By Jerry Long, March 15, 2010   

Before our current financial situation the term Return On Investment was used quite heavily.  In this post I offer a different perspective of ROI.

Seth was just 14 when we met through a 4H archery program back in 1993.  He wanted to learn to bowhunt.  His parents consented.  We went through the whole program; safety, scouting, shot placement, etc.  He quickly learned the value of a safety belt after a very short tumble from our practice tree.  Seth didn’t take a deer that year, but he was in a tree stand just a few feet from me when I harvested a yearling.  That allowed us to practice our blood-trailing.  We met his father back at camp and cooked up a tasty snack of freshly harvested whitetail tenderloin sautéed in butter over a camp fire.  Better fare doesn’t exist.

Seth and I with a “young of the year” harvest just before I fried up its tenderloins. 

Unfortunately, the Navy took me to Washington State literally days later.  My wife will always bemoan the fact that we had to stop every day for dry ice to keep freshly processed venison frozen.  While I was out floating in the Northern Arabian Gulf and the pirate-laden Straits of Malacca, Seth was practicing his bowfishing, deer, duck, goose, and turkey hunting.  Except for one brief bowfishing trip in the late 90′s Seth and I weren’t able to get outdoors together again.

Roll forward to 2007.  Spring was hectic for both of us.  I had trips to Oklahoma for hogs and Kansas for turkeys and Seth had to plan and execute a National Wild Turkey Federation banquet while I handicapped him with assistance.  However, he called one Friday night and asked if I wanted to accompany him the next morning to fill his Wisconsin turkey tag.  I would be along for calling and picture taking only – I had previously pared down the total number of trips and seasons I was participating in after the “hunt master”, Mrs. dustyvarmint, got a look at my calendar for the year.    

I was five minutes late meeting Seth, which is highly unusual considering Uncle Sam’s training, but was quite early compared to his previous day’s partner that showed up several hours late and a little under the weather.  So, I hopped in quickly and off we went to a piece of public ground close to his home.  I had hunted this ground every legal minute of the 2006 season and had no close-encounters at all.  I was interested to see Seth’s approach.  As an archer, I set up my blind and stay put.  Seth, using a shotgun, tends to have happier feet.  Sure enough, we bumped a hen off the roost and then I slipped into the water while trying to cross a creek at a beaver dam.  DARN, wet foot for the rest of the day. 

We put up the decoys in a spot close to where we had heard last gobbling and settled against trees specifically shaped to inflict the most amount of excruciating pain on a frail human’s back.   Calling with Seth’s commercial calls and a couple of my dustyvarmint woodwork’s custom slates brought no replies.  We swapped calls and then swapped strikers – no replies.  We were quickly on the move again. 

Ooops, another bumped hen.  We heard some gobbles and then some calling that was so bad we immediately knew it to be a human using a diaphragm call – scary.  We set up well away from the direction of the calling and started our own courtship sounds.  After awhile it was apparent that the birds were about 400 yards away and weren’t coming any time soon.  The scary caller walked through our decoys and we were on our way back to a spot where Seth had helped a young hunter bag his first jake during the youth season.  Notice this continuance of passing on the tradition.  People talk about return on investment.  I can’t imagine a better one.

We approached the ag field and chose to sit on the two exact same trees he and his young partner had used.  We took up cuts and purrs in unison.  Twenty-five to thirty minutes and several cat-naps later we heard a suitor gobble from the swamp behind us.

He was a short 100 yards away.  He was coming closer.  Seth put down the call and focused his attention on the shotgun.  I continued soft cuts and purrs.  He was behind us.  We craned our necks and strained our eyes.  I was looking so far out of the corner of my eyes that my head hurt.  He was standing no more than 20 yards behind us on the edge of a swamp.  He crept forward.  We were both facing right and afraid to move.  We thought he was actually going to walk between us.  He skirted to my back, left, 4-6 yards away.  He began drumming and I risked a glimpse.  He was facing away and I whispered to Seth, “Turn around NOW!”

I continued very soft cuts and purrs.  Seth was now in position.  The gobbler headed toward the decoys, but stopped to strut.  His plumage shone beautifully in the sun.  I don’t know why, but Seth wanted him to actually get to the decoys.  However, he couldn’t pass an 18 yard shot.  BAM!  The turkey went down and I was up and on him, calls cast aside and forgotten.  Seth joined me.  There was laughter and high-fives.  Lots of posing and lots of pics.

Seth’s 2007 spring turkey.

The morning sun was shining down upon us.  It was a mild Wisconsin spring day.  We walked from the field taking turns carrying the turkey, charged with the excitement of school kids on the playground.  Which, after all, is really where we were.  A large Wisconsin playground.

happy hunting, dv 

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