Maine’s turkey hunting season will begin on May 1st this year. Turkey hunting has a special place in my heart. It’s the hunt that got me into hunting. It’s the hunt where my oldest son got to see his mom shoot a turkey for the first time. It’s the hunt where my oldest son and I shared a hunt together and each shot a turkey at the same time. It’s the hunt that started it all. But what’s most special is that this is a hunt that John and I continue to do together to this day.
Let’s go back to 2002. Maine was holding a lottery drawing for turkey hunting. John asked me if I would put my name in for a permit. I said “sure, but if I get a permit, I get to decide if I’ll shoot it.” Back then you had a sub-permittee who could also shoot if the permit holder didn’t.
Sure enough, I was the only family member drawn for the permit! Even better, I was picked for season A, which meant the first week of the hunt. So the real test came when I had to fire the shotgun. If I could shoot it, I would shoot the turkey; if not, then John would get the honors. Although he never let on, I’m sure John was somewhat disappointed (although he denies it to this day) when I shot the 12 gauge and hit the milk jug…and I was still standing afterward. I would be hunting for turkey!
John and I started scouting for turkeys by driving around Albion since that’s where we always saw them. Unlike now, turkeys weren’t throughout Maine and were found primarily near big silage piles on big cattle farms. We managed to get permission from several places but some of the other farms were pretty free about giving permission to everyone who asked, so the chances of hunter interference was pretty certain. We got sole permission at this farm where a monster tom strutted regularly for the hens on the farm. This farm required us to drive into a gravel pit, then hike up the hill to the other high side of the pasture and set up for the hunt. It was a physically demanding climb without my gun in tote. I knew that was going to be my biggest obstacle once I would be carrying all of my hunting gear.
We signed up for turkey school through Inland Fisheries and Wildlife which was a lot of fun. We were clueless about turkey hunting. No orange required, but don’t wear blue, red or white either…and all kinds of other do and don’t rules meant to keep hunters safe. We also learned about turkey poop which I’ll never forget. Toms and jakes poop “J” shaped and hens poop ice cream cone shaped poops. This really is important when scouting for turkey!
I bought my first set of camouflage clothing including a hat, a mask and gloves. I even bought John some camo since we didn’t have much, and I’ve never lived down that camo became ‘important’ only after I started hunting. Okay, I admit it…I enjoy buying camo (not pink either) especially when I buy it for me…lol. Everything was the new camo pattern, but everything was also cotton; I had a lot to learn about hunting clothes. We bought turkey box calls, locator calls, turkey shot ammo, turkey vests, seats, turkey decoys, slates…we were prepared. All we needed was a turkey.
We set up the blind under a bunch of hemlocks that hung over a fence line the weekend before the first day of the big hunt. We placed a big camo drape in front with brush concealing our bodies. We had perfect cover. The first day of the season was almost at the end of the April so the field was not only free of snow, but also greening up.
The Sunday night before opening day, we were hit with a freak spring snowstorm. I mean it snowed about five or six inches. We had not counted on needing winter clothes, or rain coats since the temps were supposed to rise into the 50’s later that day. Any way we looked at it, it was going to be a gross wet mess. But we threw together some rain ponchos, rain pants and off we went. The snow didn’t help hide us as we crossed the field, but we were there before daylight and that’s all that mattered. John strategically placed our one hen decoy out about 20 yards, the distance for a great shot.
As soon as the sky began to lighten and daylight broke, John began to work his magic on the slate call. He purred, and did the fly down with his hat just like we learned. The then slowly added clucks and yelps. Turkeys gobbled! John began purring and calling on that slate call and just like text book, out of nowhere, that huge tom came barreling over the hill on a dead run headed right for our decoy. He was so fat that he waddled from side to side as he ran. Once he got to the decoy, he stopped, plumped himself up and began strutting. John purred. He dropped his feathers, stuck out his neck and let a gobble and I shot.
The hunt was over in about five minutes. We barely made it past legal hunting time, but we had a turkey. A beautiful wet turkey. By the time we retrieved him, his feathers were soaked from the flapping of his wings before he died.
John carried my turkey out because I knew when I held it that I’d never make it to the truck. He still carries my birds…two last year! We knew he was big. My turkey topped the scales at 24.5 pounds! The state record was just over 25 pounds at the time. Unfortunately, I never had the man at the tagging station certify my weight and records are only kept for 10 years, so I never got my Maine Wild Turkey Club patch. It’s a club for all turkeys over 20 pounds. I mounted his beautiful tail and 9-7/8 inch beard. His spurs were 7/8″ long but I did not keep them.
Within five minutes of returning to the truck we were met by two game wardens. They knew of this big bird and they heard me shoot. It was an interesting conversation because they assumed it was John who shot the turkey and kept directing questions to him. When John told them I shot the turkey their eyes showed the surprise, and then came the questions. I really did shoot that turkey Mr. Game Wardens! My how things have changed since then! I’m glad to see more women are out there so that I’m no longer the exception to the rule.
We baked Mr. Turkey but it wasn’t all that good; he was pretty dry. Unlike a store bought turkey, wild turkey has a much deeper and narrower breast so laying him on his back to roast was near impossible. We’ve since adopted other ways to prepare wild turkey; my favorite is just putting it in a stew with lots of gravy.
This girl still holds the family record for the biggest turkey, but I haven’t shot one with a bow. Perhaps 2016 will be the year! I hope no matter who you are, that you’ll get out and try turkey hunting. Don’t forget to bring a wife, husband, daughter, son, or a friend. Even if you don’t get a turkey, watching the sun rise above the horizon on a brisk spring morning, and watching the world awaken before your eyes, is enough to get you hooked.
Almost two weeks ago, I was out in the woods getting my mind clear, looking for antlers and trudging through some pretty deep snow when my foot fell deep through a snow covered brush pile. I fell flat on my face; my .22 barrel drove into the ground, and I got this incredible burning pain in my left knee. My foot had become lodged so that when I fell, there was no give, and the knee took the brunt of the fall. After a few curse words I got up and walked out, but the knee was incredibly stiff and sore. By the next day, I could barely walk on it and I feared the worst. What I don’t need is a torn ACL since I’m already the candidate for a knee replacement and with fishing season beginning in about a month, the last thing I want to do is be sidelined when I should be casting my fly rod. A trip to the doctor and I was told no torn ligament, just a good knee sprain that needs rest.
These were hot last year and since there were no bugs, these nymphs were the only thing catching salmon. Dubbing sounds harmless enough, but it’s a nightmare to work with. Dubbing is dyed rabbit fur. It’s used to make the bump on the nymph…How much, how thin, too thin, too thick..gahhh! It seems like the harder I tried to make it look clean, the worse it looked.
Each year we venture to a spot to see the deer. In the past, we gave “bucks for does and dough for bucks.” This year, we did not leave money since I heard they’re not particularly fond of hunting or hunters. We still enjoy watching the deer and other onlookers who never let us down.
I always find it interesting to see people who think that wild animals are docile, cute little things that they can pet like a dog or cat. The deer seemed to be much more aggressive this year, and there wasn’t much time when a scuffle for food wasn’t taking place. If you saw the way these deer fight, you’d be smart to stay in your car…I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that hoof…but nope, some woman with her five something year old thought they would try to see how close they could get to feed a deer with an apple, which only drove the deer further away…and then the two teenage girls who also decided they need to get out of their vehicle, climb over the snowbank and approach the deer…yeah…what ever happened to just viewing and enjoying?
There was at least 55 deer on the lawn, with dozens in the woods and on the other sides of the property. I would estimate at least 100 deer in counting distance. We were lucky to see one nice 6-8 point buck that hadn’t dropped his antlers yet. My deer dropped his on January 21st…it might as well have been last year since it feels longer than that. This buck was also aggressive and chasing does; you’d think it was October the way he was chasing! It’s incredible to think these deer are out in this weather. At -8 at 3pm, I can’t even imagine how cold the nights get for them. They noses and chins were frozen so that you could see the hairs on their chins.
Later that same winter, I joined John and Ty for a trip north where there is prime rabbit habitat. Taking the dog north to rabbit hunt was extremely stressful for me. With stories of dogs being killed by bobcat or coyote, or getting lost, I had a very hard time not worrying about my son’s dog, Fly.
I hadn’t bothered with the chicken wire after one of my online friends told me I may be breaking the law with chicken wire SO…on her advice, I went natural and took my recently thrown out Christmas tree down in the woods, and plunked it right over the pile of grain. Thank goodness we got a smaller tree this year! Nothing for the deer to get tangled in but something that may help an antler fall right where I want it to fall.
d non-hunters alike. I myself have never found any shed antlers except for the pair of moose antlers John and I found one spring. They were a couple years old and we weren’t even hunting for shed antlers; we just sort of came across one then deliberately looked for the other one and actually found it. They adorn my bedroom walls along with John’s moose mount, bear mount and rug, my turkey fan and my college diploma. John has found several pairs of shed moose antlers and some deer antlers too. Our new fireplace also has a beautiful five pound brown trout John caught in high school and it’s mounted to a shed antler he found.
Muzzle loader season only produced more does, and without a doe tag the best I could do was take a picture. Although I hunted every day except for one, I came up empty handed. I’m pretty hardcore, and can tolerate a lot, but when rain poured down on me as soon as I headed into the woods, I turned around and came right back in. Rain and black powder guns don’t mix well even when they’re modern, and I wasn’t prepared to sit in the rain only to get wet.
John got a nice buck so we’re not meatless this winter, and we won’t totally break the piggy bank buying meat. I’m counting on rabbit hunting to bring in some more. We’re totally in love with our rabbit pot pies and I have a freezer full of them for winter.
So I went to catching the mice. I set out the common yellow mouse traps that are pretty tricky to set up and you must make sure your fingers are out of the way when you set them. A little peanut butter bait and voila…how could they resist? It worked! It worked until the trap was worn out and wouldn’t hold up my peanut butter. So I resorted to buying a new fangled trap from Victor…the same maker as the yellow one. I immediately catch mouse two and three. I tweet about my catches. Victor (the mouse trap company) begins to follow me on Twitter. I am feeling pretty accomplished and thinking I need to blog about this! I’m baiting for mice…just like bear, but having WAY more luck than I did bear hunting. I’ll call it Three Dead Mice…lol…I then go to the grocery store to buy more Snickers…because the mice LOVE Snickers. 
By the way, I’m not laughing any more and I still haven’t blogged. As I wake in the morning to find mouse number 5 caught on his hind leg, I am concerned. He looks dead. He’s not moving…He’s dead. I go to show John my catch. As I stretch out my arm to show him the mouse, it moves. It moves! I let a yelp out because I don’t want the mouse to get loose. I put the bowl, mouse and candy on the deck. John says it’s got to die. He goes to kill it. As he picks up the mouse trap, we both see that the mouse was never caught. He was just napping after eating so much candy. The tire iron did the trick. No. 5 down.
My Mainely Girl Adventures 