Turkeys, snow get dumped on the Black Hills

Turkey hunting and deep snow aren’t a good mix. Birds tend to find low ground and flock up, even if it’s spring displaying season.

Knowing this, I was not happy to touch down in Rapid City, S.D. last week in a blizzard. Before it ended, the storm dumped 1 foot of snow in the Black Hills.

Tagging a Merriam’s turkey in those conditions was going to be a challenge.

Snow or not, April 12 was opening day, so I hit the trail two hours before dawn. Because I only hunt do-it-yourself and on public ground, it was up to me alone to find a bird in the expansive Black Hills.

By dawn, I had only gone half as far as I had hoped, and was drenched with sweat from high-stepping through the miserable white stuff. Even worse, the dead calm air that followed the storm didn‘t reveal a single gobble to tell me where to go.

At the bottom of yet another hill, I paused to consider strategy and my quickly fading stamina. In a brief moment of common sense, I decided to return to the car to look for another hunting area with less snow.

Two hours south, I found a spot on the fringes of the Hills that was lower and mostly dry. A four-hour hike revealed only a single tom track, but the area was decidedly easier to hunt than the place I just left.

By dawn the next day, I had already hiked two miles into the area. I sat down in a likely spot near the track I marked on my GPS, and waited to see if I had chosen wisely.

With the thunder of a gobble maybe 100 yards behind me, I slowly scooted around the tree to face the bird. I felt confident he would search me out as soon as he left the roost.

We talked to each other for about a half-hour until I finally heard him fly down. Then he went silent.

Funny thing about Merriam’s. It’s widely believed they are more aggressive than Eastern turkeys, and easier to coax to a call. That has not been my experience.

In fact, the bird behind me was only the first of a succession of five turkeys that talked to me last week, but wouldn’t close the deal.

On occasion, I could see them with hens, but because the Black Hills are widely timbered, most were nothing more than raucous ghosts.

Despite the snow that greeted me on opening day, clear, warm skies followed. As each day passed, the snow melted, giving me hope that I might be able to hunt my favorite spot before my time ran out.

On the fourth day, I returned to my preferred spot, which is closed to motorized vehicles. This time, I made it five miles down the trail.

Unlike the dry area in the south, I found no sign that other hunters were present, and unlike my experience on the first day, there was now lots of physical turkey sign to encourage me.

The hills were still devoid of gobbles, however. Though I believed turkeys were present, the wind was roaring through he ponderosa pines at 30 mph, rendering even the most aggressive birds silent.

I sat at the intersection of turkey trails for a couple hours until I decided the conditions called for a more aggressive approach.

I headed straight into the dark timber, over one hill, then another and another. I stopped and called in the valleys where the wind was suppressed, but never got a response.

Climbing over one of the many granite boulder hills in the area, I could see there was a clearing at the bottom of the next valley. Instinctively, I eased to the top rock to scan the small valley for a black blob.

To my surprise, a hen was 80 yards below me, feeding in the dry grass. I watched her for a couple minutes, easing forward when she turned away.

As I slowly eased over the top of the hill, I spotted a big gobbler displaying below me.

His attention was on the hen, and was in full strut. I wrestled my range finder from my vest and marked him at 60 yards. Too far for a shot.

I considered giving him a couple soft yelps, but decided against it. I feared calling would only anger the hen, and send the two birds packing. I needed to stalk into shotgun range of the gobbler.

Over the next 45 minutes, I scooted a foot at a time every time the tom turned his fan to me, and the hen’s head was obstructed. The wind masked my noise.

When I reached the last bit of cover before the hill dropped over an edge, I stopped and marked a couple spots with my range finder. If the tom stepped into one of only two spots that allowed me a clear shot, I was ready.

Still in full strut, the gobbler stepped on a twig I marked at 46 yards. It was the longest shot I wanted to take with my gun, but had successfully patterned the distance at the bench before season.

Accounting for the downhill trajectory, I aimed high on his head and squeezed the trigger.

I was a bit surprised but elated when the tom dropped in his tracks. The 3-inch shell packed with No. 5 shot did a better job than I had hoped, and within a minute, I was skidding down the hill to pick up my lifeless bird.

It was a tough six mile hike back to my vehicle with the extra 24-pound-turkey in my pack. I was entertained along the trail, however, by several new tom tracks, and one set of fresh mountain lion tracks.

Close by, a dead 8-point whitetail revealed the cat’s handy work, and part of the reason I love the Black Hills.

The abundance and variety of wildlife across the Black Hills are unparalleled. Add the awesome scenery and tons of public ground, and it’s easily one of my favorite places to hike, camp and hunt.

Interested in hunting the Black Hills? Nonresident turkey season lasts until May 18. Apply for a license online at www.sdgfp.info. Tags cost $85.

I always stay in Hill City since it’s centrally located and allows easy access to the entire area. There are lots of places to stay, but I prefer the Super 8 Motel. It’s owned by a local rancher who is also a serious hunter. He’s very helpful and understands hunter’s needs. The hotel can be reached at (605)574-4141.

Don Mulligan can be reached at outdoorswithdon@aol.com.