A Snake-Free Environment

LISTEN:

THE SUN WAS COMING UP as Wrong Willie strapped on his snake guards while keeping a wary eye on the area around us. “I liked it better two days ago when it was too cool for the snakes to be out.”

“I’m not worried.” I studied the overgrown fencerow beside my truck.

“I’m not worried either. Just careful.”

I reached into the bed and plucked out a low-slung folding camouflage chair I’ve used for years while hunting turkey. Once I’m settled in and comfortable, my rear is barely two inches off the ground.

Willie’s eyes widened. “You’re not gonna sit in that, are you? That’ll put you almost nose to nose with the rattlesnakes.”

“We haven’t seen one out here yet.”

“So that’s why you’re wearing snake guards, too?”

“It’s those stories James told while he was showing me the lease.”

I followed James through the lease for three hours that first day as he showed me the best spots to hunt deer, turkey, and hogs, all the while filling the silent spells with stories about finding rattlers in his deer stand, curled up under his truck, and waiting patiently beside the gates.

Willie straightened up and double-checked the grass at our feet, then gave the contents of the bed of my truck a good exam, as if snakes are bad about climbing over the tailgate. “I wish you hadn’t told me about that one crawling into the stand with him.”

“I wish he hadn’t told me, either.” I adjusted one of the guards around my shins. “But we’ve been lucky so far. I’m wondering if all these hogs have eaten most of the snakes.”

“Let’s change the subject.” Willie picked up a feeder motor. “I found this one on an old feeder a couple of weeks ago. I got it going. We can bolt it back when we stop for lunch.”

Except for the rust, widely-spaced scratches that could have come from a bear or a Sasquatch, and a couple of dents, it looked as if it might run. He held it up, as if observing a found diamond. “It’s set to go off at seven in the morning and the evening, but I had a little trouble with the timer, though.”

He paused when a turkey gobbled in the distance.

I forgot the motor when another bird responded from a different direction. My box call was on the tailgate, so I picked it up and struck a couple of hen yelps just for grins. “We need to get settled in somewhere.”

Willie thumbed three shells into his twelve-gauge. “I think I’m just gonna stand beside a tree and wait for them. That way I won’t be sitting on any rattlers.”

A nearby gobbler thundered an answer.

“That was close!” Willie’s voice was barely above a whisper. On his hands and knees, grunted his way into in the back of my truck. 

“What’re you doing?”

“I intend to shoot that bird.”

“You’re using me my truck for a turkey blind?” 

“Why not? There aren’t any snakes up here, and a little elevation won’t hurt, neither. That bird was really close. Hit your call again.”

I did, and another turkey answered from a different direction. 

The truck shifted as Willie found a more comfortable position on top of three bags of corn that cost nearly as much as my first car. 

I whispered. “You’re gonna have to be still if this is gonna work.”

“I had to move that motor. The corner was digging into my leg.” 

I edged toward a nearby bush and squatted down. All was silent for a few minutes before another gobbler called from the mesquites and brush. A second bird responded from the other direction.

Since my own shotgun was still in the case, I pointed. “Shoot that one when he comes up.”

“Don’t you have a mouth call? You’re moving around too much.”

“My legs are going to sleep.” A flicker of movement through the mesquites and cholla on the other side of the truck caught my attention. “There’s a bird coming from your right.”

Willie turned slowly, bringing the shotgun to his shoulder. He whispered, “Where?” 

The first turkey must have been only feet away when it gobbled again. I’d forgotten it was coming in, and the big tom was so close I jumped. The box in my hand croaked and the second bird on Willie’s right went silent…

…at the same moment the feeder motor he’d rebuilt went off and…

…the rotator vibrated against a corner of one corn sack, sounding so much like a rattlesnake that…

…I levitated and…

…only inches away from the motor, Willie sucked all the air from twenty feet around us as he ascended without assistance, clawing his way on the roof of the pickup while…

…several yards away, a third tom we hadn’t seen launched into the air to cause…

…two humans to use the same bad word…

…in stereo.

Three-toed feet rustled the leaves as they fled the scene.

All went silent. The birds were gone.

Drained, I staggered on numb legs to the truck where I draped over the side like a fresh killed deer. “Your timer is off.”

He drew a deep breath, as if it might be his last. “Daylight savings time.”

“Another reason to hate it.” I dropped the box call that yelped, and a distant tom responded.

“I hope he doesn’t come over here.” Willie dropped back down from the cab and laid back on the corn. “I can’t take another one right now.”

“Neither can I,” I said, and climbed into the back of the truck and stretched out beside him on the expensive corn to recover in a snake-free environment.

 

Email Reavis Wortham at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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