“Rios on the Red”
The multiple gobbles thundered along the bed of the Red River as the early morning sun lit the eastern sky with pinks and oranges that no artist has ever duplicated on a palette. We were on ‘em. The mischievous little grin that stretched across my face was soon replaced as I remembered one of turkey hunting’s most famous sayings, “Roosted ain’t Roasted.” As the birds pitched off their nighttime limbs, no truer words were ever spoken. We estimated some 100 or more birds roosted over the big wheat field that separated us, and when all was said and done, we were left watching a group of only nine, one big Tom and eight of his girlfriends. We had placed a set of breeder decoys out in front of us and ol Tom would glance occasionally at them, but his female companions had other plans and he faithfully followed them out of the field and left us shaking our heads and quietly snickering at the two foam bodies that remained in the field.
It was time for a move. We headed west in hopes of getting in front of the Tom’s band of beauties, and ended up alongside a road that gently sloped uphill for a distance of about 200 yards. We figured that the group of birds was just on the other side of the hill carrying out their spring time ritual. We were right! We began calling and had an immediate response from a lone gobbler. Over the course of the next two hours, I became engaged in the most “blissfully, frustrating” day I have ever spent in the turkey woods.
A lone hen came heading down the road and ended up a mere ten yards from my partner and me. My immediate thought was, “Awesome, we have a live one here now, won’t be long until he follows her.” Was I ever wrong. What took place next was something that I never dreamed I would witness. She roamed about in the jungle thicket that Tyler and I had set up in for the next ten minutes. It was driving her crazy that she could not find the other hen who had been making such sweet sounds. As she turned to exit the thicket, she dipped well under a fallen branch, and laid down. I was astonished. I have witnessed deer bed down within plain sight, but never a hen turkey. In my very simple mind I started to put 2 and 2 together, and I came up with this: WE WERE SUNK in this particular spot. If she was coming to nest, the Tom was already finished with her and would very likely not come to our calls. If she was simply resting, we had to re-position without spooking her out of the area and “putt” calling to the Tom on the other side of the hill. We managed to ease her out of the thicket, and sure enough, two eggs lay in her cleanly, swept-out nest.
I told Tyler that we had to get closer to that hill. He devised a plan, and with the stealth of a ninja, we crept to a large oak tree that stood 85 yards from the crest of the hill. We settled in and began another calling sequence. Three different gobblers sounded off from behind the hill and our excitement rose. We waited, then called again. The gobbles crushed the air around us. They were moving closer. We waited, then called again. This time, the gobbles sounded muffled. They were now moving away. “This is no good”, I whispered to Tyler. Another lapse in silence was disturbed by our plea on an
M.L. Lynch fool proof box call 
to come back. No luck. Still they gobbled, and still they sounded a thousand miles away. “We need to move again”, I told him. “We need to position ourselves where we can see the other side of that hill.” He agreed, and I told him that if we could get that done, I would call one in close enough for him to choke it. I needed to see what was going on over there. Just as we prepared to exit our hide-out, a booming gobble erupted followed quickly by the following sounds….. “FWAP, FWAP,,,,,PURR, PURR, PURR, GOBBLE, FWAP, FWAP, FWAP”. We eased ourselves back down and I whispered to him, “Geez-oh-Pete, I think they are fighting over there!” The fight lasted for about 10 seconds, and then came one last gobble that almost blew our caps off. Here they came! Two mature gobblers, over the top of the hill, one looking for the hen and the other in full strut. As the lead gobbler closed the distance to 35 yards, Tyler’s 12 gauge belched a load of #4 shot at the bright, red head of the Tom. It was done, but my heart pounded for the next 30 minutes and I sported a smile that industrial strength 409 could not have washed off. As we carried the Tom back to the truck, I made a point to take in all of the spring sounds that were singing along the banks of the mighty Red.
Kent Thomas
, put at least 100 arrows a week thru my Diamond razor edge 
, and spent many hours analyzing what i need to scout/hunt via google maps. What I would like to know is what rituals do you guys go thru in the off season? I am curious to see if all hunters are as obsessed with hunting as I am. Do you feed mineral? do you spend time scouting in the offseason? Am I wasting valuable back yard barbecue and shiner bock time to be in that mesquite covered red dirt hole?..Basicly feedback and discussion is what I am looking for. If you aren't able to follow this blog because you haven't got a google membership or cant figure it out , get a clue..find a way , overcome those obstacles that separate you from the enlightenment provided in these hallowed texts created by over worked , under payed and hunt deprived texas educators...discuss..someone throw me a bone or throw gas on the fire..JW , Caprocker , Olinecoacher , jackass , fat boy , coash
decoy. What makes this stake great on a windy day is the wing-nut on the top of the stake. Once screwed down, your decoy will simply sway from side to side on the stake and you won’t have to worry about it suddenly catching a gust of wind that fills the inside of the foam body and launches it straight up into the air!!
and punch it straight through the hen’s tail and sit her directly on the ground. I then position the breeding jake on top of her and mark two spots, one on each decoy, where I then attach fishing swivels to attach the two. I affix the swivels to the decoy body by using a fastening brad (the thing in a folder that a kid uses for school to keep loose-leaf paper). You should be able to get these by the box at any office supply store. If you have trouble finding a box of these fastening brads, simply buy a folder that has them and gently remove them. I paint them with a flat black spray paint as well as the swivels and they worked like a charm this spring. What you will end up with is the swivels coming out of the jake’s chest and snapping to the swivels on the hen’s back. With the jake being screwed down by the wing-nut on the Primos stake, he will dance from side to side as he sits on top of the hen. Very realistic looking!! This particular set-up withstood an hour’s worth of 30+ mile per hour winds on one particular hunt.
resounded signalling to me that he knew we were on birds. Tension started filling my gut and totally overshadowed the fact that i had a very large mesquite thorn penetrating my ass cheek. The birds came in together right in front of me and moved to my 2 o'clock at 12 yards addressing the breeder decoys as if to peek in on the show and get a freebie. At that point I could see that the hunt was futile. HENS! DAMN...no beard in sight besides my goatee that was really getting irritated by my head cover...I was overwhelmed with a few different feelings. The immediate feeling was consistent with any other hunt I had ever been on where animals got really close. Damn that was cool! the next thing that entered my mind was this ; we better enjoy that encounter because it could be the last one this weekend. Unfortunately ,I was right.we didn't call in another bird all weekend due to excessive west Texas wind. I have no regrets about the hunt keeping in mind that a bad day of hunting is always better than the best day of work...we'll get on'em again soon...
