Standing on the bare ridge top, even the sound of a distant mountain chickadee was audible. We stood in silence, intently straining our ears for the sound that had brought us to this magnificent piece of God's country. My new found friend and hunting companion, Mike Reider, expertly placed the striker on his slate call and let out a short series of hen yelps that undulated down the hillside. As silence overtook the evening once more, Mike whispered "This is perfect. We'll be able to hear for miles." The minutes ticked by slowly while we earnestly waited. Almost a mile below us on a timbered ridge a gobble pierced the still of the cool April evening. A smile swept across my face as another tom challenged back a short distance from the first. The hunt was on.
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| Vast mountain meadows and heavily timbered canyons provide perfect habitat for turkeys |
We quietly discussed our approach to their roost for the following morning as we strode back down the mountain side briskly, anxious to talk with the other party from our hunting group. We had driven eight and a half hours to our hunting camp, unhitched the tent trailer, and quickly divided into two groups of two in an attempt to locate roosted turkeys before the sun went down. Upon arriving back at camp, we learned that the other 2 members of our hunting party - father and son duo Tim & Josh Beseris - had located 2 roosted toms right at dark as well. A sleepless night of anticipation ensued, followed by a morning that came too early.
A mile long hike in the dark put us on the timbered ridge we had heard the toms gobbling from the previous night - but this morning wasn't what we had expected. All was quiet. Every precaution had been taken, we were in place long before light to listen for their calls, we had even turned our headlamps off half a mile from the knoll the roost was located on. A few distant gobbles gave us the general direction of the toms, but we were unable to discern their exact location. Thirty minutes passed with utter silence. We crept up slowly to the edge of a clearing just below the peak of the ridge where we estimated they had been. Quietly we took our positions and Mike began soft hen calls. Another five minutes of silence passed and my hope was fading, when without warning our tom gobbled from the other side of the knoll only 100 yards away. I quickly jumped over to a white pine on the opposite side of the ridge and set up with a commanding view of the clearing below me. Another gobble erupted just beyond my visibility at the bottom edge of the clearing. I lifted my Benelli to my shoulder and clicked off the safety. The tom ran up into the bottom of the clearing 45 yards away and gobbled again, he was coming in on a string.
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| Having arrived at our destination 45 minutes before sunrise our first morning, I had time to snap a few shots. |
I brought the bead to his head and zeroed in on my target. A single pine bough dropping down from the white pine I was sitting beneath obscured the top half of the toms' head! I leaned further down, attempting to broaden my shot window. The entire bird was visible - but I couldn't be certain my pattern would clear the single branch in front of me. I inwardly cursed my luck but held steady - this tom had no idea where we were, and seductive hen yelps coming from the other side of the ridge held his attention fully. I only needed two steps to the left and he was mine. Suddenly, he flipped around and took several quick steps down the hill - directly in line with the branch. He looked back down the clearing below me and sounded a warning putt. My heart sank. In desperation I looked down the ridge to see what had alarmed the tom. The sound of beating of wings brought my eyes back in his direction - just in time to see him fly down the ridge and into oblivion.
In utter disbelief I clicked my safety back on. I glanced back over my should to Mike, who lifted his arms in question. I motioned him forward - still not understanding what had just happened. "What happened!? He had to have been right there!" Mike whispered harshly as he arrived at my side. Dumbfounded I mumbled "I have no idea. He spooked!" Mike replied, "I know, I heard his wings! I was waiting for you to shoot! What happened?" I looked him straight in the eye and said, "Mike, he looked me right in the face. I looked back at him...and I...I...I just couldn't do it!" For a brief moment, I honestly believe Mike thought I was being serious. From that moment on, I knew I was hunting with a guy that had a sense of humor. Luckily. We stood there for a few minutes reliving every aspect of what had just transpired, and neither of us had an explanation. Amid our discussion, a coyote barked from the draw below us - directly where the turkey had looked in alarm.
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| Early Spring in Idaho is rarely this picturesque, but we were treated with outstanding weather all weekend |
"Now it gets hard" Mike said emphatically as we threw our packs on our backs. These words would prove to be prophetic as the hunt progressed. We logged mile after mile in the mountains, always pursuing another gobbling tom - and each time Murphy's Law dominated. Team Beseris had similar luck. There is both an early and late spring breeding season for turkeys, and the unseasonably warm temperatures had brought the birds into the first breeding season early this year. This meant that most turkeys were only vocal and responsive to calls right at sunrise as they left their roosts, or in the late evening just before roosting. In the post peak breeding season there is a narrow window of opportunity in the mid morning when the hens go back to the nests to tend to the eggs, leaving the toms alone - during this time they're also responsive to calls. However; most toms fell silent almost immediately after coming down from their roost and stayed that way throughout the day - forcing us to cover vast amounts of ground searching for an active gobbler.
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| Syringas blanket the landscape in these mountain meadows |
By the evening of our first full day hunting we had already covered over 10 miles on foot and had 2 toms inside 50 yards, with many others located that gave us the slip. Yet still, no dice. As daylight waned, we elected to return to a large, high elevation canyon that had treated us to many toms in years past when hunting pressure in the valley floor pushed the birds up into the high country. It was there that our luck began to change, but only slightly. This time, Josh Beseris joined Mike and I on our trek around the rim of the canyon in search of long beards. With the approach of nightfall, the gobbling kicked into high gear. We stopped above a steep timbered pocket of timber to rest. Just as we caught our breath, a tom gobbled from the bottom of the canyon 200 yards below. A few hen clucks later, he sounded off again - this time closer. The tom gobbled repetitively as we scrambled into position on the edge of a meadow on the steep hillside, Josh covering the higher ground and me the lower. For the next ten minutes we went silent and waited expectantly - but the woods fell silent. Disappointment began creeping into my mind, when suddenly movement below me in the underbrush caught my attention. Two turkeys were running straight up the hill towards me at 75 yards, they had come in silent. The dominant tom was in the back, his head ablaze in color. I twisted to my right in order to position myself better for a shooting lane they were headed straight for. They passed behind a tree, and for what seemed like an eternity, they disappeared.
The dominant tom suddenly popped up in my shooting lane 40 yards away. It was a longer shot than I typically prefer, but with the memory of that morning's encounter fresh in my mind - I wasn't letting this one get away. I clicked off my safety and lowered my cheek onto the stock. Just as I was closing my left eye to take aim, movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. The second tom darted from behind a tree a mere 15 yards to my right and was stopped in some undergrowth. From his location I would be silhouetted beside the tree I was sitting below, completely vulnerable. My breath caught short in my throat, I was certain he'd bust me. He tucked his head down and dashed even closer - allowing me just enough time to swing my shotgun onto him. At 5 yards he cleared the undergrowth that had obstructed my view and stopped, searching for the hen that had fallen silent. With my pulse thumping in my chest, I squeezed the trigger. The thunder of my shotgun split the evening silence with a deafening boom. The tom somersaulted backwards down the hillside at the shot, and the other tom flew back down the hillside. Exuberance overtook me - we had worked so hard for this. I leapt to my feet and ran down the hill to collect my turkey.
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The Merriams Turkey was introduced in Idaho in 1961, and is by far the most numerous of the three subspecies currently found in the state.
Small populations of Rio Grande and Eastern turkeys can still be found. |
While he was not the dominant bird, he was a respectable 4 year old with 1 1/4" spurs and a 6" beard (turkeys at this elevation rarely grow very long beards, evidenced by the long spurs compared to beard length). A visibly shaken Josh and Mike walked down the hillside to meet me - they had no idea the birds had even come in until my shot. They saw the dominant tom fly and thought I had missed. Early in the trip we made a wager - first to shoot a turkey and whoever got the biggest turkey collected cash from the other members of our hunting party, but whoever missed a shot had to buy everyone lunch on the way home. As they watched the turkey fly away following my shot, Mike whispered "Well, there's lunch!" Oh, the irony. Looking up at the grins on my friends' faces, I couldn't have been happier with the first hard won turkey of the trip.
The rest of our hunt would be dedicated to the pursuit of the tom that got away - and got away he did, several times...but that's a story for another day. Josh went on to bag an outstanding turkey the last morning of the hunt, and what a story it is. We often speak about drawing a coveted local turkey tag near our home town, where the ground is flat and the drive is short - but I always find my mind wandering back to this rugged country I hunt in general season. In total, we logged 23 miles over three days to get those turkeys. The hunting may be easier in the river bottoms of Southeastern Idaho, but the effort expended to collect these mountain turkeys makes the payoff that much richer. It's like I've said in previous articles - the way the hunt is done should be as important at the result. The high mountain meadows filled with syringas, the sound of gobbles reverberating down the canyon walls, the vast rugged overlooks, the endless miles hiked - it's all a part of how we hunt turkeys. And that makes all the difference to us.
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| Despite temperatures in the upper 60's, patches of snow were still common |
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The last evening of the hunt we were treated to a chorus of 4 toms gobbling around this meadow for the last hour of daylight as they roosted.
The following morning, Josh took his turkey near this area |
Gear List
Benelli Field Supernova
Primos Jelly Head Choke Tube
Remington Premier Magnum Copper-Plated Turkey Loads
Cody Spec 1 Slate Call & Woodsman Striker
Montana Decoy Teaser Hen
Carry Lite Pretty Boy Decoy
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