Mt Arab and Eagle Crag lakes to the right, Bridge Brook Pond to the left
Other than a bogus weather forecast for “partly sunny”, it was a great day to be on the trail. I make at least one trip a year to the Arab Mountain fire tower, usually in the winter. I love to be there on a sunny day, but I’m happy to settle for a dark and gloomy day.
The trail is frozen pretty well, and right now snowshoes are definitely not needed. I wore microspikes out of habit and they were nice to have, but you could bare-boot it without much hassle. The few places with ice had “detours” that were hard-packed. There is only about 6” of snow right now. I saw that some had used skis and snowshoes, but with all the rocks still sticking up, it has to be tough on…
It was pitch black dark when the horrific sound of the alarm catapulted me out of what was surely a beautiful dream. I looked at the clock. 4:15 AM. The first day of youth spring turkey hunting. The cobwebs beginning to dissipate, I searched in my sleepy brain for a solution to my next problem. How was I going to break it to my 12-year-old son that it was time to get up?
Youth weekends offer an opportunity in my area that I didn’t have when I grew up; a chance to get after the game, whether it be turkeys or deer, before the big boys stormed the woods. While one might think that this would be enough to get my son fired up, it was pretty dark and I’m sure his bed was quite comfortable. Reluctantly, and I must admit, perhaps only because he didn’t wish to disappoint his old man, he started getting dressed.
We decided to hunt behind my house for a couple of reason. First, there would be no travel time, which allowed both of us precious extra sleep. Second, I was aware that there were some birds back there. I had no idea where, but I was hoping the owl call would locate a revved-up tom.
We started out in the darkness and got to the top of the first ridge. From here, the woods, split in two by a power line, would steadily decline to a brook at the bottom, before rapidly rising on the other side. It was not an easy place to hunt, but maybe that would deter others from joining us. I let out my first owl call to hopefully elicit a shock gobble just as day was breaking. Nothing.
We regressed with the landscape, first into a stand of pines that bordered a couple of fields. There seemed to be no turkeys on the entire mountain, at least none that would answer the owl call. Crossing the brook, and climbing up a stand of hardwoods, we decided to rest. It was here that I broke out my mouth call, mimicking a hen that was on the lookout for love. Unfortunately, the only critters that seemed to be in the area were a few squirrels and a noisy blue jay.
We picked ourselves up from our slumber and soldiered on. It wasn’t looking good. I was beginning to worry that I would never get my boy into this. For his part, he seemed to be enjoying the peace and quiet in the woods with his dad, but to be honest, how many early mornings of rigorous activity, while seeing nothing would he partake?
We crossed the power line and sauntered into another patch of woods, one that continued for only 150 yards before we hit posted land. We would have to skirt this imaginary wall, calling blindly, and hoping for the best. In reality, I only had one more play for the morning before I was out of ideas. We were sneaking through a mix of hardwoods, pines, and blowdowns. A field sat just beyond the property line. This would’ve have been an attractive area for a turkey.
I hit the mouth call. Off in the distance to the left, just below the power line we had crossed was a gobble, maybe 200 yards away. We listened. Nothing. I hit the call again. Just over the ridge to our right, and next to the field came a much closer gobble, perhaps 75 yards away! I immediately had my boy sit down against a tree, the old 12 gauge at the ready. I sat to his right, and we waited patiently. He would gobble every couple of minutes.
I finally hit the call again. Gobble! He was closer now, and out in front of us, only a pile of pricker busher and a stone wall prevented us from getting a glimpse. Gobble! He was moving to the right. We shifted our position, with my boy taking the prime shooting position, with me now on the left.
Turkeys never follow a script, and this one was no different. He was moving at his own pace, sometimes going silent, before sounding off again when I quietly clucked or yelped with my call. Each agonizing two to three minutes between calls gave away his position and it was obvious he was circling us, hoping to see with his impeccable eyesight, the object of his affection. We shifted again.
For a 12-year-old to sit silently still for so long is an awfully big request and my son did a fantastic job, although I could hear his heavy breathing and see his chest rapidly rise and fall with each passing minute. The bird was now just out of sight, on a small bank, about 270 degrees from the direction he started in. For those who are not turkey hunters, toms would rather the “hen” come to him, which was the reason for his gobbling. We would need to exercise extreme patience. I decided to go silent to try to pull him in.
It was my son who saw him first, on the bank, about 80 yards away, all fanned out, putting on a show for what he hoped would be his morning rendezvous. Still needing him to close the gap to within 40 yards to be in my son’s shotgun range, we decided to sit quietly. If I were to call at this point, he would most likely hold up. He strutted back and forth, for approximately 15 minutes, his long beard grazing the forest floor.
Finally, the bird started to walk away. We shifted and I called again. He turned, and began walking toward us, a full 360 degrees from our starting position, and through some junk in the woods. A huge blowdown now blocked my son’s view, while I had limited vision above it from my position on my knees, now behind the tree I had been sitting against. He gobbled twice on the way in. I caught a quick look at him coming our way, but the blowdown hindered my boy’s chance to lay eyes on him. Not wanting to be busted by the turkey, I hunkered down and hoped for the best.
When we heard the bird next, five minutes had gone by. He was back up on the ridge, gobbling, but definitely heading away form us. The game was over. He either spotted us or realized the “hen” he had heard was not there. It was clear he had been played with before. I made a last-ditch effort to draw him back, but it was to no avail.
As my boy had baseball practice at 12 PM, and it was now 10 AM, with an hour walk back to the house, we had to head home. My son was disappointed and wanted to pursue the tom. Time and the fact that this bird was probably out of the game for today prevented us from continuing. We did not get the turkey that day, but we came darned close. And I secured a turkey hunting partner that will hopefully last the rest of my life. Now, if we could only see a few deer in the fall.
Happy first Monday of the new year MMT Fam! What do you think you’d get when you mix Academy Award® winner Halle Berry (Bruised), Game of Thrones alum (and a fave as Samwell Tarly) John Bradley, and The Conjuring series alum Patrick Wilson (Ed Warren)? I think magic! And we have a special “sneak peek” treat courtesy […]
As we learn more about the cosmos, it’s interesting how some of the greatest discoveries continue to happen close to home. This is expected to continue well into the future, where observations of Cosmic Dawn and distant galaxies will take place alongside surveys of the outer Solar System and our galaxy. 777 more words
Kansas City, Missouri is blessed to have the only National Museum to the “Great War’ in the entire nation. It is important that we remember the sacrifices made by so many and the conflict that took over 40 Million Lives. If the Korean War is the “Forgotten War,” then WWI is the “Unknown War.” The […]
MIAMI GARDENS, Fla. — Alabama has a chance to repeat. Georgia has a chance for revenge. The rematch is set, and it will decide the College Football Playoff national championship. 936 more words
I remember 1996 very well. The depressing grunge scene (although my older self can appreciate some of the artistry) was winding down. While a return to my beloved 1980’s would never completely come back, the overall musical direction was at least heading toward something resembling a little fun again. And then the unbelievable happened. Kiss, the band that singlehandedly led me to become a hard rock and heavy metal fanboy, was reuniting with its original members, complete with its trademark make-up!
The idea of seeing Kiss in the way seventies rock fans were able, was nothing short of a miracle. I recalled all the stories regarding their legendary, and almost mythical characters. The bombastic stage shows, the blood spitting, the breathing of fire. I remembered the inside of my Alive II album, first seen as a seven-year-old. I had to score tickets. There was no way I could miss this show.
The Centrum was packed that night. I managed to get tickets in the upper level, stage right. Way to the right. As in the side of the stage, looking down on raised platform. Getting into my spot after the opening set of regional band, The 4th Floor (which had to be an amazing experience for them), I had to wait, almost painfully, for my heroes to emerge, knowing our section would get a glimpse long before most in the arena. A large black curtain with the band logo dropped from the ceiling at a strategic point in The Who classic, Won’t Get Fooled Again, which was playing over the P.A. The crowd was getting restless.
Finally, the lights went down. A loud humming noise filled our ears. Spotlights rotated around the stage. The roar of the audience was deafening. Then they came out! Again, our section at side stage could see them first, in all their costumed glory. They took their places, vocalist/guitarist Paul Stanley bucking like a raging bull about to be released into the ring. The announcer shouted those words all to familiar to us longtime Kiss fans from the glory days. “All right, Worcester! You wanted the best; you got the best! The hottest band in the world……. Kiss!”
The curtain dropped and the band launched into, Duece, the first song that lead guitarist Ace Frehley played when he auditioned for the group more than 20 years prior. A gigantic pyrotechnic blast accompanied the song, and the band was off to the races! This tour was featuring mostly seventies classics recorded by the original members; therefore, it was not a surprise, but still amazing to witness, Kiss segueing into C’mon and Love Me, Let Me Go Rock ‘n’ Roll, and Firehouse in rapid succession.
The conclusion of Firehouse brought about Gene Simmons’ fire breathing stunt, much cooler in person than inside a wrinkled Circus magazine. I couldn’t believe what I was watching! A couple of songs later, the Frehley-sung, Shock Me, culminated with his blistering solo, complete with his smoking guitar being raised to the rafters. Calling Dr. Love, Shout it Out Loud, I Stole Your Love, and Cold Gin highlighted the midsection of the show, with an overabundance of lights, lasers, and fire to accompany them.
Paul Stanley, never one to shy away from lauding his own band and absorbing all the accolades he can muster, hadn’t yet tired fans with his sometimes meandering between-song raps, never straying far from the arena rock cliches that mostly worked to supplement Kiss’ many over-the top-gimmicks. This included the trademark blood spitting trick that Simmons perfected back in the day, complemented by the Dragon being raised to the top of a lighting truss to sing, God of Thunder. Drummer Peter Criss, not wanting to be left out of the spotlight, performed a steady, if unspectacular solo mid-song, displaying just enough chops to satisfy us drummers in the crowd.
100,000 Years and Detroit Rock City closed out the main set, each with enough pyro blasts to surely make the local fire warden a little nervous, before returning with classics, Black Diamond, Beth, and the fiery Rock and Roll All Nite. The night was complete. There was no more that could be done. Paul Stanley had asked the audience, “Was it all that you expected?” I had to agree with the overwhelming consensus. Yes!
Whipped Owl 