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By Corey Andrews

There is no gobbler in the pot, but I did hear over 200 gobbles this morning. After one of the slowest starts I can ever remember, it’s finally starting to heat up.

I had been considering just putting up the pop-up blind and hunting for feathered 3-toe’d deer, but now I’m going to have to reconsider.

Congratulations to all Tennessee hunters who have harvested this spring; I plan to join you soon. Tomorrow morning I’m off to Cumberland County if the wind lays down enough to actually hear a gobble before the storms roll in. The wild weather over the next few days will likely shut them up for a while, so I may take the weekend off and rest up for what should be the best week of hunting this season (in my opinion) from about Wednesday of next week through next weekend.

Good luck to all!

By BenG.

I got on only my 2nd gobbling bird of the season this a.m. And was completely bumfuzzled.

I still don’t think they’re right, at least here on the northern Cumberland Plateau. They’re getting there; but I don’t think they’re there yet. I can’t say with any authority that they are or aren’t henned up, as I’ve only been on the 2. One of them had hens roosted in the vicinity, but wasn’t “with” hens. The other (this morning) was alone.

I headed to my usual listening post at first light. It didn’t take long before I heard him start sounding off. And I knew exactly where he would be. This bird (perhaps more than 1, but I believe it’s the same bird) has a penchant for roosting in a stand of white pines near the top of a ridge overlooking a dead pine blow-down. I was on him several times last season — once calling him to within range with my mouth only to be caught with my pants down (or, more literally, with my gun in my lap) — and this was the bird I was chasing last week.

Last week, he wasn’t really henned up, but showed no interest in love. Today, he was completely alone. I know because I almost stumbled over top of him by mistake, even though I knew almost exactly where he’d be roosted. He was gobbling exceptionally good on the roost, and was strutting and drumming on the limb. I set up 80 yards from him, gave a soft series of tree yelps to let him know where I was, and shut up until after flydown.

He stayed in the tree a bit longer than I would’ve expected, probably because there were no hens around to pique his interest. A hen had flown down and worked her way in his direction. But when he flew down, he did not go to her. Nor did he come to me. Instead, he worked his way over the hill and headed off for parts unknown.

It’s been a frustrating season so far, but more than that it’s been a puzzling season. More than they’re henned up, it seems to me that they’re still slightly “bunched up,” even though that doesn’t make sense this late into spring. If they were still bunched, they should be gobbling on the roost, but even if they aren’t henned up, they should be gobbling on the roost a bit more than they are.

I don’t pretend to have the answers, but I am glad that we’re only a week and a half into the season. That gives plenty of time to figure them out. Unfortunately, strong cold fronts poised to strike us this weekend and next promise to keep the season screwed up as much as they possibly can.

By Corey Andrews

The spring season is off to a slow start in my neck of the woods. I didn’t hear anything on Saturday morning. On Monday morning, I had just gotten my decoys set out when Mother Nature decided it was time to open the heavens. On Tuesday morning, dawn greeted me with a pouring rain. This morning was beautiful, but the birds were totally uncooperative.

It has to get better than this, because it certainly can’t get any worse. Adding insult to injury is the fact that the beauty of the spring woods — one of the things that gets us all hooked on turkey hunting, I think — hasn’t emerged yet because the blooming season is behind schedule.

Patience is very much a requirement right now. Perseverence will hopefully pay off as we get later into the season. If it doesn’t, I hear the crappie are starting to bite.

By BenG.

We’re just 5 days into the 2008 spring turkey season and already I have gotten my mad on.

Allow me to tell my tale. I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it; it’s my blog.

Until this morning, I hadn’t heard so much as a peep out of a turkey, let alone the full-throated, leaf-shaking gobble that hunters’ dreams are made of. Of course, I had only been 1 morning out of 4 so far, which isn’t really conducive to hearing a lot of gobbling. But I digress.

Anyway, this morning, I stopped at my listening post — a spot on the edge of the hill from which any bird gobbling anywhere on the 600-acre property can be heard — and waited as twilight made way for daylight.

I heard a distant gobble a time or 2 from a bird well off in the distance, on the other side of the property. I didn’t really want to hike all the way over to that bird, so I waited for Ridge Runner — the bird that wrecked my season last year (that story a little later this week) — to sound off. He never did, and may be long dead for all I know.

Realizing that no turkey was going to sound off except the lone distant tom, I begrudgingly hiked up my britches legs and headed off in his direction. I thought I’d have time for breakfast on the way over, but realized I had smashed my rasberry Poptart. So I was already in an ill mood.

The first thing I did was scare off the hen that was roosted with the gobbler.

Now, before you say “LOL, that melonhead; that sounds like something he would do,” understand that I intended to scare off the hen. The hen was roosted a ways away from the gobbler, and I knew I could get underneath it and bump it off the roost, thusly eliminating any competition that the hen might pose to me.

What I didn’t intend to do was to bump the hen straight in the gobbler’s direction. But that’s exactly what I did. Now you can call me a melonhead. The sound of the hen’s wings beating caused the longbeard to gobble again. As the hen sailed over the longbeard’s head, if he thought “Wait a minute; why’s that she-hen hauling tailfeathers over the gorge instead of pitching down to the ground like usual?” Or, “Why has her come-and-get-me-look been replaced by a let’s-get-the-hell-outta-here look” . . . if he was thinking these things, he didn’t think them long, because he was back to gobbling a few minutes later.

In the meantime, I was in a delimma. There was a bluff line between me and the longbeard. He wasn’t close enough for me to see him, but he was close enough for me to feel the vibration of his gobble, so I knew he had to be close enough that if I tried to slip through a gap in the bluff, I’d get so close that I’d bump him. So instead, I’d have to try to call him up through the bluff line.

So I set up, took out my Primos Power Crystal and selected an oak striker, and went to calling. Then listened. Nothing. By now, the sun was well up in the sky, and after several minutes I thought perhaps the longbeard had wandered on off. But the 8:10 from Chattanooga rolled through a few minutes later on the Norfolk-Southern tracks, sending him into another gobbling fit. The N-S railroad is several miles as the crow flies from where I was hunting, but the sound echoes through the valley quite well.

I changed setups on the bird several times, and tried different calls, trying to find something that would make him change his mind about needing some early morning romance. But to no avail; he couldn’t have cared less. However, I did get a hen that was with him to start calling back to me. Not the harsh “you-get-away-from-my-man” yelps that a hen is capable of producing, but soft little “hey-baby” yelps. So I decided that perhaps I can call in the hen and she’ll pull in the longbeard en tow. Hey, biologists claim that 4% of the animal kingdom is bisexual. It was worth a try.

It didn’t work.

By now, it was getting late, and I had a decision to make. But I have a rule: Never leave a gobbling turkey, no matter what. It isn’t an easy rule to stick to on weekdays, but I manage by never hunting on a deadline day, because the enticement to stay in the woods would be too much. I have participated in conference calls with my cell phone from beneath a rhododenderon bush. No joke.

So I continued to call, and my calls continued to fall on deaf ears. I also have another rule: The ability to admit futility is a virtue. So I decided to call it quits. And as I was moving around to gather up my stuff, the longbeard — which had wandered closer, unbeknownst to me — saw me and spooked. The last I saw of him, he was hauling wingbones and tailfeathers down the holler.

As I gathered up the last of my gear and got ready for the walk out, he gobbled twice from well down the holler, just to laugh at me. I flipped him the bird. He better hope that the rain moves in quick tomorrow morning, or he’s liable to have a date with fate. And fate won’t be some pretty little she-turkey named Henny. Fate will be 40 inches long and camouflaged, named Remington, and will belch size 5 pellets from 3 inch shells. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

By BenG.

It’s hard to believe that another turkey season is upon us. But the countdown clock on the TnHunting.Com Forums, which has been steadily counting down the days to turkey season since there were nearly 100 to go, says that there is 0 days and 8 hours left until go time. I guess that’s as good a confirmation as anything.

The vest is loaded . . . over-loaded, actually. As is usually the case, I start off the season with far more than I need. Nearly every call I own has found a pocket in the vest, which must weigh 15 pounds. As we go through the season, I’ll grow tired of carrying the needless extra weight, and start shedding all but the necessities . . . which is really my Ol’ Yeller, a back-up slate, my friction stick, a couple of extra strikers, a couple of diaphrams, a box call, some extra shells and a decoy.

We have weighed our options, and have decided to hunt public land for the opening day. I’m not too convinced that turkeys are in the swing of spring yet, and I figure it will be a few days before things are rocking at fly-down time. We’re typically slow up here on the Cumberland Plateau; opening weekend is quiet more times than not. And, this year, spring is a bit behind schedule due to cooler-than-normal temperatures in March. Most everyone who has been out is reporting little to no gobbling. So, I decided to forego a trip to my lease and another tract of private property for the public land, where I think I’ll have a better chance of being able to set up on a wide oak ridge where turkeys typically feed if there is no action before fly-down.

As we go through this season, myself and Corey Anderson will both be logging our hunts on this journal, and hopefully some other TnHunting.Com contributors will throw in their experiences as well. It looks like opening day could be a little wet for a lot of folks. A lot of scattered thunderstorms have developed across the state. Hopefully they’ll push out before daybreak. The weather may dictate all of our hunts tomorrow, but at least we’ll be hunting. At last. Good luck! And be safe . . .

By Corey Anderson

First chasing has begun! Like a lot of hunters, I haven’t found much buck sign. Just a few small rubs and no scrapes to speak of. So when I eased into the stand this morning I was just looking for a slickhead to fill my final Unit B archery tag so I can concentrate on Unit A. But at around 9:00, I look up and would you believe it? A buck chasing a doe.

Okay, so it was just a little yearling buck, a 3 point. But he was definitely feeling his oats and pestering 2 does. They, of course, didn’t want anything to do with him. They would put up with him for a while and then chase him off.

Was this little dude an oddball, or are we really getting that close? My guess at this point is he’s just an oddball, but any time the rut appears to be getting close, I start getting excited!

I would have shot one of the mature does if they had given me a shot opportunity. They didn’t. The little buck did, but he gets to walk a while to see if he can get some more bone on his head by next year!

By BenG.

First of all, I have to say “wow.” It’s hard to believe that this is the final weekend of archery season. And since I likely won’t get out tomorrow and have a busy week ahead, I guess I’m through until muzzleloader season starts in two weeks. It’s hard to believe that it’s already over. Normally, I’ve had my fill of bow hunting by now. Not this year. I’m actually looking forward to the week after the black powder season, which I think could be pretty good as far as pre-rut activity.

In any event, today’s action in the woods hardly got any better. Other than a Sunday morning hunt last week and an evening hunt on Wednesday, I haven’t seen deer during any setting this season (which admittedly have been fewer than normal). I headed to our lease in southern Scott County for the first time today. I was hunting a hollow on the edge of a one-year-old clear cut, which I plan to hunt as the rut nears. Mainly, I headed there today just to see what kind of pre-rut sign was popping up. None so far, which is strange. One thing I did find was what I’ve found in all the other spots I’m hunting here on the Cumberland Plateau: Plenty of acorns. It’s little wonder that the deer aren’t moving any more than they’re moving.

While I didn’t see deer today, I did see a bobcat. Believe it or not, this was the first bobcat I’ve seen from a deer stand in all the years I’ve hunted! He came creeping up a dry creek bottom directly under my stand, wandered around a bit, and finally slipped on off. It’s pretty cool knowing that one of the best hunters in the woods was close enough to spit on for five minutes and never had a clue that I was around. It would’ve been a great photo opportunity, but the light was still a little low.

By BenG.

It’s refreshing to be able to pass on a deer.

While hunting the first part of the archery season, I wasn’t seeing any deer and would have almost drawn on a fawn had I seen one. Sunday morning, I finally began seeing deer. I watched a nice, mature doe for a couple of hours, but she never offered a shot.

This afternoon, I headed out for a few hours after work in the same spot I had hunted Sunday. This is a stand of oaks in a cow pasture at the back of the pasture, secluded from the open pastureland. The oaks—white and red, primarily—are loaded with acorns.

Overall, deer sightings on this property are just as they are in the other areas I’ve hunted this fall: Way down. But I did manage to see a couple tonight. Both were yearling does. If I were as addicted to venison tenderloin, biscuits and gravy as I once was, I would take every yearling doe that I could legally kill. However, we don’t eat as much deer meat in my house as we once did, so I’ll hold out for a mature doe. The yearlings got the pass.

Hunting in deer-poor Unit B can be frustrating when Internet reports of deer kills in Unit A and especially in Unit L are coming in. This year has been especially frustrating, for whatever reason (probably a combination of drought, heat and EHD). But, hopefully, the past two trips have been a sign of things to come.

I’m headed for our lease this weekend for the first time this season. This is a 1,000-acre tract and last year we took no does from the property. It’s time to start concentrating on a few slickheads . . . hopefully, they haven’t all disappeared as they seem to have in other areas I’m hunting.

It’s nice to know that all the deer aren’t dead from EHD, or gone completely nocturnal because of the heat, or hiding near water holes because of the drought, or whatever else has been the reason for such a slow start to the season.

After not seeing a deer from the stand this archery season to date, I headed to a spot this morning that I had not hunted this year but that usually holds deer. I wasn’t disappointed, with a few deer that hung around munching acorns most of the morning, including a nice, fat doe that I wanted badly to put in the freezer, but she managed to keep enough undergrowth between me and her for two hours that I wasn’t able to get off a shot. There was also a flock of turkeys meandering around picking through cow piles, but I wasn’t turkey hunting this morning; I was holding out for venison.

This was definitely a turn for the better, and hopefully signs of things to come.

I still have found absolutely no buck sign (rubs, scrapes). I hope others are seeing the same, because that would be a good indication that the rut is simply going to be late this year.

BenG.

I told my wife today that if I wasn’t so addicted to this sport, I would sell my stuff and take up golfing.

I have never been so frustrated or disgusted. We are more than halfway through the first segment of archery season, and I have seen a grand total of zero deer from my stand. Admittedly, I have spent probably less time in the stand this season than any other season, but I’ve never gone more than the first couple of days of the archery season without having deer in front of me.

I first blamed the full moon that greeted the season opener, then I blamed the heat, then I blamed the drought. In reality, I don’t have a clue what the problem is, and I suppose that is what makes it so frustrating.

Early on, it was the heat that made it frustrating. It’s hard to get in a hunting mood when the mercury is pushing 90. In fact, I didn’t even hunt last weekend. With the cold snaps that have passed through Tennessee, the temperatures have been more bearable, but a lack of deer sightings keep the frustration in place. Compounding that frustration is that there is no heat or full moon to blame it on; just a crisp, clear, 37-degree morning . . . with no deer in sight.

Tomorrow morning, I will fall back on another area that has produced plenty of deer sightings over the years during archery season. I haven’t hunted this spot yet this season. It is located at the rear of a cow pasture, secluded from the open part of the pasture. Oak trees fill the area, and with white oak acorns falling like rain, I’m hoping this will be a good spot to be.

(Incidentally, I’m obviously not the only Tennessee hunter struggling to see deer. A quick check of the numbers reveal just over 10,000 deer harvested through today. In the same time period last year, hunters had harvested more than 15,000 deer).

BenG.

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