Last week, I discussed the idea that today's turkeys are far less vocal than those in years past. One of my Delaware County readers reminded me of another reason for the silence of these great birds in the woods.
A few years ago, I slipped silently into a little, hidden hollow not far from my house. There always had been a small flock of turkeys hanging out in that area. It's a little secluded, so that spot doesn't get a lot of hunting pressure. As dawn approached, the song birds began to sing, and streaks of red formed off in the eastern sky.
I waited silently in the trees along the edge of the woods until I heard the quiet talk of the hens on their roost. I then heard the first gobble of the morning behind me on another ridge across the valley. A couple other toms eagerly gobbled somewhere in response. Finally, the old tom just above me in the pines let loose with his thunderous voice, responding to the other anxious toms.
I immediately set up and waited. With my back against a large tree trunk, I listened to the chorus of jakes and toms announcing their presence in the valley. The sound of flapping wings could be plainly heard as the small flock flew down from the tree tops nearby.
I waited patiently before starting to softly use my call. Finally, as the wooden peg swirled on the hard, gray slate, I could hear the birds nearby. With another series of calls, the old longbeard gobbled. He was close but just out of sight.
Our game lasted for several minutes. I'd call, he'd gobble back. Then, there was absolute silence; not a cluck, not a yelp, not a gobble, nothing. What happened? Did I spook the birds?
The answer silently appeared to my right as a gray creature slipped through the underbrush, stalking from tree to tree. It was a coyote responding to my call and the birds that had been working nearby. He was hoping for an easy, early-morning breakfast.
That was the first time that had happened to me, but several hunters have told me of similar experiences with coyotes. Not only do hunters educate birds about responding to calls, but nature itself has a similar effect. The coyotes have learned that yelping hens and gobbling toms are potential meals.
It's like in Alaska. On Kodiak Island, the giant brown bears are quite abundant. When a hunter fires a shot at a moose or deer, it's like ringing the dinner bell. Any big bruin within hearing range will come in for an easy meal. It's a learned behavior.
So, I stand corrected. It's not only the hunter, it's that stinking coyote's fault, too. He's responsible for the turkeys not talking any more.
The decline in the deer population is all his fault as well, and the meadows are no longer homes for the multitude of woodchucks that were abundant when I grew up. Coyotes have changed it all by becoming the big bad wolves of the 21st century.
Well, so much for the fun and the jokes. The coyote is not the only predator in the woods. The turkeys have learned to adapt, and the smart hunter will have to do the same. After all, it's just nature's way of survival in a ever-changing world.
Rick Brockway writes a weekly outdoors column for The Daily Star. E-mail him at robrockway@hotmail.com.
