I don't know how I ever got the error to shoot a turkey, or it ever made any difference. I mean, I like eating turkey well enough, you know, on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and from time to time between them. But I never had a hint of the idea that I could get such a bird, even if I wanted to. This is why I'm still interested.
I thought it was an exotic form of hunting, left to extreme, crisp old hunters and members of elite hunting clubs, staffed by an appropriate game, released from their feathers just before shooting. But it was the year when I decided to return to the experience of hunting. The ducks were the first birds on my list, and when I saw that the season would end soon, I realized that I needed something else to chase in the wild, but what?
Quail hunting in Florida is mythical at best, or so it looks. I spent the whole day hunting for a quail zone in a wildlife management property and was unknowingly a hunting snipe. I also could not hit. Contrary to popular belief, it does not include a gun bag and flashlight.
There is always a hunt for pigeons. It was supposed to be the most hunting bird in the USA, and it was hard for me to believe, because even though I was hunting my deadly Benjamin Pump BB gun as a child, I never realized that there could be a large enough number in Florida to be worth effort. The number of birds harvested per hunter is 1.3 or something like that. I think I could do better with my BB gun around town. In any case, the season was closed.
But, turkey, now the bird that I saw during my scouting and hiking trips, but always on the run, is out of reach, mostly seen from the front seat of my truck when they peck on the grass along the side of the road. Can one even get close enough to photograph such a thing with a submachine gun that has an effective radius of 40 to 50 yards? The challenge was intriguing. I began to learn online, getting the elevated skill needed to complete this quest.
It is said that if a turkey can smell as good as she can see, no one would shoot her. That means they see well. No nearsighted trend with this bird.
The first thing you need is “invisible.” This means disguised for the unprepared. You must be invisible to this bird, which has a 270-degree binocular vision and can see your downy silhouette in half a mile. Well, it will detect you, even if you spent several months pumping out iron and cycling in the gym. I needed a camouflage that would make an invisible person jealous. Yes, there is a certain voyeur element associated with this, to observe, without being noticed. What color do you wear?
This opens all possibilities. There is camouflage for woodlands, camouflage for swampy areas, grassy areas, semi-bubbling, semi-forest, autumn, spring and winter camouflage patterns, three models d, Marpat and Cadpat. There is a whole science. The military take this material very seriously.
Then you must remain completely completely, because movement is the first thing a turkey can take, which means that he can catch you, picking your nose at a distance of three hundred yards. Have you ever tried to stay still for hours? To sit, just knowing that this light, light mix just scared off the only tapestryman who will have a chance to shoot this year. I mean, Christ! What were you thinking!
I had foreseen this predicament and bought one of these collapsible camouflaged blinds with a pattern in the forest, which was created by pulling the upper ring in the center of the small beam, and four people blindly with the top instantly materialize instantly. There was only one small problem with the first tent I bought. He did not want to dematerialize back to the neat bundle when he arrived.
The directions were useless, the pictures are too vague. By pushing back on each side pole like this, the tent should collapse just like crap, nothing. I have carefully studied this situation. I pressed this path, and this, again, is nothing. I took a deep breath, and in fifteen minutes the monkeys were tormented if it collapsed partially with two sides sticking out in any direction, more like a large umbrella, blown out inside out. It was funny! I brought this piece of shit back to the store. But it would not be like the front door of my house. I somehow turned it inside out, and after cleverly folding one of the sides, I heard an uncharacteristic crack, like the sound of a fishing pole that had broken in half. Strangely, I do not remember reading anything about any cracks in the directions. But I was on something.
Another cracking maneuver, and I was able to slip out of the front door and place it under the top of my pickup for safe delivery back to Dick's sporting goods. Beginner has many opportunities. I decided to experiment with another brand camouflage. This one turned out to be much more durable and more idiotic evidence. I was able to open it and fold it back into the bag for carrying several times, while the tape I wrapped, processed the top handle, saved it so that I knew where the top was and which side to pull, not open it up and down again. But can I do it in the dark? It is imperative that it work.
You can see that while inside the tent, you can move, bite or drink, check your stock portfolio or Facebook account on your electronics. I also bring my 15-year-old son, whom I would call “X-man”, because he made me promise to never use my real name in any of my stories, and I know that he cannot sit still. our experience in duck blind. But I digress.
So, now that we’ve reached the stealth derivative, we needed something to bring this nagging fool at a distance from my vintage 12-gauge, above and below it. He is two times older than my son, but still shoots wonderfully. What we have with this spring love of turkeys is a sweet conversation with one of the many available challenges. X-man decided to try the diaphragm in his mouth, which he practiced with all his might in 45 minutes from the sporting goods store. It was like Donald Duck on steroids and helium.
I decided something simpler, called a pot, which is a small round disk of slate where you take this leafy stick around the diameter of a pencil and, like the nails on the board, make the familiar sounds of sexy hungry chicken turkey looking for some kind of action. It will take some time to move from the screeching noise to the familiar scream of a female turkey. See if there is a fork, a fist, a cutting challenge, a purr and a call for an assembly that make up the main repertoire of their vocabulary. Yes, I know that there is something called “fly”, “tree”, “keke ke” and “gobble”, but let it be just silly.
The next and newest Indian hunter arsenal is bait. No kidding. There are only about a million different types and brands. Believe me, I spent a few hours researching only for what did not require the sale of a kidney. They make them with real feathers, moving their heads, swinging wings, inflating tails, foam, plastic, rubber, strut, turning, swinging and everything between them. I finally settled on a trio of rubber foam types that roll up for easy storage and unfolding and assume their natural position when you take them out and slightly dissolve them. They sit on small plastic pillars that hold them on the ground, two chickens and jaca, who is an immature man who makes crazy madmen to hang chickens. This, of course, causes the tom to flee to the bait in death, as well as to claim its territory. This is what the bait claimed, anyway, and they even had a video to back it up.
On a good day, my lures will tell me how the wind blows, because they naturally turn on their perch with a breeze. But I don’t think they should spin around and around when the wind really catches.
Now, as soon as you become familiar with all the basic equipment, all you need to do is find out where these cunning birds hang. Once again, an online oracle study provided me with everything I needed to know.
Turks love to live near water. Turks like to sleep high in large trees with large branches above the water. Early in the morning, they fly off their perch to start their busy day, gathering seeds and insects. Turkeys, like some open land near the dense forest, to arrange their things. In the spring, the turkeys of the volume are on the yaw, rounding them up to several comrades.
You'll find out where it all happens, set up your gear, and your turkey will almost fill itself.
This last thought brought a subtle smile to my Gilly Sniper costume as I sat in my disguised beach chair in a palmetto. I found a way outside the tent. X-man has already said that this turkey hunt is sitting in the blind for four hours, being calm. He wore longer than I thought about our first half of the hunt in the Ocala National Forest, where we got a pair of glossy boards, but did not take part.
Half the problem is the exploration of areas for these turkeys. We drive along roads that should have been marked by a four-wheel drive, finding squatters. vehicles and sleeping quarters in the middle of nowhere. "Boy, you have a cold mouth." I almost heard it when we drove out, often stopping with me, walking in the woods to scout signs, while the X-man and his buddy, whom we bought with us, I call the Joker, sat in truck and listened to their rap music. All I had to do was walk a couple of hundred yards, search for tracks and food, yes, feed. Did you know that their feed can reveal information about these birds? If he is long and curls a little at the end, he will probably be a tom if his lumpy popcorn can be chicken. The feed I found most was large, cylindrical and full of berries, which, according to my feed dictionary, belonged to a species of black bear.
Hunting in Turkey can be dangerous. But, fortunately, the bears are more modest than the turkeys, who did not even bother to answer my frequent wolf calls, which were supposed to pull the answer out of the dirtiest shoemaker, like owls. But after digging out my truck from the mud, I eventually found them. Tracks, thumbs with a track, middle finger about four inches, must be a gobbler according to my animal vocabulary of the word.
I installed my recently purchased game camera in an ideal place to catch its good side and joyfully walked back along the road, already presenting many poses that I would see the next time I checked the camera. The next day, I came back and pulled the camera card from my game camera and told the X-man to climb high to the truck to jump into the camera while I stayed and looked for the stern.
“It's just great, Dad,” proclaimed the X-man on the radio we were wearing in the woods, “you have 64 pictures of grass weeds.”
“This damn gaming camera is supposed to be infrared with the latest motion detection technology!” I cried out in annoyance: “Damn!”
"You set the camera too low, dad." X-man explained as if he was trying to talk to someone with a double-digit IQ.
But, returning on a trip, I noticed enough to decide to try it the next day.
We also bought the Joker, who sat passively in our tent for the next two mornings, announcing every new tick that he noticed on his feet. I can still hear his little voice behind my chair saying, “Yes, I found another tick.” Two minutes later, “Found another tick on my leg,” after two minutes, “this time I found another tick on my leg.” It lasted about two hours.
Almost the Joker was a kind of tick magnet. Or we just installed our blind over the mound, if there is such a thing. It made our skin crawl.
The ultimate straw for the X-man was in a place called the Three Lakes Wildlife Management Area. This is a large area of potential turkey habitat. A few months ago, we chased a dozen chickens on our snipe hunt, and we just saw a big volume in the same area on a recent scout trip. Apparently, there were several hundred other hunters. At five o'clock in the morning there were already a dozen cars parked in Site A and in Place B of my desirable areas of intelligence.
It left me with my last choice, the most southerly place where you could ride and ride before you go for a walk. When we arrived, it was still dark, and they stopped on a very sandy road meant for four-wheeled vehicles. A quarter of a mile along the edge of a cow pasture on the edge of a dense forest in cypress water, and we set up. It was a beautiful picture, an open grassy field just before entering the cover, until the sun rose. Then it was a turkey, causing madness. To the left there was a squeeze, to the right - a straw, an owl to his right, a purr, a screech and a crow. I called them and they called back. Oh, how I wanted my duck calls.
I don’t know how close everyone was to everyone, because there was foliage around us, but I think that if I threw a stone in any direction, I would hear a man cry out in pain.
On our way, we saw their vehicles littering the side of the road. We must have been the first, and everyone else parked on the main road.
It was too much. If I hoped to collect this creature, I would have to come up with a new scheme.
What led me from three lakes to such a secret so remote, I will not disclose it under any circumstances. Well, if you plunge into my ass, I'll tell you in a second. Drill holes through your fingers, definitely isolation with extreme rap music cracked at high intensity, absolutely. Make me look at another picture of turkey on the Internet, I will give you a map. Let me say that I will not raise it in a normal conversation.
But I saw signs and signs.
I climbed two miles in the dark, and all my gear neatly dug into a backpack with high weather in the Sierra; a beach chair, a masked net, a Ghillie suit, water, breakfast bars, bags with cookies, MRE, lures, bells, three different methods for starting a fire, and even a blowing kit in case I shot myself. I could hold out here for a few days. I found the perfect place, unfortunately I scared the young raccoon to the pine tree a few yards from my perfect place, but I was not going to let him ruin my day. I thought he was leaving soon, as soon as I disappeared in my suit Gilli, a fat chance.
I settled in my sun lounger with a bottle of water, and the turkey rang the arm and, as usual, should have leaked out as soon as the sun came. Shit, mess around with Gillie's suit and jeans with gloves, you can hold a shotgun humiliatingly. But at least the pistol was not yet loaded.
NOW, I was ready to load my gun. The number 4 turkey is loaded with real lead, baby, and not the hemp steel they use for waterfowl. Now I was ready. Early morning in the forest is a magical time. If you listen carefully, you can hear nature at its best, a cricket to the right, an owl on distant trees, insects, birds, there are many there, and if you listen hard enough, if you # 39; have mastered the art of silence, you can even hear the highway at a distance.
But birds, this part of East Central Florida in the spring has a dozen different species singing until dawn. I looked at the sound of the owl and saw only that the raccoon had covered the lower branch or was asleep, or simply died. Sadness for good.
I leaned back and just listened. Two hundred years ago, you could sit in this very place, looking at the same landscape, surprising the same thing.
"Where the hell are turkeys?" Why am I here? I left the stove?
... Something caught the left corner of my eye when I stiffened so as not to move my muscles. My online sniper training has paid off. Anyway, it was very close. Was it a shoemaker? Slowly, so slowly, I turned my head to see her. Oh, great, it was a rabbit, a little rabbit with a cotton tail, and he slowly galloped towards me, stopping to rest on my side while he gnawed on the grass with my legs. I could reach out and stroke her. But can they bite them? Maybe it was crazy.
What was it? Have I finally achieved complete invisibility? Had I entered the realm of the supernatural, passed through a crack in a cosmic egg, or reached the third degree of Tozan or something else?
I have a hay raccoon lying over my head, and I sit next to another wild creature, watching the sun rise, completely unnoticed. Is this a Disney movie? Этот костюм работает лучше, чем я думал. What's next? Бэмби? Затем я вспомнил, что кое-что X-мужчина сказал мне накануне
«Папа, шанс 99,9% вы не получите индейку, когда идете на охоту».
Я подавил внезапное желание посмеяться безумно.
«Нет, X-man, я думаю, что вероятность немного выше этого».
Но, эй, я не пришел сюда, чтобы терпеть неудачу. Я решил, что настало время проверить вызов индейки. Я уронил шифер и высунулся из пластикового пакета, и к тому времени, когда я начал ударять по моей индейской мелодии, окружающая влажность сделала мое устройство совершенно бесполезным. Нет звука вообще. Это потребовало нескольких шлифовальных приложений с моими большими обоими зернами, чтобы наконец вытащить первые clucks дня.
Теперь я мог просто сидеть сложа руки и ждать, пока этот том не начнет танцевать в ловушку, чтобы показать свои вещи.
Через час я больше не выдержал и расстался с тем, что, как я думал, было довольно приличным подражанием визгу. И десять минут спустя я услышал это, что неописуемо вкусный звук сожрания, сожрать издалека, как леденец для ребенка или яркие светлые огни дураку. Я не мог определить, как далеко, но он вышел налево.
Через полтора часа не было никакой индейки, кроме моих трех приманков, шелестящих на легком ветру. Я попробовал мурлыкать по телефону, но это звучало довольно жалко, поэтому я заткнулся. Терпение было ключевым здесь. Я просто должен был подождать эту присоску и надеяться, что это было в настроении.
Это та часть охоты, которая проверяет веру людей, последнее ожидание, это вечно. Прошло много времени. Ничего, он не придет, у него были другие планы. Возможно, он встретил кого-то. Я мог видеть восемьдесят ярдов в одном направлении, тридцать ярдов прямо передо мной и двадцать справа. Если бы он пришел за мной, я бы, конечно, слышал его через пальметтос.
Я снова начал расслабляться, и мой мозг не сосредоточился ни на чем. Я не был сонным, я просто не осознавал этого. Может быть, я задремал. Я стал достаточно внимательным, чтобы медленно отсканировать область, движущуюся только моими глазами, ничего, кроме моих четырех ловушек, стоящих на страже.
What kind? Четыре? Мой разум пытался понять последствия. Был ли там самозван? Oh sure. Справа была легендарная индейка, любимая Фрэнклином, особенная благодарность, которая собирала гадость, эта галлическая роза, проверяющая мой спрэд, просто тонула меня, подкидывая нос. Мне нужно было только очко и стрелять. Я оттолкнула безопасность на ружье. Мой пистолет был в расслабленном положении, опираясь на мое согнутое колено, указывая в общем направлении, где я думал, что увижу эту птицу. Но мой выстрел потребует поворота на 30 градусов вправо.
Я вспомнил, что старый охотник за индейками, которого я встретил в палаточном лагере в Окале, сказал после долгого перетаскивания от его сигареты, а затем судорожно кашлял, что казалось вечностью, прежде чем плевать на то, что я мог только представить, как кровь,
«Не пытайтесь двигаться медленно, чтобы стрелять». «Просто принеси свой пистолет, поставь бусину, где ее голова входит в его тело, и стреляй, это лучший способ». Я говорю вам, что он не имеет ничего общего с индейкой. Никогда не поворачивайтесь спиной к зарядной черепахе. Он вопросительно спросил, почти заговорщически, а затем вскочил в кашель и конвульсивно, как только мой сын начал бить меня по радио, чтобы прийти, забрать его и Джокер в плавающую яму. Дерьмо, теперь я никогда не узнаю окончательный секрет.
Я должен был спросить его, что делать с вармонами на деревьях, потому что, когда я собирал пистолет, чтобы повернуть, я услышал звук обрыва в дереве со стороны меня, как лесоруб, сползающий по стволу дерева полный подъем. Этот несчастный енот проснулся от сна.
Я выстрелил в воздух. Kaboom! И тот исчез. В пальметто он бежал. Хорошо, если бы я сегодня не собирался есть индейку, как насчет енота, некоторые части съедобны. Я шагнул, чтобы стрелять снова, на дереве в этот раз, но угол был слишком большим, чтобы сойти с приличного выстрела, который никогда меня не останавливал. Kaboom! Этот маленький бандит тоже ускользнул.
Я сидел молча, на мгновение пытаясь понять, что только что произошло. Я вспомнил часть старого стихотворения моего учителя четвертого класса. Миллер заставил нас запомнить.
О, где-то на этой благоприятной земле солнце светит ярким;
Группа играет где-то, и где-то сердца светлые,
И где-то мужчины смеются, и где-то дети кричат;
Но в Мудвиле нет радости - могучий Кейси застрял.
В прошлом я слышал, как корова-му была за мной, и все это стало совершенно прозрачным.
© 2012 кузница
