Last updated: July 18. 2013 2:23PM - 344 Views
Bob Fala
Outdoors Columnist



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Spring gobbler season closes out this Saturday (May 18). The end can oft spell relief from the middle of the night wake-ups and loss of sleep that goes with it. Sleep deprivation can be a form of torture, just like turkey hunting … Just kidding on the turkey hunting part however, but the scores of hunters that are somewhat addicted and have come to be known as “diehards” know full well what we’re talking about.


And diehards they are, confessing to being one for having done so much of it over the years. Along those lines, I feel like I’m beginning to look and act more like a turkey all the time. For those that work for a living, they must have understanding bosses for sure. Like for example, “If I’m not here on time, you’ll know what happened boss.” All this is not to mention the possible losses in productivity from the weary-eyed gobbler chasers having to perform the day shift after being up half the night!


Guilty on that count too. Per the grinding challenge of the sport, many have thrown in the towel. In testament, the DNR news release this year says there are some 65,000 gobbler hunters in the Mountain State. For years in the past, that tally was 100,000! The turkey flock has tapered down a bit for one. For two, the turkeys have flat out caused them to give up. The spring gobbler survey compilers routinely reveal that it takes the state’s best hunters an average of ten morning hunts to bag one gobbler!


Though it can be easy every now and again, this is no easy task. Every year, I pledge to turkey hunt less and trout fish more during the confounded four weeks of gobbler season. And just like clockwork, I fail to fulfill the pledge. I just can’t stop going after them.


Now on this side of sixty years of age however, I’m at least giving more thought to what might be put on my headstone. “Pretty good Fella” comes to mind but I’m leaning more towards just “Turkey Hunter” around this gobbling time of year. Yeah, that’s the ticket.


But since I thought I’d rather be cremated not wanting folks to look at my tired and turkey like features and all in that there camouflage cloth-lined coffin, I had to come up with Plan B. Please have my ashes spread on this one mountain and grassy wildlife food plot that the gobblers are gobbling and strutting their stuff about each spring.


I want them to know that there’s a little of this old son of a so and so still out there giving them something to lose a little sleep over too! Man, could I use a nap.

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