Getting back from my senior softball tournament in Baytown, Texas and getting organized around here, Monday afternoon, I decided to try my luck on a Turkey.

Setting up the decoy in a plowed, but not yet planted food plot and waiting for 15 minutes for things to settle down, I began clucking, with no results. An hours worth of calling, produced no big birds, only a couple of surprises.

In early March, I had set up a Deer/Turkey feeder near where I was hunting and had loaded the feeder with a combination of corn and milo. Birds love milo! Soon a lone Dove flew in and lit on a tall branch of a dead mesquite and I snapped this picture. My new camera shipped last Friday and soon, there will be much better detail in the pictures.

Then the Doves started piling in. These were all nesting pairs and the “feed” was on. They swarmed the feeder and, at one time, 16 were on the ground. Just think, if each pair had 9 chicks, that would make 88 Doves come September 1. This spring I have seen several hundred Doves feeding in the cut and plowed, sudan field, behind my house. If we don’t have a bad hail storm, we should have an excellent season opener.

Walking back to my Jeep and looking right into the setting sun, there stood a doe, in the trail, 30 feet in front of me. Fumbling up my camera, while holding my shotgun under my arm, I valiantly tried to take a picture. She looked at me and decided that this big man, with a gun, moving around real funny, may be a threat and trotted of into the thick stuff.

The picture didn’t turn out, too much light, but I can hardly wait for my new one. Maybe tomorrow?

This past Wednesday afternoon, with the wind howling from the south at 25 MPH, gusting to 35, at the invitation of a friend of mine, Brad and I attempted to go Turkey hunting.

Brad donned his gillie coat and I snapped this picture of him before we trekked to our hunting spot.

We chose to hunt next to a cultivated field, along a creek bottom, thinking that the birds would mosey along the creek on their way to their roost. Brad was using his (personal) M-4, .223, shortened version of the military’s M-16, shown in the picture, and I was toting my 12 gauge autoloader.

Setting the decoy out along the edge of the cultivated field, I turned and walked back to our hide and before I could sit down, the wind blew down the decoy. Steadying it with a good sized rock was no problem and I began a long series of calling, with no results. Brad was about 10 yards away from me and told me as we walked back to my Jeep, “Dad, with this wind howling, I could barely hear your clucks.” So much for that days hunt!

Last night we got hammered by a line of severs thunderstorms, 50-60 MPH winds, 2 inches of rain, hail and a copious amount of lightning. North of us, along I-20 from Eastland to Ft. Worth, they had a tornado and baseball sized hail. Around here, we have long learned that when the wind howls from the south, just hold on, it will come back from the northwest with a vengeance!

Committing to play in a Senior Softball tournament on March 29 was a great mistake for me, because on that same day, the sovereign state of Texas opened its spring turkey season. Of course, I missed opening day, but I didn’t worry because my Son, Brad said he would come over to my ranch and fill in for me. He didn’t. He went to visit his in- laws in Kentucky, so our birds didn’t get “rousted”.

Layla and I got in late last night from the tournament, went to Church and Bible study this morning, ate lunch at the Wagon Wheel Restaurant and came home. I had to sight in a rifle and after that, since I didn’t have Church Sunday night, why not go Turkey hunting and get the season opened right?

Our ranch lies in the hill country of our great state and abounds in Turkeys, so I decided to hunt in a specific place where I had scouted earlier and heard a lot of them. Choosing a spot in a creek bottom, in the shade, and putting out one hen decoy, I let the area settle down for about 15 minutes and then clucked three times. No results, so I waited a few minutes and clucked, clucked, clucked.

Next thing, up walks 2 hens and I got a good picture of one feeding along. You can see the “real” bird right behind the decoy.

Out walked a young tom with 2 other hens and I was “covered” up with big birds, 4 of them! Not hesitating, bam, the magnum 5’s at 40 yards knocked the bird down an my late season opener was a good one, after all!

This picture is interesting. The viewer can see the decoy, the dead turkey behind it and, on the right, a hen walking away. This particular hen stayed around for over 5 minutes and I finally snapped this

Not having anyone around to take a “trophy” picture, I unceremoniously took this one of the Turkey, down for keeps!

I am really blessed to have such a wonderful hunting opportunity right at my back door.

An opening day turkey!

Deciding to retire in 2005, to my ranch in Goldthwaite, Texas, had not been the difficult decision that I had expected. The year before my retirement I had planted some peach trees and had just put in this year’s garden, one of my “gifts” being a very green thumb! Spring Turkey season opened on April 2, and not having had the time in the past to indulge in this spring sport and since I was retired, and especially, since my ranch lies in the middle of some fine Turkey country, I decided that I would try my luck.

The sovereign State of Texas, for some reason, broke years of tradition, and is opening spring Turkey season on March 29! I had really fouled myself up by, not carefully reading my 2007/08 State, hunting and fishing regs, and committing to play in a Senior Softball tournament in Irving on March 28 and 29. I just “knew” the season would start April 5. I have missed out, but Brad is coming over to pick up the slack!
Last Saturday morning I spent several hours in “The Scaffold Blind.

I was watching and listening for some Turkey movement in that area. I heard several but didn’t see one. They came off of the roost, probably 600 yards east of my blind, but moved south, away from me.

Monday morning found me in a hide about 200 yards north of a spring fed creek on the east side of my ranch. I was hoping the Turkeys were roosting along it.

Obviously, the Turkeys had not roosted along this creek, because I didn’t see or hear one.

My Truck was “kinda” hidden and as I walked up to it, I glanced up in some old oak trees along my spring fed creek and came to a sudden stop, Turkeys in the trees?

Closer inspection revealed they were, what we call down here, Turkey Buzzards. Sitting in trees like that could be dangerous this time of year! I took a picture of them anyway.

Still having Wednesday and Thursday mornings, before my tournament starts on Friday morning, to scout, I’m confident I’ll find the big birds!

Thinking about Quail hunting, my thoughts jumped back to my stay in Arizona and the fabulous hunting I had encountered. One thing that made it so memorable was that, at the time, the season ran from Oct 1 to Feb. 28/29. Hearing in the past that you could get tired of hunting Quail and eating them, I tried and tried, but never did and most of my spare time was spent chasing these little “buzz bombs”.

My hunting partner, Jack Schindler and I had narrowed down, what we believed was, the best place in Arizona to hunt Gambel Quail and it was in the Tonto National Forest on the south side of the Tonto Basin, along the west side of the Salt River Canyon. This was our “Place” and it was an “easy” drive from our Paradise Valley homes.

“Our Place” was off of the main road from Payson to Roosevelt Dam and on to Globe, Arizona. Once on the Payson, Globe road, heading east, we would take a dirt road south for eight miles before it turned into a four wheel drive only road, following the west rim of the Salt River Canyon, for four more harrowing miles. When the four wheel drive road ended, we were there. We probably made many trips to the “Place” and never saw another soul there.

It began as a wash feeding into the Salt River and continued west up into the hills for several miles, turning into a mini canyon almost two hundred feet deep, with nicely terraced sides along the north rim. We, our dogs and hunters, would spread across the wash and head up it until the coveys of birds were found. The coveys were unbelievably, enormous, at the time, one hundred to two hundred birds.

Our second choice for “Best Gambel Spot” was on the north side of Tonto Basin on the slopes of Sombrero Peak. There were a lot of birds and easier hunting, but it was over a 2 hour, drive from our homes. Another drawback was in the late after noon, many shots were into the sun, limiting our effectiveness.

Jack, Ned Pepper, Rooster sleeping, display over a half of a 2 man limit of Gambel Quail. This was the results of a morning hunt near Sombrero Peak. Note, to protect from thorns, the “Boots” on Ned Pepper’s feet

All of these spots were on public land and there were many other excellent places to find a lot of Gambel Quail. Some of these were; Bumble Bee Creek east of Prescott, Thumb Butte west of Prescott, the low hills east of Camp Verde, and real close to home, the slopes of the McDowell Mountains.

None outshone “Our Place”

In January 1958, my cousin, Dan Gafford, from Marlin, Texas, came down to visit after hearing of the fabulous Duck hunting my Dad and I had been enjoying between Crosby and Anahuac. One of my Dad’s former employees was now manager of a rice farm/ranching operation (they had oil wells too) and gave us free rein to hunt on the 1000 acre property. My Dad and I were in “hog Heaven”, having this place all to ourselves.

There were sloughs and potholes scattered all over the ranch and, convenient, since most were accessible by the oil field roads that connected the oil and gas wells. We would put on our waders, drive to a likely spot of standing water, put out my twelve plastic decoys, hastily construct us a makeshift blind, hide the car as best we could and begin our hunting.

The secret of our success was “luck” and being at the right place. This ranch contained plenty of fresh water and was not far from Trinity Bay and was an easy flight for the ducks from the salt water to the fresh.

Early in the afternoon my Dad and his former employee dropped Dan and me off near a likely looking fifty-foot wide pothole. I waded out and set the decoys while Dan made us a blind of logs and grass. It wasn’t much of a blind, but it would do.

Before we had settled down, a flight of Teal buzzed our decoys and as they were passing. bam, bam, bam, and two fall on the other side of the pot hole. Both of us were using number 6 shot with our full choked, pump, shotguns. Duck poison! Bunches of ducks, Teal, Gadwall and Widgeon kept us busy for most of the afternoon, and we had bagged nine, when we see a flight of ten mallards inspecting our layout.

Blowing a “hail” call to them, they wheel around and circle behind us. A few chirps of a “feed” call sets their wings, their orange feet drop, wait a minute, something’s wrong with these Ducks I think to myself, since they are landing in the edge of the pothole, not ten feet in front of us!

Dan and I jump up and bam, bam, six shots, and not a feather. We look at each other in amazement. Dan asks, “How could this happen, it seemed as if I could have reached out and grabbed them?” Maybe we should have. Remembering what my Dad had told me years ago, “Our patterns were too small at this close range.” And I added, “We should have let them gain some altitude, and not have been greedy and taken such close, “easy” shots.”

We had a nice “bag” of ducks anyway and didn’t get any more shots that afternoon. While cleaning the Ducks, my Dad chided us saying, “Boys, you got greedy with those big Greenheads and didn’t take your time!” Dan had fun anyway.