week1

Posted by nostalgicimages on August 6th, 2008 filed in Hunting

After dinner and putting two girls in bed , I relaxed a moment with the wife before taking a shower with my scent prevention soap of choice.

Exiting the cleansing process and continuing the scent -free ritual with deodorant ,tooth brushing, and so on. I hear the very familiar hoot of my father conversing with the wife. I was sure my ol’ man was going to want to tag along. But upon inviting him, he informed me he’d just taken a shot of a medication he has recently been put on, which hinders him from enjoying much of anything but is suppose to help heal him. Too bad….Last year before he’d been diagnosed, I reminisce him sporadically deciding to go out on a moonlit January evening. Extending me an invitation, I excepted and had my first success at calling a coyote to the gun.

The location I chose to call from is a small field at the farm minutes down the road from my home. This field his situated on the back of the property, hidden on top of large knoll. At the farm I exit my vehicle and make my way quietly up the tractor path staying close to corn stalks lining either side and glassing the surrounding field edges. A little ways up the path I come upon a spot where a turkey has dusted itself creating a divot in which a few iridescent feathers remain.

Approaching a fence that requires crossing and having crossed it many times I know well that in order to do it silently I must take the camera and tripod off my back, set them and my .243 on the other side and belly crawl under the lowest rail. Convinced that I’ve made it through without spooking my query I load up and continue on. I take not more than a few steps and scare four hen turkeys off their roost causing ruckus enough to alert even the most inattentive critter to my presence.

Persevering, I make my way the next ¼ mile to the field through the cover of a babbling mountain stream. At the field edge I examine the wind direction before setting up next to a large pine and some bushes that blend nicely with my leafy Mossy Oak Break-up outfit. By now there isn’t adequate light to capture video so I chose to leave the Canon in its bag.

Sitting silently and motionless, the only creature I am aware of are the tree frogs to my south side that have been constantly chirping since before I arrived. Even as I send squealing shrieks of misery through my mouth call, they sing their serenade without pausing.

Then comes the crunching, and the frogs cease. Something is coming up behind me, CRUNCH! CRACK! CRUNCH! It is light in the field but under the canopy of branches the forest floor and whatever is approaching is invisible. I ready my rifle and the bear mace I always bring with me when calling. Giving a slight squeak of my lips the intent is to bring the varmint closer as to identify it. Eventually, whatever it was slinks away, the frogs restart the chorus and I am left wondering.