Nebraska Merriams
Thought you might like the story of my first Merriams I shot in early May. The story was in The Times and Democrat (Orangeburg paper) over the past couple of weeks. Kind of long, but it took two years to shoot one. Hope you enjoy.
Return to Nebraska
By WES MURPHYFriday, May 30, 2008
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There are four subspecies of turkeys that are generally recognized as making up the “Grand Slam” of turkey hunting. There are Eastern, Rio Grande, Merriams and Osceola turkeys in the United States.
There are two more in other countries, but those in the United States are the four most commonly hunted. I spent the first 13 years of my turkey hunting career hunting the Eastern version and never really gave much thought to trying to shoot any of the other varieties. A few years ago however, thanks to relatives living in Texas, my hunting partner Rob Cotterman, my cousin Ed Hall and I were able to go there and hunt Rio Grande turkeys.
That got us to looking into the possibility of trying for the “Grand Slam.” We quickly found out that the Merriams were much more affordable than the Osceola, which only occur in a small part of Florida. We saved our change and made our plans for two years and then the three of us, along with my son Wesley, made a trip to Nebraska last year in pursuit of the third leg of the Grand Slam. When the hunt was over, Ed, Rob and Wesley had two nice birds apiece and I hadn’t fired the gun.
I was close to turkeys the entire three days of hunting, but something seemed to happen at the worst possible moment, every time I thought I was about to shoot a turkey. I had a group of jakes attack a gobbler, just out of shooting range, that was walking to me. I had birds stop just out of range and birds go through thick stuff that no self-respecting turkey in South Carolina would ever walk through, to circle around me to get to hens behind me. I am a pretty confident turkey hunter, but by the end of that three days, I was starting to believe that those Merriams turkeys had some kind of hex on me. Thanks to the lodge’s guarantee of getting a shot or coming back for free, I was able to go again this year and give them another try.
I saved a week’s vacation and made my reservations as soon as Gobble and Grunt started taking them. The rental car and the airplane tickets were paid for and finally, after waiting for almost a year, it was time to go. My original itinerary was to arrive at the Omaha airport at 1:30 p.m. and make the four-hour drive to the lodge, arriving in time to enjoy a peaceful afternoon talking to the other hunters and getting a good night’s sleep. Instead, thanks to canceled flights and lost baggage, I arrived at 3:15 a.m. without any guns, just in time to make coffee for the other hunters who started getting up at 3:45. My guns were in Chicago, where they would stay until the day after my hunt was over, and I hadn’t had any sleep in almost 24 hours. I, however, was in one of the premier Merriams hunting spots in the country, determined to have a great time, so we went hunting, with a borrowed gun.
Gooble and Grunt
I prefer to hunt by myself and take considerable pride in the fact that I have never shot a turkey that someone else helped call up. The guides at Gobble and Grunt are assigned two hunters apiece, so Brett, our guide dropped me off at an area, gave me a quick scouting report and took Gary, a hunter from Arkansas, to another area. I found the blind that Brett suggested as my starting point and settled in to wait for daybreak.
I know plenty of people who turkey hunt out of blinds and do quite well, but I personally detest hunting out of one. I can’t hear or see as well and if I wanted to ambush something, I would stick to deer hunting. But after last year, I was determined to do whatever my guide suggested, at least for the first day or two anyway.
Three hours later that plan went out the window. The only reason I made myself stay in that outhouse look-alike for that long was because of the six hens that had me pinned down. I kept hoping that as long as they were there, that a gobbler would hear our calling and come investigate all the commotion, but it never happened. I could hear a bird gobbling over the next hill, so when the hens finally left, I headed that way.
One of the things I learned on my first trip to Nebraska was that, because of the open spaces and clear, cool air, sounds will fool you. A bird that sounds like he is just over the next hill might be a half mile or more away. That turned out to be the case with this bird, who was across a dirt road and three hills away in a cattle feed lot. I could see him, along with another gobbler and two hens as they fed and strutted among a small herd of cows. I wasn’t sure if that was part of the property I could hunt, so I watched the birds through the binoculars until Brett and Gary came back to pick me up.
The area across the road was part of Gobble and Grunt and the birds had wandered up a draw and away from the cattle, so the three of us tried to head them off. Gary shot a bird that morning, so the idea was for me to take the first shot and if both gobblers came in, then the person with a shot at the second one could shoot it. I told Gary that sounded great, but this was turkeys and if I had the shot, great, but if he had the only shot, shoot the bird and we would worry about it later. Three hours and two miles later, after twice getting both birds within 100 yards, the birds left and I was starting to wonder if those Merriams really did have a hex on me.
The hex is real
A short break, a good lunch and it was time to hunt again. We dropped Gary off at a blind overlooking an alfalfa field and headed to a blind of our own. It had been almost 36 hours since I had slept and, with a full belly, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. So for once, a blind didn’t sound like a bad idea. Brett said he had scouted this area several times and that there were two gobblers and 10 or 15 hens that were using a tree about 80 yards behind the blind for a roost.
He said the gobblers would come out into the field about 4 p.m, feed and strut around until about 30 minutes before dark, and then either cross the field or go around the pond that split the two fields and use the pond dam to get to the roost. Whichever route they chose would bring them within range of the blind.
Sure enough the gobblers appeared just like they were supposed to. They strutted and preened in front of a group of hens as I watched through the binoculars. It took every bit of self-control I could muster not to sneak out of that blind, crawl over to the edge of that next field and try and call those birds up, but I kept Brett’s advice in mind and stayed put. Thirty or 45 minutes before dark, the gobblers started heading out into the field our blind was in, as hens appeared from everywhere and started flying up to the roost tree. Brett said, “They are doing just what they are supposed to be doing.”
Once they started heading in the opposite direction, but with at least 20 hens in the tree behind us, I knew they would have to come our way. It took a while, but eventually the two gobblers turned, crossed the pond dam, just as Brett said they would, and started toward our blind. Every hen that was in the tree behind us had passed within 20 yards of the blind so I was pretty dang confident that the hex was about to get broken.
When the gobblers got within 200 yards and were still coming our way, I eased the gun over the couple of inches needed to line up on their heads and waited. When they passed the 100-yard mark, I eased the safety off and started thinking about trying for two with one shot. When they reached the 70-yard mark and made a sharp right turn and headed through the thickest cedar thicket within 2 miles, I knew the hex was real. All I could do was put the safety back on and watch as they made a semicircle around us, within 70 yards the entire time, to join the hens on the roost. It’s illegal to shoot turkeys off the roost in Nebraska, but I swear it was tempting to get a running start and wear their behinds out as they flushed from the tree. Then, to top it off, when we picked up Gary, he had his second bird of the day.
You are only allowed two birds at Gobble and Grunt, so Gary slept in the next morning as Brett and I headed out to give the cow pasture birds another try.
Desperate measures
Once again we got both birds within a hundred yards several times. We started calling to them off the roost and then followed them across several steep hills until finally they left. We did manage to call up one jake, but that was it. On the way back to the truck, we walked through their roost area and started making plans for an afternoon ambush when they came back that evening.
I would much prefer to call up a strutting, gobbling turkey over ambushing one, but desperate times call for desperate measures and spotting and stalking or ambushing birds is more the norm in that open country than calling one off the roost anyway. Granted, it can be, and often is done, but later in the day, if you want to shoot turkeys, a strong set of binoculars and a good pair of hiking boots will certainly up the odds.
We drove to another property where we spotted a gobbler and a hen in the back of an alfalfa field. This is all ranch and farm country so often, if you keep driving, trucks don’t seem to spook the turkeys. Stop the truck and they run for the hills, but pass on by and they often watch until you get out of sight and then go on about their business. We drove a half a mile or so until we were well out of sight and then hiked up a draw and crawled up a hill to the edge of the field.
Sure enough, he was still there, at the opposite end, with no hen in sight. There wasn’t any cover, other than the weeds on the edge of the field, but with just our heads and gun above the top of the hill, we were well hidden.
I got situated and Brett yelped once. The gobbler immediately went into full strut and started slowly our way. I could only see the top of his tail fan at first, but it wasn’t long before I could see the whole bird. I can’t imagine anything more exciting than seeing a gobbler, in full strut, heading your way. He was 150 yards away, the dark green alfalfa in sharp contrast to his bright red head as the sun gleamed off of his iridescent breast feathers. He strutted down the edge of the field until he was 75 yards away when we heard the hen, just over the edge of the drop off, start yelping. He walked over to the edge, stood on his toes and looked over the edge towards where the yelping was coming from and Brett and I both yelped at the same time.
When he turned from that real hen and started toward us again, I knew the hex was broken. The only time he wasn’t strutting was when he would stop long enough to gobble. It took a few minutes but he finally got to within 35 yards. He was drumming, spitting and strutting back and forth, putting on a show for all the world to see, convinced that there were two real hens, waiting just over the hill. We watched the show for maybe a minute, until he started strutting to my right which would have given me a harder shot, so Brett yelped softly. When he did, the turkey dropped out of strut, gobbled, and then strutted right back into the perfect position for me to shoot. I waited for him to drop out of strut and when he stuck his head up to look for his hens, I centered the sights of the borrowed gun on his chest and the hex was over.
Sharing success
Later that afternoon, with 15 minutes of legal shooting time left, after only calling twice over a four-hour period, we shot the cow pasture bird to finish my hunt at Gobble and Grunt. He was a big 3-year-old bird, weighing 21.5 pounds, but nothing will ever take the place of that first bird. I can still close my eyes and see the sun glistening off his feathers as he struts across that green alfalfa field. I didn’t call him up all on my own, but sharing the success with someone as genuinely excited as I was only added to the pleasure.
On a side note, I would like to congratulate my hunting partners, Rob Cotterman on getting his first limit of long beards in South Carolina and Wesley, my 16-year-old son, on his best season ever with three nice long beards, all 3-year-olds or better. It’s great to have a good season, but it’s even better when your friends and family do so as well.
"My resume is the trail of destruction behind me. " Bucky Katt
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