The turkey hunting trip began on a slightly sour note. The weather forcast was way off and instead of sunny skys and increasing tempertures, the cloud cover increased and the snow got heavier the further we drove into southern Colorado. This wouldn't have been so bad but my friend Steve's truck was sporting some very bald tires, and we had some dirt roads to negotiate. That said, we weren't more then 200 yards off the maintained county road when we slide to a stop on the slimey snow saturated mud of the private roadway. "You sure this things in four-wheel- drive." "Yeah" "So where's the tire chains Steve?" "Well," he said, "I didn't think I would need them." "How long have you been living in Colorado?"
No cell phone reception here so we pulled on boots and hoofed it the remaining sloppy 1/2 mile hoping to find some chains or a tractor in Pauls barn. Paul showed up about a half hour after us easily negotiating the slippery slopes in a vehicle that actually had tread on the tires. We fired up the tractor and long story short...got the truck the rest of the way to the house.
Next morning, with our stategy carefully laid out over numerous beers the night before, Steve and I spilled out into the field in search of some wild turkey (the bird not the drink). First sighting...a wild horse down by the barn. Not quite what we were looking for. Steve drew the best parcel of land, and by 8am had his gobbler on the ground. I was not as fortunate, and after walking over hill and dale didn't come across any birds until about 9am. The first bunch I blundered into thinking that the calls I was hearing were much farther away than they actually were. After some more floundering around I finally located a gobbler slowly working his way up hill back toward Pauls property line. I paralled him for a while being extra cautious not to run into him and, after figuring out his movement, I hustled ahead, circled around, and waited for him to come to me. As he neared, I made some clucking sounds with my newly purchased turkey call and, sure enough, he popped out of a bush well within shooting range. Except I forgot to mention the trees and bushes between us so when I did pull the trigger, I was peering through a small hole through the branches, and I only managed to graze him (at least that's my excuse). Dang it! He took off like a scalded cat, and the slight "flesh wound" wasn't enough to slow him down. After a 1/4 mile chase I finally found the spot in the snow where his tracks disappeared...he had gone airborne off into a valley, and the chase was over.
That evening I went out again, and called in 10 birds just sitting in basically the same spot for three hours. Nine hens and 1 Tom, but again, the cover between me and the bird prevented a shot. I learned 1 thing for sure. These guys are a lot smarter then they look and any slight body movement when they are approaching and they are gone in a flash.
Sunday morning broke clear, and the snow was disappearing fast as I went out for another try at bagging my turkey. What's this? No birds? That's right...the game had left the area. As we packed up the truck after lunch, I suddenly noticed that my wallet was missing. A frantic search of the house, grounds, vehicles, and duffle bags turned up nothing. Nothing left but to retrace my path through the woods. Steve, Paul and I set out and began retracing the now cold trail. At one point I directed Steve, and Paul up into some rock outcroppings where I had been earlier. I approached a large flat rock with a small pile of dirt in front of it, and after stepping up on the pile and beginning to transfer my weight onto the rock, I noticed a slight movement down by my feet. What's this?
I stepped back a pace and now I am looking into the smallish scouped out hole under the rock at some kind of animal nose. It quickly registers that this is not just any run-of-the-mill ground dwelling rodent. It is a bear. Highly unusual to catch one in it's den like this so I call over Steve and Paul for a look because although it has to be a bear it's not completely clear if he is fully awake, and he's just (ahem) barely moving. It's also not clear from looking at the pile of dirt and the size of the hole that it's even a very big bear since all we can really see is the muzzle and one eye peering out at us. Maybe it's a cub. Thinking it is probably in our best interest to move on we slowly edge off to the side of the den, and as the last of us gets clear of the front mister bear decides to stick his whole head out and check us out. Convinced that we are out of his way he bolts from the hole and takes off through the brush as fast as he can go. Oops...not a cub; this was a full size black bear and how he managed to get in that hole I have no idea. I always wondered where bears hang out during the day. And you thought I had mispelled the title of this post. Didn't you?
Oh, the wallet? Yeah, we didn't find it in the woods, but on returning to the truck, and another rigorous rifling of my bags turned it up in the pocket of a pullover I was wearing the night before. It's funny though. If not for the "lost" wallet we would have never seen one of the coolest things ever.
