It was a cool Kansas morning. Cool enough to be a little concerned about my freshly planted garden. In fact, I had just spent a good two hours, a few days prior, transplanting my black plastic pods of melons, tomatoes, peppers and cucumbers. However, the humidity from recent rains had kept the air from feeling crisp.
I was running behind. I had woken up plenty early, but somehow time had escaped me. With my truck thrown in park at the field entrance, I was now frantically looking at the clock wondering how in the world I was going to be set up in time. After all, this freshly planted 125 acre field had no variable terrain differences and the sun was quickly rising. A 5’ terrace channel running through the middle was all there was to ‘hide’ yourself.
I hustled. I had a hunch on where the birds might be roosted, but there was plenty of areas they could be and I could not make it out the night before to scout. I headed directly to the spot my 8 yr old boy had harvested his Jake the day before.
As I took off my vest, I heard an unsettling gobble. 100 yards was way too close for comfort with what little time I left left before they flew down. I unpacked a hen decoy and set up my Tom decoy. Then, I heard another gobble. This time, 60 yards out. I grasped for a second stake with movement caught my attention. 6 hens had flown down 80 yards down the tree one and they were very intent on staring the big dark blob moving around.
8 yards is all I would have to crawl to make it to the treeline. An additional 5-6 yards further yet for a tree to lean up against.
I was panicking.
Could I get away with crawling? Do I just sit tight and wait for them to walk away? What are the odds of me hiding behind this decoy’s fan and seeing if they approach?
After what seemed like an hour of anxiety filled processing, I heard 3 more birds fly down. The gobblers had arrived.
It was too late now. I shuffled a hen decoy directly in front of the Tom to simulate a breeding scenario and laid flat. Slowly, I brought my .58 Kibler up my side so the lock was beside my face. I dabbled some FFF in the pan and closed the frizzen. Pushing the barrel up under the decoy, I could see hens starting to come towards me.
They reached roughly 20 yards before moving to my left to feed along the treeline. The gobblers slowly started moving towards me as to create a little separation between the imposter and their ladies. Now at 25 yards, I had a clear sight of one pure white head and the other resembling an American flag. One problem though… I couldn’t shoulder my gun. Laying in the prone position, I had nothing to prop myself up other then my binoculars in their chest harness and it wasn’t enough to move the butt plate off of my collar bone. Simultaneously, the birds started moving to my right and the gobblers followed.
With everything to happen this far, I feared I was missing my opportunity. How could I get away with so much in this scenario and now I wasn’t in a position to shoot. Do I just send it knowing full well I’ll have a sore bone, but risk a poor angle?
I waited.
Now, the birds are facing away from me. There’s no clear path to the colorful targets. It did, however, provide the opportunity to slightly adjust the angle of my body by a few degrees to properly shoulder the flintlock into a manageable firing position.
I let out a few aggressive yelps.
All three birds turn right in sequence to reveal their faces at 32 yards. This was my chance. I moved my sights to the bird containing the most color and the longest bird.
Kapow!!!
23 lbs
11” beard
1” spurs
I was running behind. I had woken up plenty early, but somehow time had escaped me. With my truck thrown in park at the field entrance, I was now frantically looking at the clock wondering how in the world I was going to be set up in time. After all, this freshly planted 125 acre field had no variable terrain differences and the sun was quickly rising. A 5’ terrace channel running through the middle was all there was to ‘hide’ yourself.
I hustled. I had a hunch on where the birds might be roosted, but there was plenty of areas they could be and I could not make it out the night before to scout. I headed directly to the spot my 8 yr old boy had harvested his Jake the day before.
As I took off my vest, I heard an unsettling gobble. 100 yards was way too close for comfort with what little time I left left before they flew down. I unpacked a hen decoy and set up my Tom decoy. Then, I heard another gobble. This time, 60 yards out. I grasped for a second stake with movement caught my attention. 6 hens had flown down 80 yards down the tree one and they were very intent on staring the big dark blob moving around.
8 yards is all I would have to crawl to make it to the treeline. An additional 5-6 yards further yet for a tree to lean up against.
I was panicking.
Could I get away with crawling? Do I just sit tight and wait for them to walk away? What are the odds of me hiding behind this decoy’s fan and seeing if they approach?
After what seemed like an hour of anxiety filled processing, I heard 3 more birds fly down. The gobblers had arrived.
It was too late now. I shuffled a hen decoy directly in front of the Tom to simulate a breeding scenario and laid flat. Slowly, I brought my .58 Kibler up my side so the lock was beside my face. I dabbled some FFF in the pan and closed the frizzen. Pushing the barrel up under the decoy, I could see hens starting to come towards me.
They reached roughly 20 yards before moving to my left to feed along the treeline. The gobblers slowly started moving towards me as to create a little separation between the imposter and their ladies. Now at 25 yards, I had a clear sight of one pure white head and the other resembling an American flag. One problem though… I couldn’t shoulder my gun. Laying in the prone position, I had nothing to prop myself up other then my binoculars in their chest harness and it wasn’t enough to move the butt plate off of my collar bone. Simultaneously, the birds started moving to my right and the gobblers followed.
With everything to happen this far, I feared I was missing my opportunity. How could I get away with so much in this scenario and now I wasn’t in a position to shoot. Do I just send it knowing full well I’ll have a sore bone, but risk a poor angle?
I waited.
Now, the birds are facing away from me. There’s no clear path to the colorful targets. It did, however, provide the opportunity to slightly adjust the angle of my body by a few degrees to properly shoulder the flintlock into a manageable firing position.
I let out a few aggressive yelps.
All three birds turn right in sequence to reveal their faces at 32 yards. This was my chance. I moved my sights to the bird containing the most color and the longest bird.
Kapow!!!
23 lbs
11” beard
1” spurs
