The Godfather

[DADAKOTA]

The Godfather

As I stepped from my truck in the inky black, pre-dawn darkness I had the feeling that this would be the day. I slowly gathered my gear and carefully pushed the door closed on my truck. The stars twinkled as I slowly made my way to the small opening on the ridge where I intended to setup. The 25 minute walk passed quickly as the sky began to pink in the east. As I passed through the opening, I set up my decoys and heard his first thunderous gobble of the day. I settled into the branches of the old lightning scarred oak, that last fall, had finally succumbed to the wind and elements and toppled over.

I arranged my pack, loaded my gun, and settled in. The sunrise was lengthy and spectacular. Another booming gobble sent a chill down my spine. The same chill when you hear a deer walking through the fall leaves on opening day or the whistle of wings over the decoys prior to shooting time. A chill born of expectation, amazement, and confidence in what was about to happen.

After firing up the old boy with an owl hoot I took a moment and reflected upon my history with this bird. I remembered the first time I saw him several years back. He was not much more than a jake when I saw him sneaking toward a boss gobbler and his harem in an open field. I thought he would get his behind handed to him by the old man, but watched in shock as he scrapped with the old boy and ultimately ran him off. As he left the field with his harem I knew this was one special bird. I made up my mind that I would harvest him. It has been my yearly quest since that time.

A double gobble, followed by his flying down brought me back to my senses. I cut loose with a few yelps and got a response, but it was further away. A few more gobbles confirmed he was headed away. Must be with a hen I thought, but he’ll be back. I was set up at his strutting area, his stage, and his neighborhood. He owned this place and ruled it with intimidation and fear. I remember, two years ago, watching four jakes approach him. Amazingly, they jumped him and he beat the heck out of those four. I found one of the jakes dead from his wounds that afternoon. I investigated the scene of the rumble and found that this beast of a bird was missing half of his left toe on his right foot. It was easy to recognize where this bird had been in the years to come.

I thought of the times I had used pop-up blinds and cedar blinds I had built. He knew they did not belong in his hood and always hung up out of range. This bird was beyond smart he had a sixth sense. He was as slippery as Teflon. The Teflon Tom. His attitude and aggressive behavior made me name him the Godfather. I owned the land on paper but this hood was his. The old fallen oak was natural to him, the perfect place for me to win this battle.

So many times before it had been close. Sometimes a bad note on my call. Sometimes movement. I had to be perfect or I’d never get this monarch. The closest I came was having him coming to my decoys and having a coyote bust into the game and stalk my decoys. The old bird slid away.

I let loose a series of soft yelps and heard a gobble behind me. A satellite Tom? The Godfather let loose with a triple gobble of his own from down the ridge as if to say to the other bird, “Best be gone before I get there.” It was getting exciting, two birds working well and the big boy getting upset cause someone was setting up shop on his turf. I thought to myself that this would be the day when the paths of experience, knowledge, planning, expertise, opportunity, and fate would all converge in this opening on the ridge.

The opera was playing out to perfection. As the Godfather entered the opening he caught sight of the younger gobbler. His head and wattles were blood red. He let out a series of deafening gobbles and broke into a strut. The intruder was wise to vacate the premises. The noises that came out of this strutting bird were amazing. His wingtips created furrows in the dirt. As he slowly approached into range I watched in amazement at his beauty and grandeur. He truly was spectacular. I readied my gun as he stepped behind the small cedar between us. When he came out it was over. I had the prize I had invested so much of my life on. The quest was over. It was a bittersweet moment of sadness that he was dead and joy over the accomplishment. As I hefted his 27 pound body and smoothed the ruffled feathers I saw the stub toe on his right foot. It was confirmed, the Godfather was mine. His spurs were 1 7/8 inches long and his beard was just shy of 14 inches.

I was startled by the alarm clock. Nice dream. Time for Tater and I to go catch crappie. Turkey hunting sheesh, I have no time for that.

[jstlovtofish]

That was a great read. Thanks for sharing it with us. You had me going.

[catman]

good story.

[Risen a crappie fisherman]

Good story, but been chasing long beards every morning at day break and mushroom hunting in the afternoon. Then trying to put a bird on roost. Not much time for chasing slab till after turkey season goes out. Can still catch them when I can't hunt birds.

[slabsrus]

that was a good story, thanks