Morning Love...

B. Wikman

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Brandon Wikman Turkey
Speckled flickers of sunlight accented the needle-like tips of the white pines as the morning wakes the forest. I rest, hidden in camouflage. My body's limbs match the forest floor, eroded bark, and thick vegetation. I evolve into the wonders of nature awaiting a sneak ambush upon my feathery opponent, the wise tom.

Stationary; my pupils dilate, ears eavesdrop, and my soul finds home. I anticipate the blasting shriek form the vocals of a savvy bird. The gobble is a sound that serenades my mind, robs my patience, and arouses my soul. The gobble electrifies the monotonous early morning subtle hums and chirps.

My most recent hunt takes place in the rolling green hills of central Wisconsin. It is a beautiful bluff region carved from the ancient glacier rubble collected from the past. It is a land preserved with sheer magnificence and splendor. The odds of success are weighted upon your ability to outsmart the savvy male bird on his own ground. I couldn't help but wait to share a morning with a forest full of fluffy feathers.

Flecks of shattered sunlight trickled upon the breathtaking scene that lay before me. Ancient farmhouses stood lonely, sunk into the endless hills. It was only a matter of time until the turkeys would wake. I dug into my turkey-vest full of thingamajigs and slipped-out a mouth call. The mouth call is the most realistic sounding turkey call on the market. The construction of the sweet-talking manipulating device is built with latex, aluminum, and tape. I slipped the call into my mouth and began to spread chattering yelps across the fertile land.

The ring of a gobble broke silence. I quickly assessed his willingness of persuasion with soothing chatter. My hopes were to tug him away from his flock of hens and into shotgun range.

My backside eased back into the tree allowing my feet to prop comfortably against my Turkey Dave footrest. I was steady, ready, and at ease. The racketing sound of splitting limbs, thudding wing-beats, and whooshing feathers convinced me that my competitor has landed. Pulling my Breath-Taker mask over my face concealed the rest of my skin. I called softly with a sexy mix of purrs to acknowledge his acrobatic swoop. He replied. The mature gobbler was convinced he was in lust.

My 12-guague pointed toward the forest's horizon where my quarry pompously stood strutting his magnificence. As he waddled towards me with his head cocked, feathers spread, and tail sailing high, I readied myself. My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. It was an enthusiasm high. My muzzle bounced from uneasy nerves like a dangling leaf in the wind. My safety pin clicked, eyes squinted, and finger reached for the trigger. My cameraman documented each passing moment with his video camera. He and his equipment were concealed in a Covert hunting blind.

As soon as the turkey stretched his neck looking for his blind date, my instincts jumped the gun, literally. I blasted an intense face-wash full of bb's into the vitals of the gobbler.

Turkey hunting is one of the most spectacular experiences I’ve ever participated in. True feelings of intimacy cast upon morphing into the forestland, the wildlife, and a predator.

Posted by B. Wikman under Field Journals on April 21, 09 10:50 AM | Permalink

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