I call it that because I seem to make plenty of them there. Mistake #1 was not getting up early enough. Altogether too easy a mistake to make in turkey season. #2 was forgetting to put the sling on the shotgun before leaving the house. Normally no big deal, but the one route to Mistake Ridge involves a short technical climb on a limestone cliff face. You see, the three other sides of this piece of National Forest are on private land, no access!
I made the climb outa sheer luck and stupidity. I pressed on to make the next mistake, #3. The route also takes me right under the roost site for the turkeys. Remember how I was late? Yeah, they were already waking up and a hen gave a couple alarm putts, I was busted. Normally I can sneak under them when the ground is damp like it is right now and get away with it. Not Wednesday. I decided there was no sense being stealthy, so I proceeded to hike on thru and over the ridge. Let 'em think I was passing through!
I melted into the treeline and turned right back around. Making myself as much a ghost as possible, I spent 10 minutes walking back the 40 yds to set up on the roost site. Just as I sat down I realized mistake #4. No padded seat cushion. At least I was wearing insulated camo bibs, right? They held back the water like a cigarette rolling paper holding back Niagara. The insulation simply sucked the last few days of rain up outa the soil! Fortunately I am part frog and my netherparts are watertight.
The east was warming with a wonderful sunrise when a hen right in front of me tree yelped. I smiled. Then across the highway to the west about 100 yds away the gobblers all sounded off like a pack of frat boys. I quit smiling. Mistake #5, didn't scout the night before to determine whether the birds were on accessible ground or across the road where it is all private land without access. I've made this mistake often enough that it is second nature, don't even have to try. This flock will move back and forth between the two roost sites on either side of the road, often leaving a lone hen to watch the roost they don't choose.
Well, I came all this way, may as well wait until she pitches down. I sit and listen to the woods waking up. Chickadees, nuthatches, coyotes off in the distance. I love this time of year. Since the gobblers are across the road I gave up on stealth and I moved around to find a more comfortable position (not likely considering my soggy tightey whiteys and the rocky soil). The hen of course gave a quick alarm putt. And the gobbler on the branch next to her double-gobbled so hard he shook the tree!!! Mistake #6. Now they both know where I am. But out of sheer stupid stubbornness I decide not to fold, I called and stayed in the game with a bluff.
As I sat there listening to the industrial gobbling of the birds across the hiway I realized mistake #7 had happened back at home when I failed to open the new box of Hevi-shot loads I had bought to use this spring. Any one of the prior mistakes could be overcome with luck, but how do I shoot a turkey with an unloaded gun? I am good, but not THAT good!
I patted down pockets and thanked the powers that be that I was lazy last fall and did not clean out my pockets. Two 3" magnums of #4 steel duck loads! I got the gun loaded as quickly and quietly as possible. Minutes later the gobbler pitched outa the tree and landed below me on the ridge out of sight. He hit the ground trying to outcompete the flock of gobblers across the road, he was hot! The hens began pitching out and landing at my feet. I could see the top of his fan going back and forth as he strutted. The hens all took up position around him like a detail of Secret Service Hens protecting the football. Two hens were sent on recon and came to check me out. I froze tight (the cold ground and soaking shorts were helping me freeze, believe it).
Up the hill he came, straight at me. Unfortunately, all I could see was the edges of his tail fan because he was keeping the ONE AND ONLY TREE in between us! At 25 yds I risked moving and I shifted so that my shotgun was covering his approach. The two recon hens went into overdrive with alarm putts. They sounded like telegraph operators on methamphetemines! He stuck his head out one side of the tree and then the other in quick succession, no chance to get a bead on him.
That's when I did the only right thing all day. I pulled out the wonderful river cane yelper made by one of our very own P.A. Forum members and started talking. I promised this hot gobbler some of the most lewd and filthy activity you ever heard! The hens upped their alarm putts to trip hammer levels, but apparently I had offered something so kinky he couldn't resist and he made one more step. A load of hot steel bees stung him good at 25 yds.
I promised the maker of that wonderful cane yelper that if I got a bird with it I would post the pics. I just can't remember if he wanted the fame and glory that would be his if I mentioned his name. If he wants to reveaL himself he is free do to so. Let me just say that his work is beautiful to look at, but the function is what drives me crazy. The day I got this call in the mail I worked it over and over until I got the sounds I wanted. Took maybe two tries! I love it, love it to death (at least one death is now accountable to this call!)
Three year old bird, decent 9 1/4" beard, and spurs that don't show much wear yet. His weight was about 18 lbs, and his fatty breast sponge was huuuuuge! He was ready for a long and hard season of breeding and strutting, a wonderful Black Hills Merriam's turkey. Best of all, he was a good man, tolerant of another's mistakes. Maybe a little too tolerant!
