At least they were there
Once upon a time turkey hunters had to stop hunting at noon.
Now all states I hunt in are open to sunset or 20 minutes after. At one time we referred to this as cruel and unusual punishment. 4:30 a.m. to 9 p.m. is a long day. Long gone are those idle afternoons with time to relax and and recharge because I have now discovered gobblers are active all day long so if you want to do the Snoopy Dance, you have to be there.
The Wyoming Black Hills are one of the hardest places I have ever hunted turkey. Late in the afternoon, on the last day of the hunt I heard a half hearted gobble at least a 1000 feet up on a plateau. After gasping in as much of the thin air as possible I set up with my back against a large ponderosa pine.
After 45 minutes of calling to dead silence some kind of liquid started hitting my neck the sun was shining so I assumed the pine was sapping. Never mind a little bit of sap somewhere behind me a turkey’s war drum was starting up. Thinking he was over on my strong side I shifted slightly to get readyas more of that dang sap splashed my neck.
Suddenly there was a thunderous gobble; startled and spinning around a Merriam 5 feet away bugged eyed and frantically wing-beating to increasing that distance.
Was what I thought pine sap really turkey spit?
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