I feel so proud, so stupid, so . . .

[shaman]

#3 son, Angus, is 8. He was standing over me while I was looking at this site last night. He asked me what I was up to, and one thing led to another. Next thing we were doing, I'd brought out the turkey calls and we were listening to one a Spittin' Feathers CD. This is Angus' first season as an actual hunter. In the past, his brother has consumed my attentions during the KY Yute season. I take Angus out on the next weekend with no season in and we scout birds together. However, this past fall, he passed hunter ed. Now he's going out armed and dangerous for those birds. He will hunt with me all through regular season.

We did a few clucks and yelps on a few box calls and slates. Then he said he wanted to try a mouth call. He tried to pop it in upside down and backwards, but after I got him straightened out he was making passable yelps with it within ten minutes. In another 5, he was matching pitch and cadence with the CD, and after I had enough and shooed him into his room, he kept on going and by the time I went back to call him in for dinner, I mistook his calls for the CD. He was that good, that fast.

He comes by it honestly. At 8, he's already developing into somewhat of a bagpipe prodigy. He has a fantastic ear and can play anything he hears. But TURKEY CALLS??? Cheese and Rice! It took me three seasons just to get a sound out of a mouth call, and he was dead on in an hour. Yeah, I'm proud and all, but . . . but . . .

Then the little nipper said something that floored me: "Dad, the way I figure it, I'll stay back a ways and call, and then when the turkey comes past you looking for me, you can shoot it." Eight, and starting to strategize already. What's next? How young do they let them compete?

[shaman]

Never mind.

I came home last night, and while I was still in the driveway I heard a horrific squealing coming from the house. When I got in, there was Angus, with his mouth call.

"What was that?" I said.

"That's my turkey call?" he said proudly. "Wanna hear?"

"That didn't sound like a turkey." I said.

"So?" he replied.


To make a long story short, Angus had been experimenting with his call, and managed to a) make all sorts of avant-garde sounds b) teach himself some really bad habits. The bottom line was that within less than a day, Angus had gone from a prodigy to . . . well, back to a kid. He'd done all this without the help of a CD or anything else to guide him, and now he seems like he cannot make anything but the most rudimentary noises. We tried changing calls to no avail. That magic spark from the night before left as quickly as it came.

Oh well, it actually feels better having a kid that I can teach all my lame calling techniques and a new hunting buddy. Together we can weather the sniggering gobblers, and share the great confoundments of the sport.

More as the story develops.

[proturkeyhntr]

Great stories shaman...who are you???

scott ellis

[shaman]

Who am I? Why, I'm the guy in the funny antler headdress and robe, with the turtle shell rattle. I'm . . . I'm the shaman. If you Google "cervid serial killer" you'll find out I am not just a cervid (deer) serial killer -- I'm THE cervid serial killer.

http://www.blackholecoffeehouse.com/headdress2.JPG

Recently, a thread over on the 24hourcampfire.com (http://www.24hourcampfire.com) was asking what your screen handle meant. I replied:


One thing folks need to remember about my handle is that is in lower case.

I am not holding myself out as "Shaman". Rather, I'm "the shaman"-- same way you'd say "the plumber" or "the mailman." It's a vocation.

As to the deeper meaning, all I can say is what else would you call the guy who hangs out at the campfire in robes and headdress, rattling his rattle, chanting, and doing his best to keep the virtual world spinning on its axis?

You guys just don't understand what a concerted effort it takes to make the sun come up every morning, the moon stay in the sky, the stars from wandering about in the firmament. Somebody has to talk to the frogs. Somebody has to tell the ducks when to fly over in formation so you guys can "Oooo" and "Ahhhhhh." . . . It's getting so I have to jack in when I'm at deer camp just to stay ahead of it all.

You think all this runs off the Internet? Phooey. That cable you have attached to your system is hollow and it runs out into the wall and it comes out somewhere under your house and drops of pearly liquid form on the end. Where those fall to the ground, mushrooms grow. You go look, I'll wait. Heck, this whole thing is run off a powerful magic. If it wasn't for the shaman and his rattle, it would all fall apart.

I felt something the other day, sort of a tingle, and I realized that there was an outdoor forum that had not been properly consecrated, so I found my way over here and waggled my rattle, and got things going. When I'm not doing that, I run Genesis 9:2-4 Ministries (http://blackholecoffeehouse.blogspot.com/)of SW Bracken County, KY, but that's only when there's nothing worth shooting in season. I've been hunting turkey and deer for over 20 years, and I'm currently feeding my habit on a 200 acre farm outside Neave, KY. If you're ever at Roosters on a Friday night, have Orey point me out.

I sent a PM to the admin the other day, but he never got back to me, so I'll just throw the question out to the wind:

So when does the piano player show up? When does happy hour start? Who invited the chicks? Did anybody put up flyers? Heck, I've been sitting here all day and I haven't even seen a bartender yet. Got any pretzels? Nuts?

Any free Quaker Boy swag for being the first to show up and post?

I do stand-up too. So if you get a crowd together, I'm willing to do three shows nightly in the lounge for drinks and a cut on the door.

[proturkeyhntr]

very interesting to say the least....

scott

[palmettoswamp]

Very strange to say the least.....

[shaman]

“ . . .So,” said the shaman, “As it turned out, the buck was just pulling my leg the whole time. All that talk about him being too gamey and tough was just a bunch of hooey. Those bucks, they’re such liars!”

“There was probably nothing strange in any of it!” said the gobbler, hopping back down off the stump to snatch something he’d spied moving in the leaf litter. “He might have just been saying all that to save his skin.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” said the shaman, remarking to himself on the capacity of the turkey to draw such a quick conclusion. “I’ve learned over the years that you just cannot trust talking deer.”

“Talking deer! Phooey!” said the gobbler. “Who ever heard of anything so preposterous?”

“I would quite agree,” said the shaman. “By the way, am I keeping you from anything?”

“No,” said the turkey. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing.” said the shaman. “It’s just that I usually see you this time of day out wandering with your compatriot—what’s his name?”

“You mean Jake?” said the turkey. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be along. I heard him having an argument with a coyote this morning. I’m sure he’ll be along any time now. He never misses our time together under this oak.”

“Oh.”

“So, “ said the gobbler. “How did it all turn out?”

“With . . .?”

“With the buck.”

“Oh! Him? I shot him and ate him.” Said the shaman, “He was wonderfully tender, and we got lots of meat off of him. It was all good.”

“I’m glad you did not take him too seriously.” Said the gobbler. “All that wasted effort and all—it would have been a tragedy for you. I had that happen with a spring lizard once. He ran under a log, and I had such a time getting him out.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, when I finally did, he tasted awful. It put me off lizards for a long time.”

“Tragic.” Said the shaman. “I’m so glad you recovered.” The shaman got up and stretched. “Well it seems that I must be going.” He said.

“So soon?”

“Yes,” said the shaman. “I can go on like this all morning, but eventually even I find myself insufferable. Say hello to your friend Jake when you see him. If you all stay around here until Spring, I’ll endeavor to have you both for dinner.”

“That would be most gracious.” Said the gobbler. “We will look forward to it.”