Gobblers often head for bird feeders following a spring snowstorm.

I knew last night that my chances of seeing any turkeys to photograph today would probably be a gigantic waste of time. The forecast called for heavy snow, and at midnight last evening it was a near-blizzard.

The idea of going out today in the heavy wind, and sitting in eight inches of very wet snow didn’t happen. I got up this morning, shuffled through the snow to pick up my wet newspaper, and kept my head down against the snow that was still falling and wind that was still blowing.

Mind you, I’ve spent lots of days hunting deer in snow and wind, but I’ve never found the turkey hunting or photographing wild turkeys in such weather to be much fun. Often, the day is wasted while waiting for the birds to make their appointed round. Often, they stay roosted longer than normal, fly down late, peck around for a bit, and stay fairly close to their roost trees.

There are exceptions to all rules, but rarely will turkeys move well in heavy snow.

I heard no gobbles or yelps, saw no birds, and never saw a single sign of a turkey-bird, regardless of sex. Periodic snow fell today from leaden skies, and although the temperature warmed a bit, it didn’t melt much snow. Tomorrow doesn’t look like it’s going to offer very good hunting conditions, and this first season really points out the hazard of hunters choosing the first hunting season. All too often, the weather falls apart like it did today.

There was a pretty good lightning storm last night as it snowed, and thunder rolled through the North Country as the front moved through. Flashes of lightning could be seen last evening as the snow piled up on my deck.

So, does that mean hunters should apply for the short second season in Area K or go for the lengthy last season? I usually apply for the second season because I usually draw a tag. The third season can provide some of the most suitable turkey hunting conditions of all, but there are some problems with this late hunt.

Hunters have most of May to hunt, but that means mosquitoes as the weather warms. It also means morel mushroom hunters to share the turkey season with, which can lead to some unusual encounters with people who have no clue that turkey hunting season is open.

All they know is somebody in camo clothing is roaming the woods wearing a face mask and carrying a shotgun. Some people seem distressed by such a sight. However, for those who are willing to share the woods with people looking for morel mushrooms, it can provide some very good turkey hunting.

For me, I’m not sure how my second season will pan out but I’m hoping that we are far enough along in our spring weather that we won’t be fighting heavy snow storms. But then again, who can be sure with the crazy weather we’ve had so far this spring.

It was several years ago when I experienced what personally felt like a perfect turkey hunting day to me. I awoke with plenty of time to hike to my hunting spot, and stepped outside to see what the weather like.

I should have turned on the yard light first. Everything was a blur as thick tendrils of fog hovered like white gauze from ground level up to the tree-tops. It was impossible to see but I decided to leave early to walk to my hunting location. I’d need more time on this day to find my hotspot.

Turkeys often stay roosted until the fog clears off but these birds had been put to bed the night before. I knew where they were, and didn’t need any landmarks to find this spot. Just get on the north-south dirt road, and walk along the edge of it until i reached a narrow finger of woods that came down to the road. The almost one mile walk would take longer on this day, so I forsake a breakfast and hot coffee in favor of the early start.

A one-mile walk in the fog to reach the turkeys.

The fog was so thick it was literally impossible to see your hand in front of your face. My tiny penlight was shone on the road edge where weeds met the dirt, and I actually walked past the finger of woods in the dark and fog, and had to backtrack.

I eased off the road and into the trees, and knew I was within 200 yards of the roosted birds. There were three adult gobblers with long beards, two jakes and two hens ready for breeding. I had no clue what the day would provide but knew the birds would stay roosted even longer in the fog.

A narrow spot of farm land was separated by two woodlines. There seemed to be no need for a turkey decoy because the birds couldn’t see the ground. All I had to do was sit still near the clearing, wait with infinite patience for a roosted gobbler to call, and then try to sweet-talk him to within 35 yards while hoping all the birds didn’t approach at once.

A long hour passed, and there seemed to be a lightening of the fog but it was still impossible to see the trees on the other side of the clearing. The birds were roosted 100 yards deeper in the woods, and a small water puddle lay at the base of the roost trees.

Fog so thick I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

The second hour passed without hearing a bird. The fog seemed thick enough to cut, and it was lighter but the ground fog hung heavy over everything within sight. Eventually a lone crow flew over, cawed once, and a moment later a gobbler returned the greeting. Nothing happened for a few moments, and the bird gobbled again, and was joined by the others.

I sat there, knowing the birds probably wouldn’t fly down until it got a bit lighter so they could check for danger. I kept my silence, and so did they, and by nearly 9 a.m., the fog was thinning slightly but it still a long ways to go before I’d be able to see well enough to shoot.

Time seemed to drag by for another 30 minutes before the sound of flappint wings was heard. They hadn’t flown down but were getting restless on the roost. I coaxed out the faintest purr from my old Ben Lee box call, and the birds lit up. They double- and triple-gobbled, and the hens were making noise, and the tree-top-talking went on for another five minutes before they pitched down into the open spot in front of me.

The unseen gobblers called

All the gobblers, including the jakes, began ripping the air apart with their gobbles. Another faint yelp started another round of gobbling as the birds circled the clearing looking for the hen. On several occasions, the gobblers were right in front of me and their footsteps in the leaves could be heard, and they kept circling in a clockwise manner. The sounds still seemed a bit muffled by the fog but all the birds were within 25 yards of my shotgun, but the dense moisture-laden air was still too thick so see a thing.

Those birds circled around me, time after time, until about 10 a.m. when the fog began to clear. I called softly one more time, and the birds stopped moving. The biggest longbeard was 50 yards away, and I tried to appear to his male urges. One of the hens began calling to him, and I began a duel with the hen, and we verbally fought for 10 minutes before all the birds shut up and they moved off through the woods.

It had been a long morning of sitting with just a bit of calling, but the suspense of those birds circling in the fog right in front of me, has left an indelible imprint on my memory. I didn’t shoot that day, and it didn’t matter, because the symphony of turkey talk coming at me through the fog was enough to satisfy my hunting desire for one day.

It's not that  the wild turkeys of North America are so terribly important in the overall scheme of things, but one wonders how we would survive if that wonderful rolling spring thunder of a gobble  couldn't make our neck hairs lift and our skin tingle. The roar of an adult gobbler, his wing tips dragging the ground as he blasts out with another tremendous ground-shaking gobble to let every other gobbler and all hens know how great and wonderful he is.

Now me, I'm thoroughly convinced that most hunters miss out on much of what turkey hunting is all about. Oh sure, there would no spring turkey seasons if there we not enough birds to make it happen. Hunters dude themselves out with the latest in camo patterns to match the foliage of their spring hunting area, and we have the latest in computer enhanced and realistic wild turkey decoys, and then hunters go forth with serious intent to bring home that great American bird that is much more appealing  to an American hunters as a symbol of our country than the bald eagle.

We can pattern birds on foot or by vehicle, It's possible to learn where they roost, know where their strutting zones are located, and we can do our best to set up on them so we are in a position to shoot at and kill one of these gorgeous creatures. We can, with binocular, spotting scope or long camera lens, focus on these birds from near or far. This too is a part of hunting wild turkey, and it is every bit as exciting and being afield with bow or shotgun in hand. It's equally important to look at the sheen and brilliant colors of a gobbler's feathers.

We study turkey travel areas, where gobblers strut and hens mosey along eating bugs, and there's an ongoing search for roost trees. Hunters range far and wide to locate one roost tree where a gobbler holds forth, to gobble at airplanes overhead, gates squeaking in the distance, the caw of a crow or hoot of an owl, and this is just one small part of what turkeys and turkey hunting is all about. But, for me, turkey hunting is far more than pulling the trigger and killing a bird.

There would be no turkey seasons if there were not enough jakes and adult gobblers, along with the ever-present hens, to ensure future generations of this physically tough bird. Most spring hunting seasons occur after most of the hens have been bred.

We greet the opening-day dawn with a studied advance into the realm of the wild turkey. We go out the night before, and try to put a gobbler and his harem of hens and his subordinate gobblers to bed. We want to know where he snoozes, and from which tree he will fly down to in the morning. We want to know where his hens roost, and to large degree, figuring where the hens will be will give hunters the information they need to set up for a possible shot at a big longbeard.

The author with a nice longbeard gobbler.

This turkey hunting thing that appeals to so many people isn't about bragging rights or a dead bird to bring home to prove something to our friends or wife or husband. This is a one-on-one confrontation between a human with binoculars against a bird with vision like a sportsman with a high-powered spotting scope. Make no mistake about it: the turkey doesn't worry about being shot. Birds aren't capable of such thoughts. If danger threatens, they fly or run away. Spook a sassy old hen or a crafty old gobbler, and you may never lay eyes on those birds again.

So there is a strong need and a sense of urgency to move under full cover of darkness, get into what we feel is the right place, put our back against a wide tree, and set back to await the early-morning spectacle known as dawn. If the birds are there, and if they choose to be vocal, you will hear them greet the rising sun as they boom the air with thunderous gobbles. First one gobbler will drum-roll out a gobble, which in turn is followed by another deep-throated roar from a different bird, and each gobbler -- young or old -- will add their personal sense of urgency to greet the early-morning sunrise.

It is a deeply visceral thing. The thunder of continued gobbling will roll over the countryside, and just as the last bird sounds off, it can begin once again. The early-morning gobbling can be an audio spectacle or the faint mutterings of some disgruntled  hens as they grumble amongst each other. Either way, the human intruder into the turkey kingdom knows that soon the birds will fall crashing through dead tree limbs, flap their wings a few times and coast to the ground.

Calling in a gobbler is an emotional roller coaster.

The gobbler -- the monarch of the woods -- may or may not gobble from the ground but the waiting hunter can hear it if he does. If the birds don't call, a soft and plaintive yelp may cause the birds to sound off. Another soft call, and the gobblers want to visit with the talkative hen. If the gobbler decides to go visiting, the hens may or may not accompany him or try to lure him back to the flock. Oft-times, the dominant hen starts cutting and sassing the caller, and all we can do is duplicate the sounds she makes. Call as well as her, and a bit louder, and often the hen will head into the woods to whup the tail feathers off the intruding hen. Most of the time, the other birds, including the gobblers will follow.

A cacophony of turkey talk will ensue as the real hen tries to out-talk and badmouth the hunter. It's a war of turkey works as both birds trash-talk the other. The gobbler may or may not rattle out his love song for all to hear, but he will follow the boss hen.

Soon the birds will be within sight of a hen and jake turkey decoy. The hunter, his brain aflame with a burning passion, will watch as the gobbler and hen approach. The hen will be calling, the gobbler will drop his wings, and go into a full strut. Coming out of strut, he will edge ever close to the jake to thrash him and breed the sassy hen.

This hunter uses a decoy and calls to attract a gobbler.

The birds reach a certain point, and the subordinate jakes and smaller gobblers will peel away, leaving the Big Boss Man standing all alone, often within 10 yards of the decoys. The  gobbler sticks his neck out, gobbles, and the hunter "putts" once, and the  gobbler goes out of strut, raises his head, and looks around. It's the moment of truth, and one well-aimed shot will drop the bird.
 
Or, the hunter, with adrenalin flushing through his body, decides he's fooled this bird and perhaps he can do it again in the future. For most turkey hunters, including this writer, shooting the gobbler is anticlimactic.  Doing so is the frosting on this turkey-hunting cake, but for many sportsmen, shooting a big gobbler offers no closure. The only way to satisfy this itch is to scratch it, and once the birds leave, the hunter climbs to his face, shakes his head in wonderment, picks up his decoys and goes off in search of another challenge.

The killing of this gobbler isn't always necessary for us to have a successful hunt. Fooling the gobbler and wary hens, and calling the birds up close, is what really punches our ticket.

The big gobbler I discussed seeing recently has disappeared, and who knows where. Hopefully it's not in the trunk of a poacher's vehicle.

I went looking for him a couple times lately , but he and his lady friends apparently lit out for some location where they were not visible from the road. I hope they made it safely.

Did the birds up and leave voluntarily, and after talking to a friend, it appears as if they pulled up stakes and left the area. They may or may not come back to where they were. Only time will tell whether I'll be able to find them again. It's a certainty that others  who saw that big gobbler will be checking  other strut zones in hopes of finding them.

There appear to be some big turkeys around. Another friend told me today he watched seven big gobblers cross the road in front of him just south of Mesick. That area has always been a good spot.

My wife and I went for a drive yesterday. We saw just one lone turkey in a fallow field. Only one bird for a two-hour drive isn't very good.

Some turkey decoys may scare some gobblers.

The birds we've seen in the past week seem to be getting a bit more frisky. A friend of mine who apparently has some birds roosting on his land says they wake him up in the morning. He said there are five or six gobblers in a bachelor group, and so far they've managed to scoop up just one lone hen.

He said they set to gobbling almost every morning at daybreak, and all are apparently in love with the same hen. He has seen some strutting birds over the past two days, and they have located just the one hen. She is liable to be in big trouble soon.

I went outside this morning for the paper, and heard a hen calling softly. Just the one hen, and no gobbles. She may just be passing through the area.

These warm and windy days can make for poor listening and looking opportunities. The gobblers don't talk much in very windy weather, and seem to stay close to home.

I'm wondering about using turkey decoys this spring. It's always been a last-moment decision  for me: use them or not? Years ago no one used a decoy, and we depended on coaxing the birds in close enough for a shot with a call.

Decoys add a certain something to a hunt, and when they work, the birds show up where you want them. But, I'm convinced that some gobblers are getting leery of all decoys, and I've seen birds avoid my decoys when they have produced in that same location in the past. I believe if too many birds are shot over decoys in a small area that future generations of gobblers and hens may become more skittish.

The above photo is of my old jake decoys and it's been sewed back together often.

This year, I may not use a decoy. I may spend more time hunting deeper in the timber, and make the birds come looking for me. Without a visual cue (the decoys) it can take a bit longer to get the gobbler to come, but it can build the tension factor when you can hear a bird drumming and spitting behind you but turning around isn't am option. Sometimes those birds complete the circle to stand in front of the hunter, but the truth is that sometimes the bird turns away and never comes back. Other birds may just barge in, stand near a jake decoy, and toy with it just long enough to allow a shot before it flails at it with spurs and wings flying.

I own an old soft decoy. It fooled many good gobblers, and It's been sewn back together several times. This, however, may be Jakie's last season. Soft decoys simply can't handle the raking of spurs from an adult three-year-old gobbler. Mine looks like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces missing.

But there is a certain something that happens to people when an adult gobbler begins to circle around for another look at the decoys. You must sit tight, don't move for any reason, and sit there hyperventilating with deep raspy breaths. You hope the bird will keep circling around in front before that wood tree stub finally succeeds in boring a nasty hole in your back.

It doesn't happen very often, but occasionally during a cold and nasty spring, calling attempts can bring four or five jakes and longbeards on a dead run. They start coming, crisscrossing in front of you, and all are eager to be the first bird to the hen. It's happened a few times to me, and almost always the biggest bird approaches from too far to my right and I can't swing that far without moving my whole body. If this happens, the hunter may have to be content watching a big longbeard  shred a soft decoy or try to impale himself on a hen decoy stake.

Turkey calling often works but one must wait for a bird to circle.

So I wait, let the bird circle around me, and hope he comes within easy shotgun range. Sometimes they do, but sometimes they do not. Hunters can only play with the cards dealt them.

It's been many years since I made this mistake, and hope never to make it again. I had roosted some birds near a fence line that led down to a tiny bog pond. On this occasion, I misjudged the bird's location, and set up directly underneath him.

I couldn't understand why he wasn't gobbling on that cold, clear and still morning. I gave a couple of soft tree yelps with no reply. I took my time, and waited until an hour after dawn had passed without any sounds of a fly-down or a gobble.

I stood up, and the bird flushed from his roost directly above my head. Several hard wing beats soon took him well out of range, and since I've never attempted a flying shot, I decided not to do so this time.

He was a gobbler I'll never forget. But then, he is but one of many that have found a permanent place in my memory bank. The neat thing is I can draw one of these great memories out on a moment's notice.

A new metal roof was installed on our roof a few years ago. I was outside yesterday before last night's heavy rain, looking up at what little snow that remained, and watched the last of it come down.

Mind you, I understand fishing and hunting, but the mechanics of metal roofs isn't in my bag of tricks. I was standing there, looking up,  and heard a hen turkey nearby cut loose. She sounded as if she was scolding a gobbler that may have been pestering her.

There was a soft rumble, and about 10 pounds of snow landed out in front of my somewhat foolish head. Thankfully, the snow was loose and not loaded with ice as it was several days ago.

There is, I suspect, a short period of education about metal roofs as the thought dawned me. I'm not the sharpest knife in our drawer, and after scraping snow off my head a few times, pulling out my shirt-tail and shaking out the snow that snaked down my back, a light went off telling me that standing under the edge of the roof could be adangerous piece of business to my longtime health.

A flock of hens are kept in line by two gobblers.

I walked away from the roof, stood out of harm's way, and listened as a gobbler 100 yards away and out of sight, gobbled at the hen. It appeared on this bright, warm and sunny day, that he was trying his best to pull together a harem of hens.

It's probably still a bit too early for him to get very excited about breeding hens, but for me, spring fever has set in. I'm eager to go back outside after this is written, and soak up some of the warmth that has been missing from my life since early last fall.

It's about 50 degrees, and one must stretch their imagination a bit to say that 50 degrees is warm, but all things are relative. Fifty degrees is warm when compared to the teens and the 20s of a week ago.

It's a day for doing very little except trying to get accustomed to a bit of warmth in the air. I still had to shovel off the front deck to clean things up, but that is fine by me.

It is a trade-off. Warm weather makes snow slide off my roof. In places, it misses the deck and falls over the railing. In other places it lands with a dull thud on the deck, shakes the house, and just lays there making a mess of things. In open spot, there is a deck railing that was destroyed two weeks ago by falling ice and snow.

I could do, as I once did, and figure if the Good Lord wanted snow there, He put it there and could make it go away. It seems the going-away part gets lost in the translation of my thoughts, and it also means that it's time to go to work.

I'm no longer fond of snow.

Shoveling snow isn't one of my favorite winter chores, but it is a necessary evil. Last summer I reached the age of 70, and with the vision loss in one eye, meant crawling up on the roof to clean it off three or four times a year was foolhardy and stupid. I agreed with that.

My balance is bad on slanted surfaces, and even worse when those surfaces are snow and/or ice-covered. My depth perception is off a twitch or two, and my family could see me sliding off the roof. Even worse than falling to the deck would be to fall and spread-eagle myself on the deck railing. It would probably ruin not only a day but many days, and it seems an unnecessary risk I wouldn't take.

So ... the metal roof was installed. All I need to do now is get a hard hat to wear, start paying more attention when the roof snow starts to melt, and pay more attention to my roof than listening for turkeys gobbling.

Listening to gobbler music is more fun than almost anything.

Oops, there was another gobble. I must be learning, because I'd moved away from the edge of the roof in time to escape the last  little bit of wet snow.

I stood, listening to him rattle the woods and kept trying to spot him through the trees. I haven't seen a hen or gobbler today, but I'm about to start looking for birds.

Maybe a couple of birds will come to stand back in the woods and watch the foolish human as he listens to them. Those birds are smarter than me. They walk around, eat and I've yet to see one with a show shovel.

Whoever said turkeys are dumb have no clue. I know better.

Steelhead fishing has been my addictive passion for more than 55 years. Give me four or five days of snow-melt temperatures, and a forecast of two or more days of rain, and there's only one thought that goes through my head at this time of year.

It's time to think strongly about hitting the river. One might ask where. Pick any stream, but those larger rivers with a dam and a constant stream flow, may be the best of all. Some good bets this week and over the weekend could be on rivers such as the AuSable, Betsie, Boardman, Manistee, Muskegon and St. Joseph. Many anglers concentrate their efforts in those river stretches just below the dam.

Why? Easy answer. Any steelhead that entered the rivers last fall or earlier this winter have been in the river for varying lengths of time. A run-off caused by melting snow and rain will move downstream, and fish that are holding out in the lake waiting for the water to warm. A temperature rise of only a few degrees will send fish migrating upstream before their spring spawn.

My strategy would be to fish close to the dam. That's where many of the fish will eventually be, and it can be a wise decision. Or start at the dam and begin fishing the holes and runs and an angler works downstream. There is still a good bit of snow in the woods, which can make gaining access to good spots more difficult. It's also a good reason to start fishing near the day because the  angler traffic has made it a bit easier to get around.

Learn to see spawning male steelhead.

Make no mistake about it. The river water is still cold, and fish can be lethargic and slow to move to bait, fliesm plugs or spinners. The trick is to cove every inch of holding water from as many possible position as wading conditions will allow. Anglers must be aware of the possibility of shelf ice extending out from shore, and use caution when wading. Any appreciable run-off can raise the water level, and each spring holes and runs change as sand or other timber debris moves downstream. I've seen holes change completely during a heavy spring run-off.

One key piece of fishing advice is to fish deep, and allow bait, flies or lures to bounce downstream with the current. Make several casts from one location, and then move downstream a few steps and go through the same routine again. Work the holding water thoroughly, and if you aren't getting hung up on bottom debris occasionally, you are not fishing properly. Your offering must be bouncing downstream along the bottom, and at the same speed as the current.

When it comes to bait, spawnbags are the eternal favorite of most anglers. However, keep this in mind: when the water is extremely cold (33-35 degrees) was worms or wigglers occasionally out-produce the tradition spawnbag. Two major fishing methods work for bait, and can be equally successful.

Many fishermen prefer rolling the bait along bottom. Cast across the river and allow the bait to sink to bottom. Splitshot is preferred, and use just enough weight to allow it to bounce downstream. Use too much weight about a foot above the baited hook, and the bait remains in one place. Keep adjusting the weight until you achieve the proper drift. Too little weight will mean a faster drift but the bait will up off bottom, and drifting over the fish's head. Spring steelhead rarely move up in the water column to take bait.

Bobber fishing or rolling spawnbags along bottom?

The second way to effectively fish bait is to estimate the depth of the water being fished, and attach a bobber (float) above the baited hook. Use just enough weight about 10-12 inches above the hook so it causes the bobber to stand upright in the water. Cast as outlined above, and watch the bobber as it drifts downstream. If you are unfamiliar with the river, keep adjusting the bottom. If the bobber lays on its side and doesn't move, slide the bobber down toward  the hook. It can take several adjustments to make the drift carry the bait along and just off bottom.

Years ago, many of us use small leadhead jigs and we'd bait them with a wax worm or wiggler. We used small jigs weighing  1/16 or even 1/32-ounce, and the brightly colored jigs, when combined with bait, seemed to make your offering more appealing to fish.The key to success, with or without a tiny jig, is to use just enough weight to make the bobber stand upright in the water. Watch the bobber at all times, and if it goes down just a little bit, it could have picked up a leaf or twig or a fish could be mouthing the bait. The best indication of a strike is the swift disappearance as the bobber is sucked under the surface. Lift the rod tip with a bit of force, and set the hook.

Late winter streams often feature very clear water. Long 10-12-foot rods work well, and my favorite is four-pound monofilament. If the river rises suddenly with heavy run-off, bait anglers should consider using six or even eight-pound line. Sometimes a fish will clean you (take all the line on your spool), and just keep going. Again, trial, error and experience can be the best teacher on how heavy line can be used. Bait fishing is finesse fishing, and more fish are hooked on light line than heavy line.

Catching fresh-run steelhead on a fly is fun!

Heavier line can be used when fishing with plugs or spinners. Most spring steelhead strikes when using hardware are sure and hard. There's no mistaking a strike, and some fish slam the lure so hard that it can produce a sore wrist. The key thing when pitching plugs, spinners or spoons, is to stay alert. Even though the strike can be a wrist wrenching affair, if you are daydreaming and don't set the hook promptly, the fish can get away.

Great lures for this type of fishing would include plugs like the FlatFish, Tadpolly or Hotshot. I favor the Mepps Aglia spinner for smaller waters if I'm going to use this type of gear, and a No. 2, 3 or 4 Mepps Aglia spinner (without the bucktail) is a favorite.

Back me into a corner, and demand to know my favorite steelhead fishing method, and I'd readily say fly fishing. There's something magical about catch a mint-silver hen or a red-cheeked buck steelie on a fly. Sight fishing works well for those anglers who have enough brains to stay out of the water until the spot a fish. The best action takes place during the spawning period, and when fly fishing to bedded fish, re,e,ber that it's most important to fish for only the male fish. Often a soon-to-spawn steelhead may have three, four or five males line up behind her, and the pecking order places the biggest and most aggressive male closest to the hen.

Fly-fishing for steelhead is the best fun of all.

Watch the fish long enough to spot the silvery hen rolling up on her side. The male moves in close, and together the release a cloud of eggs and milt. The males usually are darker than the female, and they move around more as they chase other smaller fish away. Pick a fish, and fish directly to it. I spent 10 years guiding steelhead fishermen from 1967 through 1976, and pioneered fly fishing on Michigan's tributary streams for browns, salmon and steelhead. Many of the methods my twin brother George and I devised are still in use today.

One steelhead caught on a fly is just about as much fun as a person can have while wearing waders. Watch the weather, and fish at every opportunity. This warm-up has come early, and I've seen years when the run has ended by April 1. The only way to avoid disappoint is to fish as often as possible. Follow some of these tips, and this may be the year you'll hit the run just right. Good luck!

Anyone who spends any time reading my daily blogs must know I am a turkey-hunting addict. Deer hunting may be what I enjoy most, but the only reason for that is because turkey hunting seasons don't last long enough.

It's possible to hunt whitetails during October, November, December and January 1. Turkey hunting in Michigan is much different with its short seasons.

Even if you hunt the whole last season, which is about three weeks long, a hunter will get in the most hunting time, but its still not enough. It's a far cry from three full months of deer seasons. And when I can't turkey hunt, I buy used books on turkey hunting to read. Contact me at < dave@daverichey.com > if you have any turkey books to sell. I'll pay top prices for books in excellent condition..

My turkey hunting often allows me to pass up a bird or two early in my season, and I've been known to pass up several gobblers that provided easy shots only to end my season without a bird. Why, you  ask?

It's rather elementary. By not shooting the first, second or third bird that came to my calls, it allowed me the maximum time in the field and the greatest potential to experience everything turkey hunting has to offer.

Shooting a gobbler, whether a jake or a longbeard, is not why I hunt these keen-eyed birds. I hunt them for the intense satisfaction that comes from making the most of my opportunities.

That means there are more opportunities to fool a gobbler.  More chances to listen to a big Tom gobble and double-gobble back at me, and more opportunities to watch the blue-white-red head of a highly charged-up gobbler move through the fields and woods in my direction.

Three years ago I was hunting a strutting zone 10 miles from where I live. Any bird that came to me would have to cross an open ridge, walk down the small hill, and cross another 200 yards of open field to get within shooting range.

The gobblers greeted the dawn from their roost trees, and behind me were some hen turkeys. Once the first gobbler sounded off, I held off from answering. He gobbled again, and then a big gobbler sounded off with a double-gobble.

I gave a  soft yelp, and that livened up the hens several hundred yards behind me. The gobblers sounded off again, and I answered softly, and sat back to wait. The hens began calling, and I was perfectly positioned in a strut zone where gobblers and hens would meet. Hens were coming from  behind me, and the gobblers were coming toward me.

It was like being between two opposing armies as they advanced on my position. There no longer was a need to call or move. The hens were doing the job for me.

Ten minutes later the gobblers stood atop yonder hill, gobbled again when they saw my two hens and one jake-decoy. They were spread out like soldiers, and began their advance on my position. They would stop and start, and I'm mentally urging them to hurry before the hens arrived and may possibly lead them away.

The three longbeards and one jake started running when I made scratching sounds in the dry leaves like feeding birds. My shotgun was up and laying across my knees, and I was set up properly. It took those gobblers 10 seconds to cross the remaining 100 yards.

The lead gobbler ran up to poor Henrietta, my battered and bedraggled hen decoy, and knocked her off the stake while the other gobblers went after the jake decoy.

Poor Henrietta was laying flat on the ground with the large gobbler astraddle her, and the other birds were working Jakie over in a bad way. I watched this fascinating performance for another 10 seconds, and since it was now late in the season, the gobbler stood erect when he finished his brief job, stood with his head held high, as he surveyed the second hen decoy as a load of 3-inch magnum No. 5 copper-plated pellets took him down.

The other gobblers stopped, saw the Big Boss Bird laying on the ground, and took off. I heard the hens flush behind me right after the shot, and then, all the real birds were gone.

I've called in two different gobblers on seperate hunts over the years when my wife shot them with a bow. It was pretty exciting stuff , and each bird went 10 feet straight up into the air as the arrow drove through them, and both fell dead on the ground.

Turkey hunting is exciting. Shooting the bird is anticlimactic, and the hunt lives on long after the bird has been eaten and thoughts of the hunt have faded away. Calling in a big gobbler, watching him approach, and then offering a shot is what triggers intense feelings in an addicted hunter like me.

The shot is nothing more than the final act in this outdoor drama. Sometimes the gobbler wins, and sometimes he doesn't, but what counts the most is the actual hunt. This is a pastime where the hunt is far more important than the kill.

I wouldn't have it any other way.