The shaman enters

[shaman]

The wind was stiff enough that it blew the door open as soon as it came unlatched. It was snowing lightly, but it wasn't cold enough to stick. It was cold, it was muddy. It looked like the sky was going to open up.

The shaman bolted the door and kicked a clod off his boots and surveyed the inside. In the murk, you could still see an open box of thirty-thirty and a broken grunt call on the dining table. An orange vest hung off the back of a chair. The mice had carried a box of D-Con out into the middle of the floor, and you could tell there was a dead mouse somewhere.

The shaman went over to the panel box and started flipping breakers. The lights came on. He went to the stove and started a fire. After a few trips out to the truck and a run out to the cistern, all the bags were in and water was starting to fill the pipes. It was starting to warm up.

The shaman then performed the one great act of magic that he had come to do. He reached down and pulled up the gun case he had brought in, and opened it up. There, inside, was a rudely camoflaged 12 GA pump shotgun. He hefted it out of the case; after checking the chamber, he cycled it three times and walked it over to the rack.

"There," he said. "That's better." Then he reached down to the pile and pulled out an old ammo can and opened it. He grabbed an old cedar box call and held it up for a moment to examine it's trail-worn finish and then started to pull on it. It sounded horrible. He rummaged around and found a piece of chalk and then tried again.

"Yeeeaat. Yeeaat. Yeeaat-aat-aat-aat-aat." It was as if the very Gates of Heaven had opened. The day was not so gloomy. The room felt rich again.

The shaman looked satisfied at his work, for in an instant the sleeping deer camp had been transformed into Turkey Camp. The world had turned. The hearty and profane world of deer hunting had been banished. The camp had become sacred once more.

The preparations for the coming of Spring and the Season had begun. Soon men would begin their pilgramage back to the woods after a long Winter's sleep, looking for redemption. Soon large winter flocks would start to break up and the gobblers and hens would begin their yearly dance. Soon it would be time.

"It's like a second religion," said the shaman once. "You can be anything you want to be and still be a turkey hunter. All it demands is your complete and undivided attention for a few weeks a year, and in return it will haunt your dreams forever. If you don't believe me, take a call out once into the Spring woods and give it a stroke or two. If that old gobbler answers, you will have your calling for life. That old gobbler hooked you and you will never get away."

[shaman]

Well, I just got the last of the dead mice swept up, the water turned on and the truck unloaded. We were met with a snow squall as we first arrived-- visibility was down to under 200 yards for a while. The temperature is just above freezing. I just looked out, and I can see the next ridge again.

I brought the rest of the tribe down to camp for the weekend. We hit a good spell of weather around 9 this morning and decided to risk the trip down, just to see how badly we had been nailed by the ice storm two weeks ago. I figured the worst would be a camp that was completely hosed. We would take pictures for the insurance claim and head back. Overall, it was not bad at all. There were a few branches down. Our place up North was hit considerably harder.

As soon as I had a bit of quiet time, I remembered this post that I had made back on 1-9. The fantasy was close-- with Girlfriend and 2 sons and 2 dogs it was considerably nosier, but it was close. I am not going to go out scouting today. The wind is biting and gusting up around 20 MPH, and I am just getting over a cold. The turkeys can wait. KYHillChick just put some venison on the stove for tacos.

[shaman]

We had snow squalls on and off for two days. At sundown Saturday night, things lightened up a bit, and we went out to watch the lunar eclipse. The sky did not clear enough to see the moon until after 9 PM.

I glassed all the pastures at dusk-- nothing. We did not even hear coyotes. That is probably a good thing. Then we turned the binos over on the next ridge. Something did not look right at Rooster's Nightclub. We drove over quickly to check it out. If Rooster's was not serving we were going to have to scramble to find a meal or else resort to can goods. Roosters is a half-mile across Yellow Willow Creek, but it's a long 5 miles by road.

"CLOSED"

We turned around and headed back towards Berlin. We had to get there before Eight to be assured we could be served. When we got there, Figgins Market was still open-- terrific pizza and hoagies awaited.

On the way back, we caught the last few minutes of the eclipse from the parking lot, before we got socked in with clouds. Throughout the night, the wind howled. Sometimes the full moon was out, lighting up the woods and barns as bright as day. Other times blowing snow made it hard to see the trees in the middle of the yard.

At first light, I bundled up in a snowmobile suit and went out with a cup of coffee to my thoughtful spot. Either from there or the front porch I can do most of the scouting I need to do on a weekend. The owls start up down in Hootin' Holler, and any gobblers around sound off. As soon as things get cranked up in the season, you can hear eight to ten gobblers on one side of the house and three to five on the other. Hens and gobblers roost just across one pasture in an oak grove, and are often close enough to pick up even the softest tree yelps.

As I expected, I finished my second cup with only a single lone owl hooting from the holler. Nothing. Nothing but a lot of wind and another snow shower, that quickly decended over the ridge and convinced me it was time to go lay another log on the fire.

After breakfast-- easily the best venison sausage gravy over biscuits I've ever had, I popped the cork on the plumbing and waited for the system to drain. Angus and Moose took the dogs out for some scouting. The dogs came back in no time. Angus and Moose wandered in an hour later, all blue-lipped. By this time, the sun had burned the snow off the road, so we packed up and headed out.

[shaman]

Near Neave, KY 01 March, 2008 0923 ET

Tom T. Hall "A Headstone for Harry" playing on the audio stream -- World Wide Blugrass Network. The big addition to Turkey Camp this year: A Verizon Air Card-- broadband speed off the cell towers. I can now hit my favorite forums from my turkey blind. "Can't " and "Will" are two things entirely-- I'll probably leave the laptop when I go hunting, but then again, I might try issuing live field reports (oooo! Shaman-- How 'bout a webcam?)


We showed up at 2030 ET last night. The neighbors had blocked the road with a couple of old pickups, but we were able to get through.

Items of interest:

One frozen dead mouse on the kitchen floor.

A deck of cards on the dining table left from the last Gin Rummy game. The score sheet shows I was ahead of Moose by several boxes.

The meat pole blew over, but it's repairable.


The gutters are leaking in a few places.


We made it; Three months away from the place, and it was just as we'd left it. I had to run the attic fan to blow outside air into the place-- it was 10 degrees cooler inside than outside. We set a fire and had the bedrooms up to about 50 F before we hit the sack.

I went out at 0630 this morning and owled-- no gobbles, but I heard Blythe's old flock down behind one of the barns flying down from their anscetral roost. I haven't heard old Blythe in a couple of years now-- she'd loiter in the lee of the barn at noon and just crank that gravel-filled voice of hers yelping for hours at a stretch.

Here's what it looks like looking out the back towards the first barn. Blythe's old roost is just down the hill to the left.
http://www.blackholecoffeehouse.com/pooh060304.jpg

[palmettoswamp]

I've never seen anyone anwser their own posts...hats off ;) to you buddy

[shaman]

They say talkin' to yourself isn't a dangerous thing unless you start answerin' . Then again, I've been hunting turkey all by myself for twenty years. It had to happen sometime, I guess.

The fact of the matter is that the top one there was POST #1 on the forum, and I spent some time on here as the only outsider. I just figured I'd keep this one thread going for old time's sake if nothing else and just keep it like a log with only a couple of entries per year.

This may be weird to y'all, but there is nothing that quite compares in my life to being away from camp for 2-3 months and then coming back in. I spend the whole winter fretting about the place. It's weathered ice storms, tornado and so on, and it is always such a relief to see it. In the time away I've had to deal with the holidays and the stresses of life at the plant. I really get to missing the place.

What's more, there is a perfect time capsule of the end of deer season waiting for me, right down to the paperwork for the taxidermist and the processor. In between coming through the door and getting the first fire lit, I see where my life was when I walked out and it shows me how much has changed.

It's getting so the first trip back in late Winter is more than Christmas, and the there is nothing quite like the feeling I get when the water's back on, the fire's built and the bags are in from the car, and I can finally go out back to my spot and look out over the fields bathed in moonlight and take that first sip of good scotch. In a little while, I will have to get the grill going and put the steaks on, but for that one brief bit of time, I can be at peace with the world.

[shaman]

Friday Afternoon:

It was a good drive down. The snow was off the roads, and mostly off the pastures. I couldn't take it anymore-- had to get down and see the place. The Hole in the End of the Stump Turkey Camp officially reopened yesterday for the 2010 KY Spring Gobbler Season.

Good news:

The lights, the phone, and the water came back on without a hitch. I also got a cell signal on the first try.
There were no dead mice
There were no signs of live mice

Bad news:
The back door blew off one of the barns, but that is no big deal. We never went in out that way anyway.

No Turkeys-- at least they weren't out with a banner to greet me.

Tomorrow I'll get down to the arduous task of sitting at my shooting bench, sipping coffee in the cold pre-dawn and owling off the front porch when it gets about a half-hour to sunrise. From there I'll venture to the back of the house and listen for Blythe's flock to come down off their roost. I don't expect to hear any gobbles for a week or two, but you never know. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. I should at least hear Blythe and the rest of the hens squabble a little over who's going to lead the morning procession up to the stock pond.

Weather,etc. permitting we will be opening the official T&TH table at Roosters this Saturday night. If you don't know who we are, ask Orey, Joanie, or Frank to point us out.

Saturday Morning

At 5 minutes to sunrise this morning, a gobbler sounded off. He wasn't on my property, but it's a good sign anyway. My guess this is Mister Moto, my year-round gobbler. He was still gobbling when I left him at the end of deer season. He has a cedar thicket and a little spot of pasture over on the neighbor's property. I 've tried to call him over a couple of times, but he does not want to cross the creek. This morning, he had a buddy that joined him. He was even further out. They shared a few gobbles together as the sun was rising and then gave up. It was 27F-- I couldn't blame them.

I owled when I first got out this morning and did so again about every 5 minutes until Moto got cranked up. One thing that impressed me was how upset it made the crows. After about the third barred owl call, the crows started yacking and one came directly overhead. He then let out a string of calls and this brought even more crows. Pretty soon, I had crows for as far as I could hear going off and these in turn set off the roosters way over at a farm on the next ridge. When Moto finially joined in, it wasn't from my owling, but from the hub-bub created by the crows.

My point in bringing this up is that we have all gotten to talking about locator calls recently. I think it's important to understand how much a little bit of owling or crow calling can have a powerful effect on the woods. I really set the whole end of the county off this morning. More and more I am restraining my locator calling and focusing on just listening. I see this at home too. I'll go out on the back porch as I'm drinking my first cup of coffee and sound off with an owl or a crow, or a hawk. The next thing I know I've got the whole neighborhood cranked up. Try it, the next time you're on your way out to work in the morning-- let off a few locator calls and see what it does. Even in fairly urban neighborhoods you'll see what I mean. You can get every bird in a half-mile radius in a tizzy.

I heard one batch of hens this morning way down in Hootin' Holler. They weren't feeling very vocal, and flopped down without much fanfare and disappeared. It'll be warmer over night tonight. We'll see if that gets them a bit more active.

[FlHunter23]

Looks like a nice piece of property. Way to wake the neighborhood up.

[palmettoswamp]

This might be the #1 post ever on the QB forums..."the shaman enters"...gold baby!!!