your mind, reflexes and patience by considering the wild turkey. An avid bowhunter for turkeys, Gilbertson offers the following five tips before heading afield.

• Bowing Up — Make sure your bow is set up for hunting turkeys, not elk, not whitetails, not even wild pigs, but turkeys. Research the best kinds of broadheads. Many hunters use expandable tips because of the cutting surface, but fixed blade heads work just as well. Above all, shoot your broadheads before you hunt. There is little room for error when shooting at a small-bodied turkey. Bow holders help hunters free their hands for calling. It is much easier to run a hand-held slate call while your bow is propped in the shooting position, instead of working a call, setting it down as the gobbler approaches, then picking your bow up to draw. Reduce your movements when bowhunting for turkeys. If your arrow fletching is red, white or blue, change them. These patriotic shades do not bode well during the spring as most hunters are looking for gobbling heads, often with these same colors. For safety’s sake, choose colors from the spectrum that do not resemble an excited tom wandering through the forest.
• Home on the Range — If you generally let your bow hang idle after the last day of deer season, your new home needs to be at the practice range before you head after a wild turkey. Simulate a true hunting experience by shooting while wearing a facemask, vest and other gear. Prepare to shoot from a blind and find obstacles like trees that challenge you to find shooting lanes. While every archer likes to stand 15 to 20 yards out and pop arrow after arrow inside a quarter, this candy-coated shot is a rarity in the turkey woods.
• Holding Out — Consider lowering your draw weight. A wild turkey’s body is incomparable to that of an elk, whitetail or other big game. Shooting directly through a turkey is not always ideal. Anchoring or immobilizing the bird should be the main objective. After the shot, turkeys will either run or fly, which is why it is important to eliminate those options. A well-placed arrow in either the wing butt or the top of the leg (equivalent to a human’s hip) will be enough to immobilize and kill a turkey.

  Remember that drawing on a wild turkey will be the most difficult moment of the hunt. Unless you are hunting from a blind, a wild turkey will have no problem picking up your movement. A lower draw weight will decrease your arrow’s feet per second, but a longer, more steady hold might make all the difference in your shot placement.

• Search and Recover — Turkeys will not bleed like other animals when shot with a bow and arrow, except if they are cut on the skin or head and neck. Thick layers of feathers keep blood droplets close to their skin — they don’t bleed like a deer — instead of falling to the ground or brushing against grass or weeds, making tracking more difficult. After you shoot a turkey with your bow, watch where it goes. If it flies, find a landmark where it enters the woods or other terrain. If you’re hunting with a friend, immediately show him or her the landmark so you both are working off the same point. Approach a wounded or fatally hit turkey like you would any other quarry, with caution. Do not press forward right away. Give the bird some time to calm down, or expire if you think the hit drew vitals. There’s no reason to push the bird into running or flying toward new cover.
• Shoot to Kill — One of the most common questions among hunters who try for turkeys with their bow is, “Where do I shoot the bird?” There are three recommended shots that lead to high percentage kills.

“It is wise for hunters to study the anatomy of a wild turkey before they intend on shooting at one with a bow and arrow,” said Dr. James Earl Kennamer, NWTF senior vice-president for conservation programs. “It’s important to immobilize the bird. That is a bowhunter’s first priority.

Many 3D archery target manufacturers make targets suitable for both field points and broadheads (expandable, fixed-blade, etc.) Research different targets before the season opener and be sure whichever hunting head you choose, flies true to its mark.

Large Tom Eastern Turkey Gobblers Thick beards and long spurs some birds may weigh up to 30 pounds.. they are plentiful so plan on hearing alot of birds

One of the advantages of turkey hunting is that it doesn’t require a truckload of equipment. With a whole spring turkey season in front of you, there’s plenty of time to get out and get a tom without having to worry about spending a fortune get it done.

A good goose decoy spread may fill the bed of a one-ton truck, but all you need for a turkey hunt is a call, a shotgun or small-caliber rifle and a good set of camouflage clothing, including a face net. A decoy or two would be helpful, but it’s not a requirement for a successful hunt. If toms are coming to a call, a decoy can help convince them to keep coming. But if they’re not responding, no decoy will help.

Camouflage is important, but the best way to stay hidden is to minimize movement. A gobbler can come up to you in full strut, then be gone in a blur of feathers if he spots the slightest movement. He’ll turn and run into the brush, and he’ll do it so quickly you won’t have time to react.

The best way to keep from spooking the birds is to work in groups. Place your decoys in the open, then put the hunter in a bush, blind or other cover about 30 yards away. The caller naturally has to move to work the call, so the caller should be about 10 yards behind the hunter and should also be well concealed.

The idea of placing the caller away from the shooter is to draw the turkey’s attention away from the hunter. The birds can pinpoint the source of sounds surprisingly well, and if the caller is too close to the hunter, the turkey will notice the movement required to bring the gun to the ready. If that happens, it will be gone before the hunter has a chance to take a quality shot.

Camouflage will help break up your image, but it won’t do any good if you can’t sit still when the birds can see you.

The right equipment is important, too. Like anything else, using the right equipment gives you the best chance for success, but knowing how to use that equipment adds to the results. Practice with your calls, pattern your shotgun and wear your camo clothes around the house for several hours. If any of the equipment doesn’t do what you want it to do, get rid of it. It’s better to find out at home that your headnet blocks your vision out of your shooting eye than to realize it as you’re drawing a bead on a bird.

Another pitfall for many hunters is the gadget syndrome. Don’t rely on the newest, most advanced gizmo on the market. It won’t do you any good if you don’t know the basics of your quarry. Learn how turkeys behave in the spring. Find out how they respond to calls. Read about what they eat and how often they need to go to water. If you don’t know how they’ll respond to hunting pressure, no GPS on the market will help you get a turkey.

If you have time, a good way to ensure you’ll have a good shot at a turkey is to find where they are in the afternoon, then watch them roost near sundown. The next morning, before sunup, go back to where you saw them settle in for the night and hunker down. As the sun rises, use your box call to get their attention, then wait for them to come your way.

If you can’t devote that much time to the hunt, you can try to use your call to locate the turkeys. Take cover on a hill overlooking a likely area, then gobble a few times with a box call. If you get an answer, try to spot the birds with your binoculars, then find a good place to set up near where the turkeys are. Once you’re in position, you can try to call them in.

Probably the piece of equipment you should practice most with is the call. Many calls come with an audio or video tape that will produce the sound you should try to duplicate. Box calls are probably the easiest to master, but they still require practice to become proficient.

Spring is the best time to use calls, because the birds may be mating and will be more territorial and more interested in chasing off rivals or gathering hens.

But even in the spring, you can’t take it for granted that the birds will come to your call. The birds often will find cover and hole up, and if the habitat is good, they are nearly impossible to spot.

When they are responding to the call, a decoy can be a huge asset. Many hunters carry two decoys — a tom and a hen. If you have both genders, you can cover all your bases. A tom coming to your call may be looking to run off a rival, or he may be looking for a hen to settle down with. If you have both staked out in front of you, chances are good that the incoming tom will come to one or the other.

The other benefit to decoys comes in the form of distraction. When a turkey is lured by the call, he can pick out the source of the sound easily. The decoys can help shift the tom’s interest from what’s making the sound to what he sees in front of him. If he bites on the decoys, you’ll have more freedom to get your gun up for a shot.

Play It Safe While Hunting Turkeys

The most crucial element of an enjoyable hunt is safety. If you’re hunting on public land, you’re more apt to run into other hunters than if you’re on private land.

In either case, never put the sneak on a call unless you can visually confirm it’s a live bird making the noise. In that case, get as close as you can, then set up and try to call the bird to you.

Chances are you’ll spook the turkey if you try to sneak up on it, and it’ll run or fly away or take cover in dense brush, and you won’t get a shot anyway. If it’s another hunter making the noise, you’re putting yourself in danger of being mistaken for a turkey.

If you happen to call in another hunter, don’t stand up, wave or make other movements to alert him or her to your presence. Announce yourself in a speaking voice, but don’t shout or make any other startling noises.

Avoid red clothing and handkerchiefs, because these items may appear to another hunter to be the head of a gobbler.