end of season

As the 2024 Spring Turkey Season is into its last days, our guest Viking Opera Diva is getting her wardrobe dry-cleaned and gearing up for Friday at high noon.

Unlike Mötley Crüe’s rendition of the song. These sexy feathered babes are out there with a mind of their own, and I have a unique late-season and somewhat perplexing story to tell.

After spotting a gobbler, two jakes, and two hens this past Sunday, and very near to state land I could access their core area with a little boot leather. The long walk to the first sit is far easier than the climb to return to the truck. I would be there early this Memorial Day to see what I could make happen. I sure did, but it was a far different hunt than I had in mind.  We had a soaking rain last evening that tapered off right at first light this morning. It was a wet walk going in before daylight, but far more comfortable than sitting in a steady rain.

Super quiet start of the morning, and that included the turkeys. One of my favorite late-season spots in Cuyler, New York, and that added to my anticipation, along with the turkeys we spotted here the day before. I had worked my way down to a small flat along one of the finger ridges I like to check on.  With the wet understory, it was a stealthy approach and got to where I wanted to go without disturbing any deer. No gobbling on the roost, or at all for that matter. No tree yelping or the usual small talk you hear as the morning light emerges. I gave a few tree yelps close to the time I thought they might fly down, short and sweet with no feathered responses. The chipmunks, however, loved it.

I heard the first wingbeats close to 6:30 a.m., followed by two more. The first hen landed within gun range off to my left. The next two landed out in front, also within range.  They would cluck occasionally. Fast forward an hour and I had a fourth hen come in behind me and start clucking. She came up to the tree I sat at. Other than a very elevated heart rate, no pressure at all. Once she started, she never stopped until she left five minutes later.  Her clucks were low volume, soft, and varied in pitch. No whips or whistles and no yelping. None of the four hens ever yelped at all. The other three hens would cluck here and there, with no specific pattern to it. They first came to attention when the fourth hen arrived, but quickly lost interest and paid no mind to her. Best described as akin to a teachers lounge, eat a little, stretch, sit for a bit and so on.

Despite being close to a known roost area with a large facing slope, and all that sweet girl talk, it failed to produce a single gobble for the duration there. As I sat and patiently let it all play out, It had crossed my mind that this might be a common meet-up spot and that a gobbler would come in silent, and as Murphy would have it, on my off-side as well.  It never happened, but I sure thought about it. Another hour passed and the three hens drifted off the flat as they fed away, down to the creek. I would head back home once they dropped out of sight.  

Despite having live hens with sweet voices to entice gobblers further, I could not buy a gobble, anywhere. The climb back to the truck was so worth being front and center to that many hens for 2-1/2 hours.

It is a first for me to encounter hens like this so late in the season. Still roosting without nests to tend to, and without suitors. So content to just hang with their beasties deep in the turkey woods. I have questions as to how this fits into the overall scheme of things, not to mention, where in the hell are the gobblers, and how they would leave these lovely ladies unattended.

Best of luck to all of you in the final days!

© 2024 Mike Joyner- Joyner Outdoor Media