My spring turkey season came to a close today. All in all a pretty disappointing season. Neither, myself or my dad had a gobbler in range this spring. I'll be the first to admit that there were a few wrenches thrown in our plans, but it is what it is. I had a good time spending a good number of mornings with my dad trying to out guess the toms.
Hunting in the same backyard that I grew up in was quite a treat actually. While I waited for a tom to walk by where I sat the last few mornings my mind did a lot of backtracking. I was sitting near a spot that was coined Bud's Birdland some 50 years ago. Bud is my older brother, so I'm sure this area was named after him. The name seemed to fit I had songbirds in all the trees and undergrowth around me most of the time. One pesky Catbird and I got to be good pals. At least he didn't rant and rave when he saw me after the first couple mornings I invaded his territory. A small chicken coop now stands wher I killed my first Ring-Necked Pheasant. I killed that bird on my 16th birthday. The first day my dad allowed me to carry a shotgun hunting. The gun was a single shot Iver Johnson .410. How ironic that today I was hunting turkey with another single shot .410 within 100 yards of where I killed my first cockbird. The area to my right used to be our vegtable garden, I remember by brothers and I having many rotton tomato wars there. Directly behind me about 10 yards was an old dump that my dads neighbor, Harold, owned. I remember being back there one day shooting Gerber baby food jars with my Red Ryder. I was having a good time until Harold caught me. I remember picking up glass for hours as he stood there giving me all kinds of grief. What I got was well deserved and I'm sure I learned from it.
I remember as a kid the area around my parents house was teeming with pheasants, quail and rabbits. It seemed odd to be there hunting Wild Turkey and seeing a few deer on every mornings sit. Turkeys were never seen back in the 1960's and to see a deer was a major event. Just shows how some things change over time. But, on the other hand things kinda stay the same. I remember sitting on the bank behind my parents home waiting for my dads 1950 Kaiser to come up the dirt road in September to go squirrel hunting with him. The last couple weeks my dad has sat on that same bank, but on his four wheeler, waiting for my 2012 Chevy Colorado to come up the now paved road. One thing hasn't changed, we still hunt together as much as possible. My dad is 85 and I'm 61 and were getting in as many hunts as possible while we have the time.
Here are a couple photos of where I spent the last few mornings. Both photos shows the equipment shed that I deserted for this spot.