.
Well, to tell this story right I'll need to back up about three weeks. It's scouting time, the days alternate from mid 60's one day to sleet and snow the next. I roll out of bed well before dawn one such frosty Saturday morning and stumble to my truck. I meet up with Alex about 10 minutes later and we're ready to roll. We're going to the black water swamp to listen for old king Tom. Last year I had stepped in water over my boots and finished the hunt despite mild frostbite. Ok. They we're just cold.. But still, it sucked. Anyway, back to the story. We're sure he's in the wasteland of flooded timber interspersed with a winding maze of dry ground. A place where the water never gets over ankle deep but it's always perilous as one step may be solid, the next step you're up to your crotch in mud. The Birds eye view from Bing maps is practically worthless because shallow water and dry ground are nearly indistinguishable from 3,000 feet. On this morning however we're staying out of the swamps and just listening from the edge. We see some hens in the trees and like clockwork the Tom hammers deep within the black water swamp. That's a good bird I say to Alex. He agrees as the bird has a full chuckle gobble that just sounds mature. As the days pass we go out and listen to the tom a couple more times. Yeah, he's hooked, not going anywhere. I recall telling alex that it's a "Bob Evens Bird" by how fired up he was all on his own.. Our tradition is to go to Bob Evans after a kill. Last year while Swamp Donkey tom 1 was still roosted you can hear me tell Alex "We'll be at bob evans by 7:30."
Opening morning. April, 22 2013. After trudging through the swamps in the cold, damp, darkness and sinking up to our knees a few times. We arrive and set up between where the tom was 2 days before and where the hens have always roosted. As the sun cracks the horizon the king of toms lets out a gobble that thunders through the flooded timber. He's not where we thought and about 125 yards deeper in the swamp. The hens are to our front left, the tom to our front right. After gobbling 80 or so times in the trees the tom pitches towards us. He's on the ground. Still hammering, closer, closer, he's closing FAST. Easy as pie, this dudes in the bag! He gets about 30 yards in front of us and crosses from right to left through the brush. He's still in the thick underbrush hammering away, all we can see is the occasional flash of white from a strutting wing. Commit you crafty bird, come in another 5 yards and clear those honeysuckle bushes. But, it wasn't to be. The hens to our left flew down right to him. The last we saw of king tom he was strolling off in to the sunrise with his girls. We decided to back out and not push him. He is after all very wise in his years. Until this hunt we were 3 for 4 in the black water swamp.
Today's hunt to come.