"Scouting"
Turkey season is a couple weeks old now, and although the season is yet young, I have learned one critical lesson: I should have lied to my wife about having to go out of town for work, and instead spent a couple days scouting before the season opened.
This is the first turkey season in my new lease and, despite my good intentions, I allowed life and work and family to get in the way of familiarizing myself with the land the way I meant to do. Seems like deer season closed just last week (without much fanfare I might add); I had a month-and-a-half to prepare for turkey season. Where did it go?
What I wouldn't give to have a dime for every time I vowed to myself and others how serious I was about getting up to the woods and doing some scouting before turkey season. Of all the hopeless but well-intentioned promises I have uttered, this is above all others the most laughable. That's saying something, too, because quite frankly there are quite a few of my utterances that would vie for honorable mention.
I have even caught myself waxing philosophic to others about the value of pre-season scouting. Amazingly, I have had the unmitigated gall to stand there and pontificate about the importance of patterning that wary ol' gobbler and locating its strut zones and dusting areas to determine the most likely routes it'll use to get from one to the other next spring. Who am I kidding? I have not had the time or made the commitment to seriously scout turkeys before the season opened in years. Not unless you count riding through the property during a work weekend and asking a buddy, “Where does that trail go?”
It wouldn’t be so bad if the only repercussion of my recalcitrance was yet another fruitless turkey season. But no, I have to be reminded of my utter lack of commitment every time I go to the grocery store, the gas station, or anywhere else outdoor magazines are sold. You are more likely to trudge through a Deep South pine plantation overrun with thorny vines and gallberries at the height of August and emerge without a single chigger bite than you are to leaf through a handful of outdoor magazines without being completely choked by articles extolling the virtues of pre-season scouting.
Beginning with the end of deer season – which seems to come sooner and sooner every year – the outdoor publications are absolutely saturated with tips and tidbits on how to scout, how to prepare to scout, where to scout, when to scout, what to wear when you scout, what to write down after you scout, and how your scouting is guaranteed to result in increased success; if there is a turkey hunter in this day and age who does not know that pre-season scouting is important, it's not for the believers' failure to get out the gospel.
Around January or February when I unwittingly stumble across the first magazine at the grocery store emblazoned with the words “PATTERN THAT TOM NOW! YOUR COMPLETE GUIDE TO PRE-SEASON SCOUTING,” I become flush with that guilty, panicked feeling like I am the only kid in the class who forgot there was a test today and all the other kids are taunting me about how it's too late and there's no way I can wing it. Enough already! I know I should scout!
Nevertheless, it’s not entirely hopeless. I have acquired an adroit working knowledge of the land and feel relatively confident that I can find my way around all the major roads, so long as the sun is out and I have a map in my truck. The fact that most prudent turkey hunters get in the woods well before sunup poses a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. After all, I can invest in hundreds of bright eyes or leave a mile or two of flagging in the woods.
Should I find myself confronted by an angry landowner after I meander all over his property one morning because I have no clue where the lines are painted, I will point out to him that his turkeys are actually safer with me unlawfully on his property than with me lawfully off of it.
As long as a longbeard pitches off the roost and plops squarely onto the middle of a road, I stand a very good chance of bagging him. Should the turkeys resort to guerilla tactics, my presence and intentions will be nullified immediately. But, like the British during the War of 1812, I’m counting on my adversary to be a gentleman in his contribution to the skirmish.
Should I actually kill a turkey within the next four weeks despite my cutting of all the requisite corners by failing to scout before the first dogwood bloomed, I promise I will not tell a soul – much less a magazine editor, lest I throw off all of next winter’s lineup of pre-season features.
(c) Roger Guilian 2009
This is the first turkey season in my new lease and, despite my good intentions, I allowed life and work and family to get in the way of familiarizing myself with the land the way I meant to do. Seems like deer season closed just last week (without much fanfare I might add); I had a month-and-a-half to prepare for turkey season. Where did it go?
What I wouldn't give to have a dime for every time I vowed to myself and others how serious I was about getting up to the woods and doing some scouting before turkey season. Of all the hopeless but well-intentioned promises I have uttered, this is above all others the most laughable. That's saying something, too, because quite frankly there are quite a few of my utterances that would vie for honorable mention.
I have even caught myself waxing philosophic to others about the value of pre-season scouting. Amazingly, I have had the unmitigated gall to stand there and pontificate about the importance of patterning that wary ol' gobbler and locating its strut zones and dusting areas to determine the most likely routes it'll use to get from one to the other next spring. Who am I kidding? I have not had the time or made the commitment to seriously scout turkeys before the season opened in years. Not unless you count riding through the property during a work weekend and asking a buddy, “Where does that trail go?”
It wouldn’t be so bad if the only repercussion of my recalcitrance was yet another fruitless turkey season. But no, I have to be reminded of my utter lack of commitment every time I go to the grocery store, the gas station, or anywhere else outdoor magazines are sold. You are more likely to trudge through a Deep South pine plantation overrun with thorny vines and gallberries at the height of August and emerge without a single chigger bite than you are to leaf through a handful of outdoor magazines without being completely choked by articles extolling the virtues of pre-season scouting.
Beginning with the end of deer season – which seems to come sooner and sooner every year – the outdoor publications are absolutely saturated with tips and tidbits on how to scout, how to prepare to scout, where to scout, when to scout, what to wear when you scout, what to write down after you scout, and how your scouting is guaranteed to result in increased success; if there is a turkey hunter in this day and age who does not know that pre-season scouting is important, it's not for the believers' failure to get out the gospel.
Around January or February when I unwittingly stumble across the first magazine at the grocery store emblazoned with the words “PATTERN THAT TOM NOW! YOUR COMPLETE GUIDE TO PRE-SEASON SCOUTING,” I become flush with that guilty, panicked feeling like I am the only kid in the class who forgot there was a test today and all the other kids are taunting me about how it's too late and there's no way I can wing it. Enough already! I know I should scout!
Nevertheless, it’s not entirely hopeless. I have acquired an adroit working knowledge of the land and feel relatively confident that I can find my way around all the major roads, so long as the sun is out and I have a map in my truck. The fact that most prudent turkey hunters get in the woods well before sunup poses a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. After all, I can invest in hundreds of bright eyes or leave a mile or two of flagging in the woods.
Should I find myself confronted by an angry landowner after I meander all over his property one morning because I have no clue where the lines are painted, I will point out to him that his turkeys are actually safer with me unlawfully on his property than with me lawfully off of it.
As long as a longbeard pitches off the roost and plops squarely onto the middle of a road, I stand a very good chance of bagging him. Should the turkeys resort to guerilla tactics, my presence and intentions will be nullified immediately. But, like the British during the War of 1812, I’m counting on my adversary to be a gentleman in his contribution to the skirmish.
Should I actually kill a turkey within the next four weeks despite my cutting of all the requisite corners by failing to scout before the first dogwood bloomed, I promise I will not tell a soul – much less a magazine editor, lest I throw off all of next winter’s lineup of pre-season features.
(c) Roger Guilian 2009
posted by Days Afield Host | 2:21 PM
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