No doubt, this little dissertation will cause me some trouble. Sometimes, when I wax philosophical about certain things, this will happen.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, editors and readers, please remember it is not my intent to offend anyone or be irreverent about anything. I am just connecting some of the things I think about while stumbling around in the woods, being evaded by a large bird that has a brain the size of a medium peanut.
If you think that a writing like this is fueled by how my turkey season is going, you would be exactly right.
(READ MORE: For the slumping turkey hunter, gobblers’ silence isn’t golden)
Currently, in my part of the green earth, the turkeys are acting terrible, about as bad as I have seen it. We may get a few weak gobbles on the roost, but then the turkeys fly down from the limb and go silent. I feel sure these gobblers are surrounded by dozens of adoring girl turkeys and see no need no need to answer any calls from the sidelines.
At the risk of telling on myself, I would say that I have not even had the safety clicked off on a shotgun yet. Yes, that bad.
Now, in full disclosure here, there are people bagging turkeys here and there, no doubt. Every time you hear about some hunter being successful, though, it only adds to your turkey-related dejection.
Those who know you are a turkey hunter love to give you this news when they see you try to sneak into the country store for some bread, milk and a pound of bologna. Here’s the dreaded phrase; are you ready?
“Got your turkey yet?”
They almost giggle the words. Somehow, they know full well you haven’t collected a turkey yet. They then proceed to tell you a big story about a local hunter (who may not be thought of as the sharpest knife in the drawer) who just this morning bagged a gobbler of immense proportions. The beard will be a foot long, with spurs like Genghis Khan’s sword, and he will weigh no less than 29 pounds.
The story gets worse as your supposed friend informs you that the lucky hunter tripped in the woods and dropped his box call that he bought at Wally World years ago. The call made a squawk when it hit the ground, the turkey gobbled and came charging in, and the nimrod had to blast the turkey almost in self-defense.
You can hardly grab your provisions and get out of the store fast enough so as to not have to listen to any more of the awful story.
So as turkey hunters often do when they are in the depths of depression from not being able to kill a turkey, I am rambling about what might bring these conditions. It’s not you, you understand; it is outside sinister forces that affect the turkeys and the conditions in your area.
Turkeys are not the Disney-like animals that some uninformed folks like to envision when they picture wildlife. Old gobblers, particularly, often develop an evil persona as they continually evade well-meaning turkey hunters who only want to enjoy the outdoors by calling the turkeys into range and shooting them. The gobblers will continually exasperate the hunters by gobbling very little, or not at all — or if they respond to a call, start marching your way and then inexplicably vanish in a puff of smoke. (Remember that puff of smoke thing.)
So if you, like me, have wondered if these sinister turkeys are aided by the prince of darkness, the devil himself, I say yes, they undoubtedly are. The devil is well known for wandering the world, seeking out whom he may ensnare in his various schemes. The turkeys probably joined forces with him long ago to bring as much bad luck and desperation upon as many hapless turkey hunters as possible.
What else could explain a simple forest bird doing seemingly impossible acts of fooling our intrepid hunters? Ever had an approaching turkey walk toward you in the woods, go behind a tree, and you never see him again in this life or the next?
How do they do that? They have to have help.
Some of the territory where you sometimes must hunt turkeys can only be likened to the devil’s main residence — you know, the hot place. Although much of the topography in my area is vertically challenging, I think of one of my main hunting areas as even worse.
Steep and rough are the two words that always come to mind. When you get out of the truck, there are usually only two ways to go: straight up or straight down. If you don’t think this affects hunting a gobbling turkey, you have not hunted turkeys very much. Sometimes you just can’t get there from here.
(READ MORE: It’s a slippery slope, and I have the bruises to prove it)
I have hunted turkeys in other states where the terrain is so delightfully flat it always makes me think if there is turkey hunting in heaven, then it would be in place like this. Some parts of Alabama, Kansas and other states come to mind. I could do without the floating on clouds and harp playing that some people seem to like. If there is to be hunting in heaven, I will take vocal turkeys and gentle ground anytime.
Well I hope that wasn’t too bad, and hopefully I didn’t make too many of you mad by expressing these thoughts. Maybe you can see that if you had this much time running around the woods, dealing with aggravating, possibly possessed gobblers, you might be a little touched as well.
Stay sharp, and watch for those turkeys with singed feathers.
Guns & Cornbread” is written by Larry Case, who lives in Fayette County, W.Va. You can write to him at larryocase3@gmail.com.