HUNTING JOURNAL- DAY 1
It's taken two years of writing to get to this point in the 'moir. That's not unusual for a 53 year life. What is a bit out of the ordinary is it's taken you just as long to read it. It's like shooting a film and broadcasting the dailies- no editing. Now the end is in sight. I'm up to 1992 in the narrative and hope to finish by the end of turkey season- May 31, 2006. The reason I put the chonological narrative at the end of the book is i wanted you to get to know me and my everyday routine before i laid out my personal history. I hoped that would make you care a little more for the narrator. For the next month I want to share both. In the morning (if I don't have a hot gobbler going) I'll continue with the life story. In the afternoon i'll give you the turkey report- my day to day.
Day One
Up at 5am. Coffee. NPR news. Top story is the immigrant walk outs about to take place. Socialists and turkey hunters take off May Day anyway. Weather is clear and 38 degrees. No wind. Decide to hunt Ray Gilkey's farm down by the Neversink River. 50 yards from the car I hear one gobble on the ridge to my left and two more gobble across the river. Decide to go after the one on the ridge. I set up and make some calls. He answers my calls but seems to be moving away, up the ridge, instead of down towards me. After 20 minutes he shuts up. I decide to move closer to the river and see if i can entice the ones gobbling on the other side to fly across. To my surprise i easily fire them up and they sound like they are coming my way.
I set up on the edge of an old orchard, leaning against a large tree. I have a clear view down the fence line. They're coming. I put the gun on my knee and look down the barrel. I've forgotten my glasses, which usally wouldn't be too much of a problem, but for a large piece of stiff grass laying across my gun barrel between the front and back sights. I can't see shit close up and this grass is right in the way. The sights are nothing but a fuzzy blur obscured by this stalk. The turkeys are 20 yards out and i don't dare move a muscle. I settle the gun where i think the sights are and squeeze the trigger. The lead bird explodes into the sky. I pump another shell into the chamber and try to get on the fleeing turkey. I shoot. I shoot again. I never touched a feather. What a tool I am.
Come home disgusted in myself. Another cup of coffee. Write blog. Drive to Montgomery to hunt behind Bird's house. I can see a hen far off in the field and as i creep along a stone wall I catch sight of the top of a tom's tail feathers, fanned out in strut. I crawl against a tree and call softly. I see a hen and another, and another. There are hens everywhere but i can't get a clear view of the tom. I call and wait. Nothing. I wait over an hour, hoping to get a shot or at least hear him gobble. Not a peep. Eventually I move off making a loop around the property. I never see another turkey. On my way out of the woods at 11:45 am a hawk dive bombs my head and almost takes my hat off. I look up to see her nest 40 feet up in a tree. It's an incredible sight. The noon whistle blows as i unload my 12 ga. and get in the car. End Day One.
Day One
Up at 5am. Coffee. NPR news. Top story is the immigrant walk outs about to take place. Socialists and turkey hunters take off May Day anyway. Weather is clear and 38 degrees. No wind. Decide to hunt Ray Gilkey's farm down by the Neversink River. 50 yards from the car I hear one gobble on the ridge to my left and two more gobble across the river. Decide to go after the one on the ridge. I set up and make some calls. He answers my calls but seems to be moving away, up the ridge, instead of down towards me. After 20 minutes he shuts up. I decide to move closer to the river and see if i can entice the ones gobbling on the other side to fly across. To my surprise i easily fire them up and they sound like they are coming my way.
I set up on the edge of an old orchard, leaning against a large tree. I have a clear view down the fence line. They're coming. I put the gun on my knee and look down the barrel. I've forgotten my glasses, which usally wouldn't be too much of a problem, but for a large piece of stiff grass laying across my gun barrel between the front and back sights. I can't see shit close up and this grass is right in the way. The sights are nothing but a fuzzy blur obscured by this stalk. The turkeys are 20 yards out and i don't dare move a muscle. I settle the gun where i think the sights are and squeeze the trigger. The lead bird explodes into the sky. I pump another shell into the chamber and try to get on the fleeing turkey. I shoot. I shoot again. I never touched a feather. What a tool I am.
Come home disgusted in myself. Another cup of coffee. Write blog. Drive to Montgomery to hunt behind Bird's house. I can see a hen far off in the field and as i creep along a stone wall I catch sight of the top of a tom's tail feathers, fanned out in strut. I crawl against a tree and call softly. I see a hen and another, and another. There are hens everywhere but i can't get a clear view of the tom. I call and wait. Nothing. I wait over an hour, hoping to get a shot or at least hear him gobble. Not a peep. Eventually I move off making a loop around the property. I never see another turkey. On my way out of the woods at 11:45 am a hawk dive bombs my head and almost takes my hat off. I look up to see her nest 40 feet up in a tree. It's an incredible sight. The noon whistle blows as i unload my 12 ga. and get in the car. End Day One.
posted by mike osterhout at 1:43 PM
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