The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1897-11-24
ROYAL WILD TURKEY
HOW THE TRUE SPORTSMAN HUNTS
THIS NOBLE GAME.


Are Very Knowing Birds.
Taking him "by and large, an old
turkey gobbler is the quickest, swiftest.
shiest and most knowing animal with
wings or without. He can run like q
greyhound, smell like q deer, see like
an eagle and fly like wild turkey.
You may have spent two hours in
crawling ON your hands and knees over
q mountain open or in moving with
noiseless footsteps, each one Of which
Is considered with careful elaboration,
and single. sudden turn Of your head,
snap of twig or CLEAN Of sunshine on
your gun will send whole gang a mile
away and up the mountain. Upward it
always is When wild turkey does
not like the looks of things he wants
the rockiest and toughest summit Of
the particularly highest headland OF the
topmost ridge of whole range, and he
generally gets it. If it is steep, he runs,
and he can run up faster than you can
fall down. If it is a gentle rise, he
thrashes the air with his mighty wings
clear up obstructing tree tops, and then
away he sails with velocity that belongs
to a 30 pound feathered cannon ball.
Take a dog along. if you will, and
when the gang is busy feeding your
cur may surprise them so quickly as to
make flush. OFF they will fly, scatter
ing in every direction, no two birds to.
gether If it Is afternoon, they will
want to get together for the night, and
in few hours you hear far off plain
tive qu-urck, qu-urck, qu-urck, qu-urck,
gu urck, gu urck-seven notes, the last
three coming shorter and sharper. Now,
If you are one of the rare individuals
who can make and manipulate turkey
call, take from your pocket the we'll
worn hollow bones of wild gobbler' S
wings, be still as death and initiate that
queer invitation. You will probably be
conscious that it is answered and have
some delicious sensations. Nay, it may
even come nearer and lead you to mad
ly strain your eye nerves trying to see
through entirely Opaque underbrush.
But unless those turkeys are very young
and foolish or are hens this will be
all. An old gobbler will have thought
it all out long before he steps within
range and silently fly away, leaving
you to wonder why the answer doesn't
keep on coming.
The thoroughbred and glorious way
to kill turkey is to go out alone in
the mountains with your winchester
and half dozen cartridges and just
look for the noble old fellow. Not that
just looking will do. To make much Of a
success you must listen for him, feel for
him, taste for him and smell for him, too,
and above everything else wait for him.
Get into just the widest and most Sc
cluded glade you can climb to, where
the only harvesters of the chestnuts and
hickory nuts are the squirrels, where
the tea berries, huckleberries and wild
grapes grow only for the pheasants and
turkeys, where the wildcat screams at
night, the fox pounces on the rabbit,
the black bear hunts for bee trees and
the big horned owl is the villain in
many nocturnal tragedies Keep in the
underbrush, but look out into every
open glade Take note of what there is
for turkey to eat and see if the dry
leaves are scratched up.
Walk about mile an hour and don't
put your foot down unless you know
what kind of a noise it is going to make.
Don't be sure it is squirrel you hear
scampering over the leaves until you
see him OF hear his chatter See every
thing that your eyes can take In and
keep them looking steadily on points in
distant leaf colored slopes until they see
many things that did not appear at
first. Stop sometimes and don't move
anything but your eyeballs for five full,
silent minutes. Never make any sudden
move, consider whether the last night
frost has fallen on this area of ruffled
and torn up leaves, where plainly strong
toes have been laying there the rich,
dark earth or the sweet remains of the
chestnut crop.
When you decide that the scratching
has been done this morning, see where
it began and remember what ground
lies in the direction to which it tends.
Then follow, moving more slowly and
carefully. Come to steep mountain
side, steering to the sycamore fringed
river. Do not dare to go directly down.
Side quickly off ON better grade and
then, having circled over a swift, breath
less half mile, work back to where the
trail should meet the river meadow.
Take care. Drop at full length, little
cautious because Of the haste. There
they are, strutting forth from the I'M
dergrowth by the stream after washing
down the chestnut breakfast with cold,
clear mountain water. They come up
the hill toward you, and you lie like
stricken man, with your rife follow
ing every movement of great black
gobbler, father of the flock, though he
is still 800 yards away.
Motherly, mild hammered hens and
young gobblers are in his train. slipping
dewdrops from the grass picking at
ragweed, chasing grasshopper with
half open wings or ruffling into make
believe combats. But never for mo-
ment are all off their guard. One, two
or three of their tall necks are always
stretched aloft, full of eyes and ears, in
statuesque suspicion. Now the old COB
bier straightens up his head, poised four
feet from the ground, trim, graceful,
| powerful, the sun glinting on the dark