Early on in this year’s spring gobbler season, an old longbeard I know had trouble maintaining his small harem.
The old tom was extremely animated and when gobbling and strutting, he would sometimes sport a whitish-blue head that would slowly morph into a brilliant red as he gobbled, displayed, strutted and pirouetted.
Researchers pin the rapid color change in a gobbler’s head and neck wattles, and snood (the long wattle which droops over the beak) on the ebb and flow of the gobbler’s hormones.
But when two young toms, called jakes, would crash the party, the old gobbler high tailed it. Literally, ran. Last season, he did the same thing. (I’m assuming it’s the same bird. Same woods, same behavior, and not many old long beards on that property.)
He ran when the young males showed up. And I have trail cam photos detailing the ignominious retreat.
Traditionally, young birds are intimidated by the older gobbler … but not in this case.
Years ago, I have dressed out toms with lacerations on their breasts, presumed to be spur gouges or slashes made by an old bird. One was inedible with green pus. Jakes do not wield spurs, only having immature bumps on the leg’s backside.
Toms battle mainly with beak and wings, and some don’t use the lethal, sharp spur when a turkey world altercation occurs. Only sometimes, warring like a gamecock, jumping and ripping with spurs.
As the days during the season ticked by, I said, “It’s only time. He will come in to my call.” The old boy was still interested, and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled. Double-gobbling, triple gobbling, quarto-gobbling, over and over; he frustratingly never quite came into gun range, though the hens and jake would. He hung back. Only dawned on me during the last days, he didn’t like my jake decoy. Supposed to make ‘em jealous, they say, but in this case, spooked him.
Adrenaline and excitement wanes, replaced by frustration and disappointment. I was beat.
Jakes came in many times, but I wanted that old bird.
Reel back to the last week of the turkey season. Same field, but now, only two hens worked from their roost through the field to their hidden egg clutches over on the posted property.
But, no gobbles, no gobbler. Just a soft yelp back from the girls. Until, “Gobble-obbble-obble.”
“Yes!”
And sure enough, out of the woods, on the field edge, emerged two big black toms a couple hundred yards away. Nothing quite like game-time after a week of rainouts and silent, wet, dank, dripping woods, now clear on the last days.
But something was wrong right off.
The two toms were about the same size, and even at that distance, no ropes hanging.
Yep, you guessed it.
The two jakes again.
Slowly the two amigos worked their way across the field. Their three-inch “paint brushes,” small beards, stuck out of each of their breasts as they cautiously approached, reeled in by their adolescent desires. The largest and boldest had a red head, but the other subdominant had a more brownish head.
The biggest bird came as close as 10 yards away, flanked by his comrade, and stared at the end of my 12-gauge shotgun that was resting on my knee, pointed right at his beak.
The standoff lasted a few seconds, and then he started to putt, the traditional warning sound of the wild turkey. Probably saw me blink my eye behind the camo face net.
They moved off in grouchy, grumpy moods, having been fooled again by a lowly human. Hopefully, we will duel again next May when they have another year of experience under their belts … beards.
I have three personal rules (guidelines) when turkey hunting. One, I won’t bushwhack a tom, that is shoot one that is not called in, roost-shoot, or “limb” them in the dark or light, and I don’t shoot jakes. Just long-beards for me nowadays.
Yes, rather to dine on turkey tag soup, the soup du-jour these days.
But I look ahead to next year when I meet up with at least one jake, that will be a long-beard then … and game.
— Oak Duke writes a biweekly Outdoors column.
This article originally appeared on The Evening Tribune: An old gobbler serves up ‘turkey tag soup’ | Outdoors column
Reporting by Oak Duke, Outdoors Columnist / The Evening Tribune
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By Oak Duke, Outdoors Columnist | USA TODAY Network
