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Early on in a past spring gobbler season, a long-beard had his hands (claws) full with a small flock of hens, two orbiting jakes, and this old turkey hunter.
I had heard his gobbles down in a hidden field, made a move, set up back against a big maple, and watched the traditional comedic drama unfold.
The boss bird would almost run to my call, gobbling and in partial display (fanned out) but look back and see the two young toms, the jakes, make a twin move on his hens.
So back he would run, gobbling all the time, to chase them off.
This literal bird-in-the-hand-worth-two-in-the-bush scenario continued for almost three hours as the hens slowly groomed the field.
The fairer sex with the brown feathers (toms often appear black) seemed much more interested in the occasional early grasshopper or leftover seed.
The old tom was extremely animated and when gobbling and strutting would sometimes have a whitish-blue head, that would slowly morph to a brilliant red as he gobbled, displayed, pirouetted, and chased the jakes. Researchers pin the rapid color changes on the ebb and flow of the gobbler's hormones.
Slowly the whole feathered troop came closer and closer to posted property where I could not go. And though the old boy was still interested, and gobbled, he frustratingly never quite came into gun range.
I was beat that day.
Fast forward to last turkey season.
Same field, but now, only two hens worked from their roost through the field, probably toward their hidden egg clutches on the posted property.
But, no gobbles, no gobbler, no jakes.
Just a soft yelp back from the girls.
Until, "Gobble-obbble-obble," right when I received an important text on my phone.
And sure enough, out of the woods, on the field edge, emerged three big black toms a couple hundred yards away. Nothing quite like game-time after a week of rainouts and silent wet, dank, dripping woods.
But something was wrong right off.
The three toms were about the same size, and even at that distance, no ropes were hanging.
Three jakes, young toms.
Slowly the three amigos worked their way across the field. Their five-inch or so "paint brushes," small beards, stuck out of each of their breasts as they cautiously approached. But they were being reeled in by their adolescent desires. The largest and boldest had a red head, but the two other subdominants had brownish heads.
The biggest bird came as close as 10 yards away, flanked by each of his comrades, and stared at the end of my 12-gauge shotgun that was resting on my knee, pointed right in his face.
The standoff lasted a few seconds, and then he started to putt, the traditional warning sound of the wild turkey.
Probably saw me blink my eye behind the camo face net.
Hopefully, we will duel again this May when they have had another year of experience under their belts ... and decent beards.
My recent guidelines when hunting gobblers in the last few decades is to not bushwhack a tom, roost-shoot, or "limb" them, and I haven’t killed a jake in many years.
Just long-beards for me nowadays.
But that might change this year.
Because I have never seen so many jakes!
Gangs of them.
On two separate properties, each contains a gang of about a dozen jakes. Great for the future, no doubt as some will give us good sport as they mature into long-beards.
But they could use some thinning out.
More: Another gobbler season is calling. Should New York state move up start of turkey hunt?
The law in NYS reads that any tom or hen with a beard of any length is legal game.
But many of us with a lot of long-beards under our belts pass on jakes (and hens with beards), hoping for long beards and long spurs.
But these gangs of jakes are bullies and have turned things upside down.
Now they actually gang up on gobblers and drive any rival from their hens and the strutting zone.
I prefer a long-beard … but if a gang of bullies comes in this season, one might be wearing my tag.
— Oak Duke writes a biweekly Outdoors column.
This article originally appeared on The Evening Tribune: Passing on jakes in favor of longbeards is turkey hunting 101
Continue reading...
I had heard his gobbles down in a hidden field, made a move, set up back against a big maple, and watched the traditional comedic drama unfold.
The boss bird would almost run to my call, gobbling and in partial display (fanned out) but look back and see the two young toms, the jakes, make a twin move on his hens.
So back he would run, gobbling all the time, to chase them off.
This literal bird-in-the-hand-worth-two-in-the-bush scenario continued for almost three hours as the hens slowly groomed the field.
The fairer sex with the brown feathers (toms often appear black) seemed much more interested in the occasional early grasshopper or leftover seed.
The old tom was extremely animated and when gobbling and strutting would sometimes have a whitish-blue head, that would slowly morph to a brilliant red as he gobbled, displayed, pirouetted, and chased the jakes. Researchers pin the rapid color changes on the ebb and flow of the gobbler's hormones.
Slowly the whole feathered troop came closer and closer to posted property where I could not go. And though the old boy was still interested, and gobbled, he frustratingly never quite came into gun range.
I was beat that day.
Fast forward to last turkey season.
Same field, but now, only two hens worked from their roost through the field, probably toward their hidden egg clutches on the posted property.
But, no gobbles, no gobbler, no jakes.
Just a soft yelp back from the girls.
Until, "Gobble-obbble-obble," right when I received an important text on my phone.
And sure enough, out of the woods, on the field edge, emerged three big black toms a couple hundred yards away. Nothing quite like game-time after a week of rainouts and silent wet, dank, dripping woods.
But something was wrong right off.
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The three toms were about the same size, and even at that distance, no ropes were hanging.
Three jakes, young toms.
Slowly the three amigos worked their way across the field. Their five-inch or so "paint brushes," small beards, stuck out of each of their breasts as they cautiously approached. But they were being reeled in by their adolescent desires. The largest and boldest had a red head, but the two other subdominants had brownish heads.
The biggest bird came as close as 10 yards away, flanked by each of his comrades, and stared at the end of my 12-gauge shotgun that was resting on my knee, pointed right in his face.
The standoff lasted a few seconds, and then he started to putt, the traditional warning sound of the wild turkey.
Probably saw me blink my eye behind the camo face net.
Hopefully, we will duel again this May when they have had another year of experience under their belts ... and decent beards.
My recent guidelines when hunting gobblers in the last few decades is to not bushwhack a tom, roost-shoot, or "limb" them, and I haven’t killed a jake in many years.
Just long-beards for me nowadays.
But that might change this year.
Because I have never seen so many jakes!
Gangs of them.
On two separate properties, each contains a gang of about a dozen jakes. Great for the future, no doubt as some will give us good sport as they mature into long-beards.
But they could use some thinning out.
More: Another gobbler season is calling. Should New York state move up start of turkey hunt?
The law in NYS reads that any tom or hen with a beard of any length is legal game.
But many of us with a lot of long-beards under our belts pass on jakes (and hens with beards), hoping for long beards and long spurs.
But these gangs of jakes are bullies and have turned things upside down.
Now they actually gang up on gobblers and drive any rival from their hens and the strutting zone.
I prefer a long-beard … but if a gang of bullies comes in this season, one might be wearing my tag.
— Oak Duke writes a biweekly Outdoors column.
This article originally appeared on The Evening Tribune: Passing on jakes in favor of longbeards is turkey hunting 101
Continue reading...
