There is a time that falls between the last day of turkey season in mid May and opening of fall hunting season on September 1st. For many hunters, summer is a time for fishing or softball or golf. But here on the farm, hunting does not take a pause. Summer is all about woodchucks. What follows is a tour through my...
This season I shot my thirteenth wild turkey. Seems appropriate that it was a jake and that I had not shot a jake since 2003, thirteen years ago.
The first time I ever shot a wild turkey was in 2000. My husband and I had started hunting turkeys a couple years earlier and had been quite unsuccessful. My boss is an avid turkey hunter and took mercy on us. I think he was just getting tired of hearing about my failed efforts at turkey hunting. One fine spring morning, he took my husband and me turkey hunting to show us the ropes. My husband shot a nice mature gobbler that morning. An hour later I found myself seated precariously next to a brushy hedgerow as first two hens and then a jake filed past not 5-10 yards away. That jake became the first wild game animal I ever shot.
That hunt broke the turkey hunting ice. Well sort...
I've been wanting to do this for awhile. Back before I started the blog, I would share my hunting tales within the Ohio Sportsman forum itself. It is getting harder and harder for me to find those posts from years back and there are a few that hold special meaning for me. So I thought I would transfer some of those tales over to my blog. While I'm impatiently waiting for the 2016 turkey season to begin, it seems appropriate to start with a turkey story. The first one is one of my favorite turkey hunts to remember. The hunt took place on the last day of the 2008 season and I was determined to get a turkey. I sat through pouring rain under a port-a-roof umbrella for 3 1/2 hours until the rain stopped, the sun came out and well, I'll let you read the story.
The story has been copied and pasted into this blog with no changes or editions. From May 18, 2008:
There was a reason why I titled my blog “How Did This Happen to a City Girl?” and it had nothing to do with groundhogs. It had more to do with marrying a farm boy and learning about life on a farm. It was about adjusting to living in a house where chicken feathers mixed in with the dust bunnies. It was about touching a gun for the first time while in my mid-thirties and then nursing the bruise caused by shooting a shotgun for the first time. But most of all it was because of my decision to start hunting for food and groundhogs were not food.
My first 10 years of hunting were pretty normal. I only hunted things that most everyone else around these parts hunted like deer and turkey and rabbit. But if you trace my family tree back a few generations, you’ll run into a line of Appalachian hill folk. I think somewhere deep...
For awhile after my old girl Gabby passed on, I was quite content with just having two beagles in the household. But by the end of last year’s rabbit season, I found myself missing the sound of three beagles tracking a rabbit through the thick brush of the creek bottom behind the house. Eleven months ago, a few weeks after the close of last year’s rabbit season, I brought home a 2 and ½ year old female beagle to join my other two. With warmer than normal temperatures last summer, I did not do nearly as much summer running of the beagles as I usually do. It really wasn’t until October that I started regularly running the three hounds all together. Not many of those early runs were very pretty. There is nothing like throwing a new dog into the mix to upset the balance of a good working team. Rabbit season started in November and while the dogs and I...
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