For a majority of hunters, spring time means rifles in the safe and fishing equipment to get ready. Although I do my share of bass fishing, I never miss the opportunity to go after the ever elusive Rio Grande gobbler.
A month prior to the season opener, I received a phone call from my buddy David Mayfield at Bow Hunting West Texas. He asked if I would be interested in hunting with him opening day of spring season. That was a no brainer, I said count me in.
David runs a world class hunting operation at his Broken Point Ranch in Trent, Texas. The 640 acre ranch has a diverse topography; consisting of everything from rocky hilltops to hardwood creek bottoms. The wildlife is abundant and David's southern hospitality is unparalelled. You can visit his website at www.bowhuntingwesttexas.com.
I pulled up to the ranch gate at 6:45 a.m. and proceeded to the guest lodge. David had coffee brewing and a few words of wisdom for my morning hunt. We jumped in the mule and headed to the windmill where the gobblers frequent, leaving a trail of corn on the ranch roads. He pointed out a nice mesquite tree I could set up at and said call me when you shoot a turkey.
As I eased into place, I couldn't help but marvel at the solitude of the Broken Point. With every slight gust of wind came an aroma of spring time. Songbirds carried on their morning routine and the distant gobbles of trophy tom's echoed across the land.
As the Eastern sky gave way to a classic Texas sunrise, I caught movement to the West. My senses were on high as I watched a group of feral hogs make their way towards me. Any other time, I would have been ready for some breakfast sausage; but I had my sights set on a trophy tom. The hogs spent the next few minutes devouring every last kernel of corn, then disappeared into the brush.
The next half hour went by with only a couple of feral hog sightings. I was ready to try my hand at the custom chalk box David had lent me for the morning. I quickly found a routine on the call and prayed that it would lure in my quarry. A few minutes of unsuccesful calling went by and my confidence was starting to wane; when I caught movement to the East.
With a renewed spirit, I focused on the lone turkey 250 yards away. It slowly headed in my direction, stopping only to eat the corn and scan for predators.
Minutes seemed like hours as the turkey gradually headed westbound. As it got closer, I knew it wasn't a tom. At this point in the game, a bearded hen was just fine with me.
Like a deliberate kick in the pants, the hen hung up at 60 yards and headed for the cedar breaks. My dreams of the harvest disappeared as I watched her transform into the landscape. With a feeling of defeat and no other turkeys in sight, I started to lose hope: When it happened!!!
My heart began to pump on all cylinders as the hen made her way back to the road. She was almost in scattergun range at this point. I slowly raised my 1927 Winchester Model 12, and prepeared for the moment of truth. With a last effort to elude, she bolted for the fence line. A lifetime of hunting experience told me I had to act now or lose her forever. I followed her with the bead and sent flames through the Winchester. She went down on impact.
Feeling like I had just hit a walk off grand slam, I swaggered my way to my trophy. With a few fist pumps and a couple of wails of excitement, I became the proud owner of a beautiful Broken Point hen.
I called David and he came roaring up in the Mule. "Turkey Man", he yelled out as a sense of pride showed up in his grin. We finished the morning with a couple of arrowheads and an unlucky skunk that met the business end of my Model 12.
As I left the ranch, recollections of a simpler time filled my mind. A time where hard work and a handshake is all you needed. The Broken Point is a throwback to the good ole days; and men like David Mayfield keep the cowboy spirit alive and well.
A month prior to the season opener, I received a phone call from my buddy David Mayfield at Bow Hunting West Texas. He asked if I would be interested in hunting with him opening day of spring season. That was a no brainer, I said count me in.
David runs a world class hunting operation at his Broken Point Ranch in Trent, Texas. The 640 acre ranch has a diverse topography; consisting of everything from rocky hilltops to hardwood creek bottoms. The wildlife is abundant and David's southern hospitality is unparalelled. You can visit his website at www.bowhuntingwesttexas.com.
I pulled up to the ranch gate at 6:45 a.m. and proceeded to the guest lodge. David had coffee brewing and a few words of wisdom for my morning hunt. We jumped in the mule and headed to the windmill where the gobblers frequent, leaving a trail of corn on the ranch roads. He pointed out a nice mesquite tree I could set up at and said call me when you shoot a turkey.
As I eased into place, I couldn't help but marvel at the solitude of the Broken Point. With every slight gust of wind came an aroma of spring time. Songbirds carried on their morning routine and the distant gobbles of trophy tom's echoed across the land.
As the Eastern sky gave way to a classic Texas sunrise, I caught movement to the West. My senses were on high as I watched a group of feral hogs make their way towards me. Any other time, I would have been ready for some breakfast sausage; but I had my sights set on a trophy tom. The hogs spent the next few minutes devouring every last kernel of corn, then disappeared into the brush.
The next half hour went by with only a couple of feral hog sightings. I was ready to try my hand at the custom chalk box David had lent me for the morning. I quickly found a routine on the call and prayed that it would lure in my quarry. A few minutes of unsuccesful calling went by and my confidence was starting to wane; when I caught movement to the East.
With a renewed spirit, I focused on the lone turkey 250 yards away. It slowly headed in my direction, stopping only to eat the corn and scan for predators.
Minutes seemed like hours as the turkey gradually headed westbound. As it got closer, I knew it wasn't a tom. At this point in the game, a bearded hen was just fine with me.
Like a deliberate kick in the pants, the hen hung up at 60 yards and headed for the cedar breaks. My dreams of the harvest disappeared as I watched her transform into the landscape. With a feeling of defeat and no other turkeys in sight, I started to lose hope: When it happened!!!
My heart began to pump on all cylinders as the hen made her way back to the road. She was almost in scattergun range at this point. I slowly raised my 1927 Winchester Model 12, and prepeared for the moment of truth. With a last effort to elude, she bolted for the fence line. A lifetime of hunting experience told me I had to act now or lose her forever. I followed her with the bead and sent flames through the Winchester. She went down on impact.
Feeling like I had just hit a walk off grand slam, I swaggered my way to my trophy. With a few fist pumps and a couple of wails of excitement, I became the proud owner of a beautiful Broken Point hen.
I called David and he came roaring up in the Mule. "Turkey Man", he yelled out as a sense of pride showed up in his grin. We finished the morning with a couple of arrowheads and an unlucky skunk that met the business end of my Model 12.
As I left the ranch, recollections of a simpler time filled my mind. A time where hard work and a handshake is all you needed. The Broken Point is a throwback to the good ole days; and men like David Mayfield keep the cowboy spirit alive and well.
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