Snoozing for Snoods

Although I’m not a regular napper by nature, I have nothing against taking a little snooze when the time and situation — and my mental and physical states of being — are right.

Turns out, spring turkey hunting often provides such a cross-section of nap-favoring conditions.

Getting up long before the redbirds sing. Making a long hike under the stars. Nestling in for the setup on a gobbler. Feeling as alive as live can be, as a gobbler and I play hide and seek for a couple of exciting hours.

Maintaining hunting focus into midmorning, when experience and conventional wisdom say that a lonely gobbler might be on the prowl and perhaps a little vulnerable.

And that’s when it hits. Eyelids droop. Mind wanders. Head bobs. Muscles flag. The early wake-up call and fresh air have taken their toll.

Sometimes, sleepiness holds off until afternoon, which is also a time I like to hunt, where legal, because you don’t shoot turkeys unless you’re out where turkeys are.

So as sleepiness beckons, I’ll settle in at some good, comfortable spot, scratch out a few yelps, and let the dozing begin. Occasionally, opening one bleary eye, I will rouse a little and manage to sound off with a few little turkey calls. And then I’ll soon go back to the business of snoozing.

It was just such a late morning. Heading toward noon, actually. A trio of gobblers had followed hens off the roost. I tried to flank the birds several times as the morning wore on, but I could never quite get ahead of them. You know the story.

I knew the birds were still somewhere in the neighborhood, doing their thing. But all talking had ceased. Walking about the ridge’s hollows would not be smart.

So, I nestled into the buttresses of a big old white oak. What a pretty spot. I got situated, laid out my calls, and stroked out a few little clucks and yelps. And then I was out.

There is some strategic sense — science, we might call it — to taking a snooze in the spring turkey woods. By its stationary and quiet nature (no movement, and no sound, unless you snore), a snooze in the spring woods is almost an ideal way to wait out turkeys.

Napping takes away the desire to wander and troll around for birds, possibly spooking them.

A good snooze anchors you to a well-chosen spot. It limits your calling at a time of day when real turkeys don’t call much. It lets birds go about their business and, maybe, wander into range on their own clock.

And it keeps you out there, where action can happen.

I don’t know how long my snooze had been going on — certainly I had roused enough here and there to complete a couple of sleepy little calling episodes before slipping back off again — when something pulled me out of the doze.

Was that a cluck?

I opened one eye. A hen was picking her way toward me. Hens often have gobblers around somewhere, so my heartbeat quickened. Soon, she was a mere 30 feet away, into that tight range where a bird just knows something is wrong.

Then, of course, she started clucking more. For real. And began to walk off.

My tongue located the mouth call lodged in my lower left cheek and maneuvered it into working position. Time to do some turkey talking, ever so lightly.

Her presence was, perhaps, my hope.

Snoozing in the turkey woods might be more art than science. That suits my turkey hunting mentality too. But the art isn’t easy. Getting comfortable can be difficult. For my bobbing head, I’m bringing one of those airline neck collar pillows — in camouflage — this spring.

There’s an element of surprise when a bird shows up, and there is a price to be paid for having your gun not fully at the ready, as it can’t be when snoozing. Free-lancing and making do become the nature of the game. No situations are ever identical. But the commonality is that you must make decisions fast and move slow.

In short, you do the best you can on that rare occasion when slumber turns into action.

The hen was making a ruckus but not skedaddling.

I mimicked her sounds to tick her off and keep her occupied. It was fun.

Every time I thought I had a little window of opportunity to do so, I inched the gun up a little more. Just in case. You never know what other turkeys are around, but I dared not move my head to look.

The ruckus worked. A curious gobbler, red head ablaze, popped over a rise to my left. Thank goodness I had the gun most of the way up. As I twisted and shifted to take aim, the hen started putting full out. The tom turned to go, but it was too late.

I sure was awake now.

Of course, it’s a rare spring snooze that ends with a snooded bird on the ground. Mostly, you just come away with other good things. Dapples of sun warming your bones. The spring breeze carrying away life’s worries. Eyelids drooping shut to the music of birdsong. And waking up a little recharged, a lot ready to go again — and maybe with a gobbler not of dreams but of reality standing there in front of you.