As we approached the property we had permission on, I noticed the telltale form of a gobbler in the corner of the field.
It's on.
With OMR waiting in the truck, I began my stalk on the unsuspecting turkey
The field had not been hunted in the opening week because of the normal gently flowing creek that bisected the farmers field was a raging torrent. Upon further inspection I found one way to cross it, shielded by a rise in the field so the turkey wouldn't event know I was there
A few hen calls and that baby should be rolling in on a string to meet it's end. A perfect plan it was going to be
Nope.
As I popped my head over the rise in the field, 10 whitetail deer which were unseen on the road busted me and ran right at the turkey. As I'm watching this happen, I hear the truck's engine roar to life about 200 yards behind me.
"What in the hell is he doing" I think to myself as I stand up and begin to try and signal OMR that the hunt is over at that point. He continues to back out of the old barnyard, to the pavement and then zooms away leaving me stranded frantically waving at him trying to figure out what in the hell he was doing.
Now I know my father would never leave me, but it was such a strange move. In all the years we've traipsed about the woods, I've never seen him up and drive off unannounced and off plan.
Did the landowner about face and come yell at him with out me knowing?
Was he having some medical emergency?
Was he possessed by Sasquatch's alpha brainwaves, rendering him certifiably nuts?
Hell if I knew.
Dejected at the failed stalk and somewhat nervous about why he left, I began the walk back to the road thinking he may have just repositioned up on the road. Now I was about 100 yards downstream of my initial creek crossing and in some strange line of thinking I thought I could just beeline it for the road and not go back to where I had crossed.
I gingerly began walking into the flooded portion of the field, taking time to asses each step and make sure I was taking a safe route through the creek's path
Then it happened. One step I was fine, next step I fell off a cliff into a rushing hole of 10 foot deep water.
The rush of full submersion in icy water is no joke. Clutching my gun, I grabbed the opposite shore and drug myself out of the channel that wasn't more than 6 feet wide. As I stood up, there was OMR returning to the barnyard. He watched the whole folly in realtime himself
Scary, yes. Stupid, yes.
We met in the barnyard both yelling at each other at the same time
"What in the hell were you doing"
"Why in *&&^% did you drive off"
"Why didnt you cross where you crossed earlier"
"When have you ever just DRIVEN OFF"
Dad and I often yell at each other like brothers. In this case, it was nervous energy on both sides of our predicament coming out in a colorful vocal display of displeasure.
As I stripped off the drenched ice cold clothes, he explained to me he had just driven down the road a bit to get a better look at the field to see if the bird was coming in.
Oh, so it wasnt Sasquatch's fault....
Assessing the damages, I had a wet gun, drenched clothing and ego.
I always have extra clothing in my fishing bag. Turkey hunting, nope.
Thus, I had the misfortune of riding home in a old pair of camo hunting bibs and nothing else
That is a hot look.
After the anger and confusion wore off 10 minutes down the road, I just started laughing. Dad started smiled and then laughing as well. There would be no turkey on this foray afield. We got something better.
A story for life.
