Tuesday morning, I harvested this year’s deer, a 2 ½ year old buck just right for the freezer. The morning hunts were not without there setbacks, however. Opening morning as I left town, the steering on my pickup seemed a little “spongy,” and a quick stop revealed a low tire, causing me to head back home for air. I had gotten up late to begin with, so the sun was up when I got to the field, and 2 deer were already grazing just below our blind. Another morning as I left town, I realized my hearing aids weren’t in, meaning another quick trip back to the house. These little inconveniences reminded me of a much worse morning deer hunt ten years ago that could have been called “Doomed from the Start.”
One cold, frosty December morning several winters ago, I slowly steered my pickup into the midst of several weathered old hay bales, and stepped out into the crisp, pre-dawn air. With the full moon illuminating the landscape like a spotlight and the frost making everything underfoot crunch like cornflakes, slipping in to our deer blind unnoticed that morning would have been like trying to slip into the house past mom when I was a kid and had stayed out past curfew. I crossed a stubble field and as I entered an adjoining meadow, I began hearing a strange quiet sort of popping sound; kind of like one of those kids push toys that pops a ping pong ball around inside as its pushed across the floor. Maybe it was just my old arthritic joints cracking and popping like Jiffy Pop popcorn with every step, but I stood still for a while and the sound still continued. Baffled at what I heard, I strode onward.
I’d taken just a couple more steps when an enormous eruption somewhere in front of me stopped me cold. I instinctively reeled backwards, and starring skyward, found the bright moonlit sky filled with the huge black shapes of wild turkeys, looking for all the world like beach balls with wings as they scattered to the four winds. Then it hit me that many times I had heard hen turkeys make that familiar quiet popping sound as they milled around me during turkey hunts. For anyone who has never seen or heard wild turkeys come down from a roost in the morning, it’s about the loudest, most awkward and unscripted event you’ll ever witness, and that’s when it’s planned by the turkeys themselves and not because of some intruder like me. When the dust settled, the moonlight revealed numerous more roosted in the trees all around me. I remember starring at all those black shapes in the trees and thinking “This aint’ gonna’ end well,” when, like shots from a roman candle, every few seconds another group would leave their perches and scatter in a different direction. And finally, as if any deer were still left in this part of the township, the last group set sail and glided right through the middle of the very woodlot I’d hoped would produce a deer for me this morning! Every fiber of my being told me “Just go back home to bed; you tried but your hunt is surely ruined for the morning,” but I regained my composure, readjusted my now warm wet shorts, and continued on anyway.
Next came a shortcut across a creek to our blind. W e had pruned limbs to clear a path and formed steps into the creek bank, all in the name of getting to the blind quietly in the dark, even though that was obviously not a consideration any more this morning. I shone the flashlight down into the creek, and what had been a dry creek bed before a recent rain was now a frozen moat of paper-thin ice. It was already going to be a little uncomfortable sitting in the blind in warm wet drawers, so the last thing I needed now was to add two wet muddy boots to my outfit, so I opted to go around. That meant crossing the meadow again, crossing the creek at a nearby culvert and taking the long way around, all in the bright moonlight. The upside was that there were probably no more turkeys left to spook. The downside was that there were probably no more deer left to spook either! To any deer that might have stopped for a look back as they left the territory, the bright moonlight probably made me look like I was wrapped from head-to-toe in blinking white Christmas lights.
Our blind was a trailer with a camper shell on top that had two sliding windows in front. The insides of all the windows were frosted over, which we are used to, but as I tried to slide open the two front windows, I found them frozen shut (well of course they were.) I found an ice scraper and placing it sideways against one of the windows, I preceded to rap on it with my fist until one-at-a-time both windows broke free and slid open. As things stood now, any living thing not spooked from the property by the turkey explosion or rousted from the area by the eerie hulking figure wrapped in white Christmas lights was surely driven from the territory by the sound of a jack-hammer being run from inside our hunting blind.
At this point, I might as well have stood on top of the trailer and sung the star-spangled banner at the top of my lungs as the sun came up, or built a roaring fire in the middle of the stubble field; it would have made little difference in the outcome of my Saturday morning deer hunt. Sometimes all the preparation in the world just can’t outwit Mother Nature. Continue to Explore Kansas Outdoors!
Steve can be contacted by email at [email protected].
