Natural Sounds

Natural Sounds for picky Longbeards

By Dave Freeman

It was 9 a.m. Monday morning, the first day of the fourth week of the 2002 Ohio Turkey season.

This was the first year that Buckeye State turkey hunters were given a fourth week to pursue spring gobblers.

I was hunting on private land in southern Columbiana County in the vicinity of Brush Creek and Highlandtown wildlife areas.

The morning, to that point, had been uneventful. There were no treetop gobbles before fly down, or no gathering yelps from a boss hen after she had hit the ground. In short, for the past several hours, I had heard nothing that even resembled a turkey.

Although I am a noon hunter and believe that from 10 a.m. until noon is often the best time to pursue old mister longbeard, today looked like (without even a jake yelp) I might be heading for home before legal quitting time.

Then, as I crossed a small treeline from one side of the property to the other I heard him.

One gobble.

From the sound he was probably one-half mile away on the edge of a large ravine that drops off for several hundred feet to the main highway below.

After a discussion with myself (did I or did I not hear a gobble?) I decided to get as close to that ridge as I could and try to hear him again. The plan was to use as much cover as I could to get to the ridge, set up and then lure the untalkative bird to me. That was the plan.

In the half an hour it took me to pick my way to the ridge the bird gobbled one more time -- and then just one gobble. When a gobbler refuses to provide a hunter with enough gobbling to pinpoint his location it is anyone’s guess as to where to set up. Am I too close or not close enough? Is the cover too thick or what?

When I got to the top of the ridge and was what I thought was 100 yards from my objective I did just that -- I guessed at where to set up.

The area on the top of the ridge consisted of some old rows of hardwoods, just a few trees wide, and mostly grown up fields. The saplings were now eight- to 10 feet high. Multi-flora rose bushes were also scattered around to make visibility that much harder.

My set-up was against one of the only large oak trees. I placed my Feather Flex decoy 20 yards away in an effort to provide both attraction for the gobbler and safety for me, in case another hunter approached who had also heard our gobbler’s limited vocalization.

Once my set-up was complete (which included a camo blind in front of me) I set out the calls that I wanted to use in a position that I could get to with little or no movement. Then I sat back and got ready to harvest my second bird of the Ohio 2002 season.

I knew that with all my calling knowledge, along with my carefully selected calls, and a couple soft yelps, and that bird would be mine.

Yea right!

So I placed my favorite diaphragm call on my mouth and with great confidence I made three soft yelps.

No answer. I made three more yelps with a little more feeling. Still no answer. Maybe this was a bird that preferred glass, I thought, so I made a yelp and a purr on my glass call.

No answer.

Had I bumped him? Had I scared him away as I set up on the ridge? Had I gotten too close before I set up?

It was a beautiful spring morning and I sat for 10 or so minutes and listened -- and rested a little from the stock and hurried set up -- and just as I was convinced that my bird was gone he did it again.

H gobbled one time from no more that 100 yards away, and in the same area where he had gobbled before.

So I yelped again. No answer. I used my glass call again, and still no answer.

While -- over the years of chasing our fine-feathered friends -- I have exercised some patience, I would not say that has been my strong suit. I am sure I have lost more than one bird by moving just as he was coming and today that was not going to be the case. I had nearly three hours before I had to quit hunting and on that day I was determined to use down to the last minute if necessary. But what call to use? The bird liked nothing I had sent his way so far, and as I was thinking about this he gobbled again.

I knew it was the forth week of season and the area I was hunting had seen a lot of pressure. The hens that we were nesting for the most part were as silent as this gobbler.

Then it hit me. Information stored somewhere in the back of a turkey hunter’s brain (most of our families believe we don’t have one) emerged.

Natural sounds.

“Natural sounds,” a voice seemed to say. Tips I had received over the years from several of the country’s top turkey hunters were paying off. Tips shared in person, over the phone, from their articles, or in videos or television programs.

Armed with my new open file of information and knowing on that day I would wait him out, I put my new plan of attack in motion.

I yelped, and as before, there was no answer. But this time right after the yelp I scratched the leaves and made the sounds of a turkey walking and feeding. I made two short scratches, and then another, imitating the sound of a hen as she walks and scratches before regaining her balance. The walking sound was made by pressing down on the leaves with the heel of my hand .

Again no answer. When he gobbled again in 15 minutes he was still in the same place. This time after he gobbled I just made scratching sounds and no yelps. Then I clucked on my glass call and made more walking sounds. This time I added the sound of a wing as I hit my hat against my leg. After another 10 minutes I heard another gobble -- this time he was a little closer (or was I just imaging it).

I made more scratching sounds, a couple wing sounds, and one cluck. This time the gobble came in about five minutes and this time it was only 50 years away.

My scratching had to be conducted with less movement now,

And this was done using a stick inside my blind. Although I couldn’t see him maybe he could see me.

Another 10 minutes passed and I heard a gobble 40 yards away straight ahead, and then a second gobble the same distance, but at a 45-degree angle from my position. Then I heard two gobbles.

It had now been over two- and a half hours since I had heard one gobble and over two hours since I had set up and started working the bird -- or should I say birds, since now there were two coming to natural sounds and just out of range.

The bird coming to my left would be a problem. I was set up for a straight-ahead shot; but there was a large spread out multi-flora bush on that side of me (you know the kind where they can see you through that but you can’t see them at all).

If this bird spotted me before I could get a shot on the head of the approaching gobbler I would be history.

Minutes passed, and once again with my hand on the ground, on the other side of me from the approaching gobbler, I scratched the leaves and gave one cluck.

They say that two heads are better than one, but on this morning I would not agree. At that moment, both straight in front of me at about 20 yards and to the side, I spotted (at the same time) both longbeards. I stress the point Longbeards.

Both birds were standing still, silent and staring right at me -- not at the decoy. Both birds stood still and stared, and stared, and then, as if on some magic cue, they both gobbled at the same time from not more than 20 yards.

The sound, the vibration, and the excitement is something that only a turkey hunter can understand. Then, both birds,

at about the same time, spotted the decoy.

For over two hours they had heard hen sounds -- both vocal and natural -- but this was the first time they had any visual evidence that a hen was there, and their reaction showed it.

Both birds focused on the decoy, never looking at me again, and both starting walking directly to their new girlfriend.

At about 10 yards both birds went behind the only other large-based oak tree on that ridge, and when they came out and separated I harvested one. I still don’t know if it was the straight-on bird or his circling brother, but he was a 23-pound, 11-inch bearded eastern turkey with 1 1/2-inch spears. What a trophy.

When we talk about most turkey hunts we reflect on the things we did right that contributed to our success, or in many cases, lack thereof. That day I was proud of my trophy, and proud of the patience I had practiced in waiting them out. I was proud of the calling, or in this case, the lack of it. But most of all I was proud of the scratching sounds, the sound of wings and walking and pecking. In short, I was proud of the non-turkey vocal sounds. Naturally.