Bear Grease - Ep. 211: This Country Life - If She Can Hit a Cow She Can Hit a Turkey

Episode Date: May 3, 2024

It's been a turkey season of firsts and Brent's still reeling from an incredible opener in Missouri. He's got two great hunts on tap for you, a movie review, and is sharing a listener-submitted tale that pairs well with this episode. Sit back and relax, it's time for MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast. Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I've got a thing or two to teach you.

If she can hit a cow, she can hit a turkey. The good fortune continues as we navigate through turkey season with friends and family in the show-me state. I had two amazing hunts back-to-back that I promised to tell you about last week. There were two firsts, and they were 15 hours apart. I'm going to tell you all about both of them, but first, I'm going to tell you a story. We've got another listener submitted story that I'm going to tell you this weekend. and it perfectly fits the message of our second helping hunts coming together. It was sent in by this country life listener, Jordan Crawford,

from Winsborough, South Carolina. This is one prime example of a plan coming together and stay in focus when you think maybe it didn't. Without further ado, in Jordan Crawford's words and my voice, here it is. A few springs back, the season started off pretty strong. I doubled up with my brother for the first time during the first week. But after that, nothing. The woods were quiet except for an occasional gobble,

followed by complete silence and no interest, and check it out my best imitation of a hen cutting and yelping. A few weeks of bouncing around on different properties, walking and calling had produced zero. Just exercise. Now, don't get me wrong, anytime you get to spend time hunting, and America's greatest game bird, you should be appreciating it.

But weeks of silence and turkeys that have absolutely no interest in playing the game can wear on a man's mind. It was the last day of our season in the part of our state, and as I said at work, waiting for quitting time, all I could think about was squeezing in one last hunt. I weighed my options, and I decided to hunt my aunt's property. I figured there might be a long beard hanging around her cow pasture that would give me one last opportunity.

I left work and I pulled into my aunt's driveway with just a few precious hours of the season left. I got ready. I grabbed my shotgun and headed for the logging road that looped all the way around the property. It ended at the bobbed wire fence in the far corner of the cow pasture. I walked the road, stopping to call occasionally

and listened for any gobbler that was willing to reveal his location. The silence was broken only by songbirds and a few crows that were having an altercation with a red-tailed hawk. Now, with a little over an hour left of season, I finally made it to the fence where I could peek into that pasture and see if there were any turkeys that were spending their afternoon out there before heading to roost. A lone hen caught my eye, working her way down the fence line about 200 yards on the other side of the pasture. While I watched her feet down that fence row, a half dozen more hens popped out from behind a knoll, following right behind the lead hen.

A few seconds later, three red heads popped up over the knoll and three gobblers fell in line right behind the hens. Out of nowhere, the three long beards started fighting, and it was hard to tell who was getting the better of who. It was an all-out brawl. As I watched the fight unfold, I noticed the lead hen was headed towards a group of cedar trees that was 300 yards down the fence line, a spot that I thought would be perfect setup to fill one of the two tags I had left in my pocket.

So I did my best impression of Forrest Gump, and I made a big loop through the woods to get around to those cedars. Running through the woods was about as graceful as you can imagine a man running through the woods, toting a shotgun, it was unloaded, and wearing a turkey vest full of calls, extra gloves, face mask and shells. I made it to the cluster of cedars undetected and tucked into one of them just looking down that fence line in the direction I had seen that flock of turkeys. After taking a few minutes to catch my breath, I let out a few soft yelps, silence. After 20 minutes of quiet time and no sightings of anything, time was my enemy now.

With precious minutes ticking off the clock, I grabbed my slate call and let out of a series of fighting purrs, hoping those gobblers were still in the mood to duke it out. Five minutes later, I think I hear the bass from someone's car speakers. And I was only 100 yards from the main road, and that wouldn't have been uncommon to hear. Then I thought, wait a minute, I don't hear a car coming down the road. Hold on. That's a gobbler drumming, and it's directly behind me. I slowly turned my head and I peeked through the limbs of that.

that cedar tree to see a gobbler in full strut at 20 yards. Time was slipping away in the season, and I only had one option if I was planning on walking back to the truck with a bird thrown over my shoulder. I'm going to have to turn around, pop out from behind this tree, and hope he doesn't take off before giving me a good shot. Now, when I did it, he must have been just as surprised as I was when I first laid my eyes on him right behind me. He broke, struck and stuck his head straight up in the air.

You couldn't ask for a better shot. Boom! To my complete and utter dismay, he took off like a fighter jet, up and over the big white oaks in the direction of the creek. He cleared those big trees without any hesitation and disappeared. How did I miss that turkey? There's no way. Everything felt right.

The beat of my shotgun was right at the base of his neck when I pulled the trigger. I took a few moments to collect my thirt. and I walked over to where he was standing when I shot. Well, there's the wadden and a few small black feathers laying on the ground that those should have come from his neck. I started walking in the direction he flew, still believing I hadn't missed. I zigzagged the side of the hardwood ridge, nothing. I dropped down into the bottom and I started walking the creek.

As I made my way around a big pine tree on the bank near a bend in the creek, there he was laying in the middle. Graveyard dead. Man, I was overjoyed to find that bird and to be able to wrap my tag around his leg. On the ride back to the house, I couldn't help but think, what if I hadn't taken the time to study the ground where he was standing? What if I hadn't looked for him after he flew like he did

that I thought he hadn't been touched? He was laid in that creek and been coyote food, and that's no way for him. the king of spring to make his trip to the turkey woods in the sky. Anyway, moral of the story, you think you've morally wounded a turkey put in the effort to make sure he got away cleanly. I know we expect him to just flop when we pull the trigger or at least show some kind of sign of being hit.

That wasn't the case this time. Nothing really surprises me when it comes to these birds, but that one flying off like he did after being shot in the head. only to make his final approach and land in a creek. Honestly, it blew my mind. And according to Jordan Crawford of Windsborough, South Carolina, that's just how that happened. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls

in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. but when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods,

they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you, did and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy to use cut for beginning callers

who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. My first week in Missouri turkey hunting this year was like no other I'd had in that area. I hunt a lot of field turkeys there and everyone that's turkey hunted knows that they can be some of the toughest nuts to crack. They can set out in the middle of the bald open, strutton and goblin in relative safely from hunters armed with anything less than a sniper rifle or cannon. Now, Missouri has yet to allow those two platforms for the legal take of Malagoras Gallipavo Syvestries.

The scientific name assigned to the object of my obsession by old Carolus Linius of Sweden, way back in 1758, some 227 years before I would send my first one to the promised land. Nice job, carolace, but turkey is way easier to spell. Anyway, I left off last week when Isaac Neil and I were walking back to the side-by-side toting 23 pounds of feathered goodness after giving him the old one-two before the sun had a chance to get much higher than the fence posts that surrounded the pasture where I just throat-punched him. I had no idea what was in store for me over the next 24 hours, and had I known, I wouldn't have been able to sleep that night. I'd actually planned on taking a nap that afternoon at Toby and Mary's

house. I've told you about them before, but if you're new to this country life, I've been going to their house for many moons now, chasing turkeys and visiting with them and their family and friends who've all become just like mine. A turkey hunting is really just an excuse to go see them. I was taking their youngest daughter, Emily, the next morning, on her first turkey hunt. Emily's grown now, but a few episodes ago I told you about when she was about six or seven along with her older sister Peyton. They were quite a dynamic duo of innocence and beauty. Emily was the one that gave her pet cow T-bone or a rock to the head after she sweetly called it over to the fence. I was hoping to give her the same opportunity bright and early the next day with one of the other

turkeys I'd heard that morning. Then my friend Quentin called me and he said, I'm going hunting this afternoon if you want to go with me. Well, the only thing better than a nap in the afternoon after you filled your allotted turkey tag during the first week of the season is helping someone else feel theirs. I'm in the truck and on the way. This year was the first time in my experience where you could hunt in the afternoon in Missouri. Now, I'm not sure whose idea that was, but here's to you, Mr. Let's Hunt Missouri Turkeys in

the afternoon, man. Quentin had heard several that morning. and even called one in for his wife, Chelsea, to shoot. We were paddling into new waters, being able to hunt in the afternoon. I was betting on it not being a disappointment. I should have doubled down. We were hunting his family farm, and he knew it well and knew where the turkeys liked to move throughout the day.

So when we walked into the area, he suggested we start. I was a little surprised when we called and got no response. We thought better of moving any further and decided to stay. put. It was the first day and there was no reason to bump the turkeys out of that area by spooking them. Besides, even if they didn't come into where we'd sat up, we should be able

to roost one for him to hunt the next morning while I got it, Emily. Now, we'd been cranking out calls there were 15 or 20 minutes since we sat down, and after an hour and a half, we heard a faint gobble to the northwest. Bingo, we're in business. Now,

patience and time were on our side, once again. We each fought the urge to call very often, and when we did, we didn't do a whole lot of excited calling or cackling, mostly just yelps loud enough to let him know that where we were and we were inviting him to come join the party. About 20 minutes into the game and with him ever so slowly sounding closer, another one fired off to the south west.

How fortunate. We were set up in some cedar trees at the top of the top of the top of the top of the of a ridge line that had a pasture to the east behind us and woods to the west in front of us where the turkeys were. Now, had there been more leaves on the trees and bushes, we'd have probably gotten up and moved a little closer, cutting the distance and splitting the difference between them. If they didn't have hens with them, they should come on in. If they ran into some between where they were now and where we sat, that might shut them up

and we might not even hear another peep. that would be the only motivation to get closer. But the leaves were still a week away from putting out to any consequence and you could see forever down through the woods. Moving closer was a gamble we couldn't afford to take, so we waited and we listened. And for the next 45 minutes, we were treated to a lot of mid-afternoon goblin

while they moved ever so slowly, closer to where we sat up. Then when I thought they'd never get here, they were. They got together at about 60 yards, one of them strutton and the other one walking right behind him as they approached the two decoys that we'd set out in front of us. A hen and a three-quarter strutting Jake were at 20 yards in an exactly the wrong spot. I sat him up thinking the turkey's approaching would be at a bigger angle,

but they came out right in the open and were walking straight toward us with the decoys directly in between. Now, why is this not ideal, you ask? well, you turkey hunters know it gives them more of an opportunity to look past the decoys and see us than if they'd had their attention been focused off to one side of the other. The strudder was on his way to start slinging hands at that Jake when the dude that was following him smelled a rat and started to make tracks out of that quicker than he'd made them in. The strutter forgot I all about wanting to beat up my decoy and was doing his dead level best to get back from whence he came when Quentin sent him a load of lead shot at 20 yards.

It was a swing and a miss. Both turkeys flew at the sound of the shot and lit at about 50. This time, he was right on the noggin, and I had just watched my friend shoot a gobbler on Missouri's inaugural afternoon season opener. Nice job, boom, boom. What a perfect day. I counting my turkey that I told you about last week, that was two setups on two hunts on the same day, with two turkeys getting smashed.

We walked out and I headed back to Tobeys. I hadn't been there long when old Quentin Boom Boom sent me a text of his dad sitting behind a big turkey. Apparently, he'd got home and heard one gobble behind his house not long after he got there and he called his dad. Dad came over and they called it in. My gosh, would this carnage ever end? The next morning I was back at my old stomping grounds with Emily and towed, and we were standing where I stood the morning before I described in last week's episode. I owled and right at Gobbling Time I got an answer on the ridge to the west of where we stood about 300 yards away.

I picked out a tree for Emily, we listened to that turkey gobble for quite a while. When fly-down time came, I gave him a few tree-ups, and he answered immediately. I beat on my chest imitating wings flying down on the ground, and he answered that too. Then for the next 20 minutes after he hit the ground, he answered me every time I called to him. I didn't call much, just enough to keep up with him and to make sure he was interested. I had the decards straight out west in front of Emily at the edge of the food plot. The gobbler would enter from the north and walk south to where we'd set up. My plan was to have him at stabbing distance solely focused on the Jake Decoy when Emily got the green light to shoot.

And he must have read the script because that's just what happened. It was turkey planning and execution to perfection. Emily drilled her first turkey on her first turkey hunt, and I had the honor of calling it in for her and witnessing it all. That's a special moment for folks like us, the people who value the creatures that lure us each spring into nature. We all share that regardless of how you pronounce the word acre. When she was little, she made me watch her do cartwheels across the living room floor until I got dizzy. She sat beside me on the couch, forcing me to watch the worst kids movie ever made.

Don't believe it's the worst, check out Little Heroes Three. It's so bad it made me want to go to the dentist just to be somewhere away from the TV it was playing on. But Emily liked it, and to her, it was special, and she wanted to share it with me. And that's all that matter. Now she's all grown up, and she picked me again to share something special. Her first turkey, don't tell her, but if she wanted me to, I'd watch that dumb old movie with her all over again.

That's going about do it for me this week. I'm so thankful for all of you that have shared your stories with us. And man, do we have a lot of them to go through? Just know that we read them and when and if we find a spot they fit, I'll share them on here. If you don't hear me read yours, just know that we appreciate your efforts in sending them in and hopefully we'll eventually have a place to put. Y'all keep them coming. I haven't read a dud yet.

Stories are just like biscuits. They're all good. Some are just better known. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves. Signing off. Y'all be killed. On Blood Trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker.

I've seen something in the road. I instantly thought it was a sleeping bed. And there was a full of blood. Oh, my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors. Where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is scarce, and the truth gets buried under brush, and silence. Indications were he should be right there, but he wasn't.

This season, we're going deeper, from cold case files to whispered suspicions, from remote mountains to frozen backwards. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness. Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left behind trying to piece them back together. He's not an honest person. He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something.

I'm Jordan Sillers. Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, IHeart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.