5/17

Losing sucks. Losing in the playoffs, in my last high school lacrosse game really sucks. There are numerous quotes that I could write here about how you can't let a loss keep you down, never quit and all of that jazz. Instead I made my own. Walking off the lighted turf field I looked at my dad and simply said, "time to go kill one." Regardless of how the game went, my dad and I were hunting Thursday morning. Thinking of the game kept me up until the wee hours of the night, but I was able to catch a quick 4 hours of sleep before the alarm went off. Still groggy we made our way down the skidder trail. We joked how it would be nice to be home before the coffee stops brewing, a quick hunt so we could go back to bed. Before we got to where we figured the birds would be, a lone bird gobbled on the ridge above us. I knew from previous hunts that there was a clearing in top of the ridge, our first plan was to set up in the opposite end and hope the bird would work his way to us. We set up and as it got lighter our setup looked good. Not perfect, so I thought. I was worried that the bird might have saw us cross the clearing, that we weren't hidden well enough, the bird would go down hill instead of towards us. Mean while the bird is gobbling every other breath. Before we knew it we could tell by the sound of his gobbles, how it echoed off the trees rather than an unobstructed sound, that he was in the ground. I gave him a few soft yelps and then I went quiet. This calling technique worked on my bird, hopefully it would work again. But the bird gobbles again and he is heading right down hill. We hear the birds that we were originally after start to gobble. We figure that he is making his way to them. I call again, this time louder and more aggressive. We wait, everything is quiet besides a few song birds perched above us. The stillness is interrupted by a thunderous gobble only 60 yards away. Seconds later the bird struts into view, and gobbles again. I call one more time, loud enough to sound excited but not too loud that I blow him over. He struts, then strains his head up looking for the source of the call before popping into strut again. Slowly he tip toes his way to our decoys. Cresting the small rise infront of us, I hear my Dad's safelty flick off. I know he is in range. "Kill him when you can" I whisper. The gun kicks, blast sounds off over the valley below us, and the bird flops over dead. I look at my phone, 5:23. We hadn't been in the woods for 30 minutes yet. We laugh to each other, we will be home before the coffee stops brewing.

Hours spent on project today: 3