Changing Vision: As Good An Excuse As Any

By Editor | April 25, 2023 |

DAVE’S WORLD
By David Howell

After skipping writing Dave’s World last week, I decided I would never have been able to live up to Betty Shearer’s legacy if I had opted to write a column on the front page. Week after week, she could always find something to write about, sharing her thoughts with loyal Herald readers for decades.

Truth is, I just came up blank last week and Jim Shearer sent his five pianos story just in time. My go-to columns have always been about hunting and fishing, but I worry that may bore some readers. I received a little encouragement a couple weeks ago at the Branch of Hope fundraiser when a long-time reader mentioned she enjoyed reading my hunting stories.

Years ago I wrote a regular outdoor column when I worked in Panola County. In those days I spent more time outdoors hunting and fishing. In the summer months, the outings ranged from running trot-lines on the Tallahatchie River to catching Kentucky bass on the Yocona River. Deer hunting, squirrel hunting, rabbit hunting, hog hunting, I stayed busy in the winter too. I guess it’s no secret that age slows you down and your priorities change.

I like to think that my pursuit of turkeys each spring is the one thing that hasn’t slowed down. For six weeks each year, I try to spend as much time hunting as possible and this year has been no exception. I have had some great hunts, killed a couple of gobblers and logged plenty of miles chasing them.

That said, I’m only two years shy of the big 5-0 and it seems like age is showing up in other ways. I will get to that later in the story.

Just over two weeks ago I was hunting a gobbler hard, but never could entice him into shotgun range. On one outing I had a hen turkey fired up, she answered my slate call immediately as I yelped. It wasn’t but a minute and she was standing in front of my decoy, making as much racket as any hen I had ever heard. She walked round and round that decoy, but the decoy didn’t act interested. Finally she honed in to exactly where I was calling and walked within feet of me as she entered the woods, still squawking. The gobbler was on the other end of the field and never paid me or the hen a bit of attention.

Two days later I set up on him early in the morning, several hundred yards from where he had roosted in the tree for the night. He gobbled until it was good light and then he hit the ground to start his rounds looking for hens. The only problem was there were plenty of hens with him, so he wasn’t interested in my calling. He came close, still gobbling, but it wasn’t close enough.

The next morning we did it again, he entered a field with a bunch of hens. This time I had a chance, the hens were already feeding toward me and he was staying close to them.

His head was red from the steady gobbling, and I could feel my heart beating fast. He looked at my decoy and broke from his hens, heading straight to me. A big oak tree was between us, and when crossed behind it I got my gun up and ready. He got to 25 yards and I closed the deal, or at least tried to. My gun boomed and the gobbler jumped straight up in the air, an apparent miss.

That was a brief let-down, I finally got my chance after multiple encounters with this gobbler and blew it. I quickly pumped the gun, BOOM, I shot again as he landed back in front of me. He ran to the woods and I got a third shot, the last shotgun shell I had boomed again. This time he hit the ground and I sprinted to him.

I was lucky, usually if you miss on the first shot the hunt is over. A gobbler’s reaction is lightning fast and it is hard to get on him for a second, or even a third shot.

I started walking out of the woods, toting the gobbler and immediately decided it was my eyesight. It seems like it is getting harder to focus on the bead at the end of the gun barrel and the target at the same time. One or the other gets a tad blurry. Or at least that’s my excuse, I figure it is as good as any other excuse – blame it on changing vision as I approach the mid-century mark.

Time will tell, and I hope to have at least one last opportunity this spring to put that bead on a turkey head. I’m heading to Missouri for a few days of turkey hunting.