By John Cross
Free Press Staff Writer
May 11, 2008 01:22 am
—
It is said that on the opening day of the Minnesota fishing season, a million anglers wet a line.
This year, let’s make it 999,999.
It may border on heresy for this Minnesota bred-and-born boy to admit to it, but I am the one who did not participate in our state’s own unique holiday.
Perhaps only another turkey hunter can understand this: We can fish for walleyes for hundreds of days a year but if we’re lucky enough to get drawn for a spring turkey permit, we get to chase them for only five brief days.
On Tuesday, my allotted five days of the Minnesota spring wild turkey hunting season began. That meant my final day, if needed, would fall on the fishing opener.
It was.
For the previous four days, I and a partner matched wits with several turkeys on a farm south of Mankato. Arguably, I suppose it really shouldn’t be much of a contest. Their brains are the size of marbles.
But to make a long story short, every time they zigged, we managed to zag. On the second morning, we set up in a promising little spot in a meadow, only to watch the long-beards skirt along the far edge, a 150 yards distant, seemingly deaf to calls.
On that morning, five curious jakes did close to within about 10 yards, but so early in the hunt, I was willing to hold out for a tom. My hunting partner had vowed not to be so picky.
Unfortunately, 10 yards turned out to be too close. He missed clean with the tightly choked shotgun, sending the birds scattering.
The following morning, we set up once again on the meadow, this time along the edge of the woods where all of the birds had traveled the previous morning.
From there, we watched as several turkeys traveled within yards of our earlier ambush point. And so it went the next day, as well.
Now, understand that I truly had good intentions about the fishing opener. The boat was gassed, batteries charged, reels spooled with new line.
And had the weather forecast been a little less encouraging, I would have sacrificed my last day of my turkey season to partake in what is Minnesota’s own unique state holiday.
But at 3:30 a.m. Saturday, the Weather Channel was predicting gentle breezes and no rain until later in the morning. What’s more, while hunting the night before, I had roosted several birds within 100 yards of where I had set up my blind.
While roosted birds aren’t exactly an assurance of a roasted bird, the setup was too good to pass up for one last crack at filling my tag.
So well before dawn and under the cover of complete darkness, I slipped silently into the blind. As dawn came, I was pleasantly surprised. Through the thin, emerging foliage, I could see at least three toms silhouetted against the brightening sky.
Off to my right, was what I presumed were the flock of jakes we had educated a few days earlier.
It was all too perfect. When the toms flew down, they would immediately be in range. And if that didn’t work, well, a jake was going to look pretty good. Either way, a turkey dinner was just a few yards and a pull of the trigger away.
Oh, those best laid plans.
Instead of sailing the few yards to the saddle where I sat, the toms inexplicably dropped directly down and then, in a cacophony of purring, sparring, and the beating of heavy wings, fought their way to the ridgetop.
It was the last I saw or heard of them. A jake would have to do.
Except that when they flew down, they marched single file, yelping and clucking, down the ridge on its steepest part, 20 yards too far from a shot.
Now, turkey hunting isn’t all that complicated. Just find a bird a little dumber than you are.
Right.
On the way home, I thought that perhaps I might salvage of bit of the fishing opener (and solace at having been outsmarted by a bird brain) by wetting a line today.
Then I realized that today is Mother’s Day.
I may be dumber than a turkey but I’m not that dumb.
John Cross is a Free Press staff writer. Contact him at 344-6376 or by e-mail at jcross@mankatofreepress.com.
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