Since I missed the first day of the turkey opener, only because I was required to pay the mortgage, I was anxious to arrive at turkey camp. It was 1:00am, yes AM and I was wide awake on our 5 hour drive. So was my seventeen year old son Sean as we talked turkey all the way up north. Sean had shot his first coyote a few weeks back and hoped he would see one on this trip. Of coarse some words of fatherly wisdom accompanied the discussion relating to girls and careers along with some talk of school as is customary on these long drives (he probably dreads that).

Our camp was located in north central Wisconsin about one hour from the Minnesota border. We also do the annual deer hunts with gun and bow here. Camp is secluded on the Red Cedar River and wildlife abounds. Years ago turkey hunting was much easier in this area. These days the birds are much smarter and much quieter.

When we arrived my Uncle had his pop-up camper and nearly every camping convenience known to man set up. He had hunted the opener with no luck. It was sunny, windy and warm and only a couple of hens showed up in the manure laden cut corn field that he and our friend Gary along with Gary’s grand daughter Bridgette were set up in. Sean and I quickly unloaded our gear and went to bed. We stayed up talking and laughing like excited school boys waiting for our first date, than slowly fell asleep.

Although we probably only got about an hour of sleep we jumped up when the alarm went off. After the short two mile drive to one of the farms we had permission to hunt on, we started our half mile plus walk up the hills towards the fields that usually are good strutting and feeding areas. We had hunted this farm many times in the last fifteen years and were very successful.

The morning was sunny and temps were around forty degrees. I set up my pop-up blind that I routinely use for base camp. If things get real slow I usually head out on small controlled scouting trips. I strategically placed three hen decoys in the field. Today I decided to sit until about eleven o’clock since the toms were silent. I don’t like walking around in the early morning with the woods quiet especially if the toms aren’t gobbling. The wind started picking up around eight o’clock and clouds rolled in. At about nine o’clock a couple of hens checked out my set-up but no gobblers were to be seen. I did hear some far off shots and hoped my Uncle or our friend Gary’s grand daughter had pulled the trigger. I called Sean on the two-way radio and he had seen the same birds I had but no toms.

I left to scout another farm and run to the store for supplies (yes, beer). On the way I spotted four big toms and a hen getting ready to fly across the river in one of the farms we had permission to hunt on. The hen was running around, obviously being pestered by the gobblers. She wanted to cross the river but I stopped my truck in her way. The last thing I wanted was those tom’s to follow her across. I slowly drove down the road and she left the running blocks bolting into high gear, she raised her legs and flew into a swamp across the river. The tom’s stayed put.

This field was only a couple hundred yards from our camp so I parked the truck and grabbed my mask, calls and gun. I ran across the road and up the steep hill trying to get behind the birds. After hiding in a spot I figured was about a hundred yards away to recover from my breathless near heart attack run, I made a couple of yelps and clucks. Nothing. After about ten minutes I looked for the birds and they were gone. I figured they must have gone looking for the hen.

I picked Sean up in the late morning and went to another farm to see what the other hunters had done. Uncle Al told us the story of how a tom came into his decoys not ten feet from him and he missed. He figured the pattern was so small that he must have shot over the turkeys head barely missed him. Than he told us about another tom that came in and he shot three times grazing him. He and Gary followed small drops of blood until they flushed it across the river, never to be seen again. He was definitely not having a good day. I gave him a hard time but than thought I better let up. You never know, that could happen to me too and I’ll never hear the end of it. Sean, Uncle Al, Gary and his granddaughter Bridgette all went to eat at a small café in Sand Creek.

I returned to the farm only to see the farmer’s sister scouting the area. She was hunting another farm and had also missed a tom with three shots. She was wondering what I had seen. I got settled in and about noon Sean returned from breakfast. Apparently the friendly farmer also gave permission to a couple other hunters as they set up a blind about a hundred yards from me. I packed up my blind and moved to the other side of the farm and set up my blind. When I got the whole thing set up I went into the field to put my decoys out. Then I noticed another blind only fifty yards away from me. These guys must have set up while we were gone. The farmer never mentioned this and I never thought to ask. Always ask if you’re the only one hunting the farm. Never the less this was getting way too crowded for me. I called Sean and told him I was leaving. He wanted to stay since he was a long ways from them.

I went back to camp and picked up Uncle Al. I drove back to the other farm where I had seen the four Toms that flew across the river and noticed a hen feeding in the field. We drove around to the other side of the farm and watched five toms feeding in a neighbor’s field. They moved up the big field to the wooded hillside. This was probably only four or five hundred yards from land we could hunt on.

We decided to set up in the new area. We thought that there wasn’t much of a chance of getting the turkeys that were on the other side of the river across but maybe one of the five would meander our way.

After setting up around four o’clock I made a couple yelps. Almost immediately the toms across the river started gobbling. I was set up on the side of a big CRP field next to a one acre clump of woods along a tree line on top of a hill. This allowed me a good vantage point to see the river and kept my calling close to the gobblers that were on the other side of the river. Uncle Al was set up on the far side of the field in a corner just before the wooded hillside.

After two hours of nearly non-stop calling from Uncle Al and I and sporadic gobbling, he called me on the radio and said "the tom flew across the river; he’s running down the side of the road but doesn’t want to cross". Isn’t that just like a turkey? He’ll fly across a sixty yard rushing river but won’t cross the road. I couldn’t see that area but the bird was only a couple hundred yards away. I started a cutting frenzy. "He crossed the road" Uncle Al said. "He’s running right at you at 25 mph". "Get ready here he comes". I raised my gun but still couldn’t see the bird. Uncle Al started calling. Than called me back. "He’s coming to me, don’t call". After a minute or so, "BANG". "I shot me a big tom" he said. Uncle Al hadn’t shot a tom in a few years and I was happy for him.

He registered the bird in town and the tom weighed 23 pounds with a ten and a half inch beard and 1 inch spurs. I picked Sean up and he had only seen one hen. Gary and Bridgette didn’t see anything either and after a fish fry at the local tavern we turned in for the night.

The next morning we awoke to a down pour. We figured as soon as the rain let up we better be out there waiting for the turkeys to get down off the roast. We went back to the original farm to try again. The rain slowed to a drizzle as I crawled in my blind. The other hunters packed up and left so we finally had the farm to ourselves. I only heard a couple far off gobbles and had to leave at 9:30am to take my female lab to the vet for a blood test to see if she was ready to breed.

At 9:00am I walked a couple hundred yards towards the property line and made a couple calls. I got a gobble. I quickly found a place to sit and started an aggressive style cutting type call. After a few minutes of not hearing anything I called again. Not ten yards away appeared two small hens. They looked as if they were looking for mom. Suddenly I heard some loud putting fifty or so yards away in the woods. The Tom or big hen was calling the young hens back to them. I cutted loudly and they came back to me. We played tug of war for several minutes when they finally gave up on me and left.

I met Sean at the truck and we took the dog to the vet. After breakfast we decided to grab our blinds off the farm and hunt the rest of the time on the other farm by the river. After a couple yelps we packed up and left.

Sean hunted up the steep hill of hardwoods and I would stay in my blind close to the river. We made our first call at 2:00pm. After nearly four hours of calling with no response I began to lose hope. The birds across the river were silent and I had seen nothing in the field. Sean also didn’t see or hear a bird. Every five minutes I would make a one minute yelping and clucking type call and every other five minutes I would make an aggressive two minute cutting, yelping, purring and clucking call, kind of throwing everything out there I could. I’d occasionally pull out the box and slate but the diaphragm was used most of the time. If any bird was in ear shot, he definitely would hear me.

I have four widows in my blind. The one on the right showed me the river but not much else, the window on the left had a tree blocking it, the opening behind me revealed a hay field and my front window showed my decoys in the CRP field.

After a calling sequence I pulled my facemask down to get a drink of water, as I glanced out my rear window I saw movement. I fixed my vision on an object that would be a large tom turkey at only 10 feet (yes feet) away, looking right at me and beginning to run. I turned and grabbed my 12 gauge 870 that was laying on the ground on my right side and swung it out the window aiming and leading the now running bird at thirty yards, I quickly pumped three shots at him rolling him over on the second shot. I grabbed three more shells and loaded the gun (my last three shells). I unzipped the blind and ran over to where the turkey disappeared over the hill.

There I sat looking at three hundred plus yards of empty woods. It was early in April and no vegetation was grown yet. I could see clear down to the road that paralleled the river. First I thought about the crap that I gave Uncle Al for missing a turkey earlier in the week, and how I probably deserved this. But I just couldn’t believe he was gone. I ran down the steep hill looking under every blow down and bush I could see. Nothing. I called my Uncle and son Sean on the radio and told them I was going to start from the top of the hill again and see if I can track him. They probably laughed.

I arrived back in my blind and looked out the rear window getting my bearings on my shot placement. I went in a straight line from the blind where I had shot last. I found my wad and shortly after found a baseball sized spot of blood. I went a little further and found some more. My Uncle joined me for the tracking job. We followed the blood trail down the hill about a hundred yards and than lost it. Uncle Al stayed at the last blood spot and I swerved down the hill in a sweeping motion looking for more blood. When I arrived at the road I found a pencil eraser sized spot of blood and called Uncle Al down the hill. "He must have crossed the road and went in the swamp next to the river" I said.

It was thick, wet and nasty, a place you’d imagine a big ten point buck hiding on opening day of gun deer season. It was about a hundred yards to the river and I didn’t want the turkey to cross the river, if he could fly. I angled to my right all the way to the river than began to work my way back when I jumped him in a thicket. I couldn’t see him but heard his big wings beat at no more than ten yards. I’d probably lose him if I had to go around the thicket so I just crashed through it yelling "I’ll get you, you son-of-a-&%$#@", I think the yelling helped the pain of crashing through the brush. I got to within twenty yards and shot twice. Yes missing. The bird ran off limping on a broken leg and balancing his body with a broken wing.

Finally the tom stopped running knowing he couldn’t outrun this crazed mad man any longer. With my last shell I fired at ten yards. The turkeys head hit the ground and the wings started flapping in the typically head shot style that I’ve killed every other bird with. As I approached the big tom I saw he was still alive. I grabbed my knife and quickly slit his neck. This bird traveled over a half mile with a broken leg and broken wing, bleeding half the way. Than still wouldn’t die by the gun.

As I was tagging the bird I heard a shot from back up the hill. I called Sean and said "was that you?" He responded "the heck with turkey hunting, I just shot me a coyote". He shot a beautiful blond coyote that was stalking his hen decoy at just ten steps.

My bird weighed 22 pounds but everyone that saw it thought he must have been full of air because of his size. He sported an eleven inch beard and had one and a quarter inch spurs.

Although Sean and Bridgette didn’t get turkey’s we had a great time as always. As a bonus we found four shed antlers and heard more pheasants and grouse than we ever have. If it wasn’t for the power steering pump line that blew on my ford truck on Sunday as we were leaving, it would have been a near perfect trip.

Thanks to our friend Gary Cutting, Sean and I made it home, but not before a relaxing beer sitting next to the red cedar river reminiscing about the toughest turkey in Sand Creek.

BACK HOME

Sean with his Coyote and Rick with his Turkey

Uncle Al with his 23 pound Tom

The sheds we found on this years trip

Sean with the biggest sheds he found

Ricks 22 pound Wisconsin Gobbler

Turkey camp on the Red Cedar River 2008

Sean's second 2008 Coyote