It was spring turkey season and the weather wasn’t cooperating. It had rained for days and I was getting restless. I told dad that I was going in the morning no matter what. It was a rare trip that dad didn’t come along, but we hadn’t had much luck with the turkeys in the past. In fact, we had spent many of soaked spring days chasing gobbles to just go home drenched never seeing a bird.
The alarm went off early and it was still raining. I got dressed and headed out to the truck. Turkey hunting didn’t require much equipment. I had a pack with calls, shells, and piece of came netting. Also on every turkey adventure, a plastic hen decoy made the trip. I made the short 15 minute drive to the vineyard that we had hunted for years. The squeaky windshield wipers kept me awake on a dreary morning. To prevent any unnecessary noise, I parked at the bottom and made the long walk in. It was still plenty dark when I arrived at my spot. This spot was known as the graveyard. Overly thick brush and pines with limited visibility. It was known as the graveyard because this was the area that hunters placed deer carcases for the coyotes after processing them. I knew setting up here was a long shot. I wouldn’t be able to see the birds really well, but the hope was that they couldn’t see me either.
False dawn began to appear in the sky. It was getting close to time. Ten minutes passed and the woods started to come alive. Birds were chirping and squirrels began to chatter. It was still overcast and spitting rain. I wasn’t going to stay dry, but that was okay. A loud gobble came from about 200 yards away. Immediately returning the call, the old tom flew off the roost in my direction. He gobbled continuously once he hit the ground for about 15 minutes. He was putting on a show for the hens in the area. I tried to space out my calling without getting overly excited. He moved closer and closer, but I couldn’t see him. After 45 minutes, I knew he was really close but couldn’t see him through the brush. I let out a small cluck and he gobbled within 30 yards of me to the east. I still couldn’t see him and thought that I was going to miss my opportunity. I clucked a few more times and each time immediately got a loud gobble. He began to move away from me across the property. I continued to call, but he moved out of hearing range. Having read about these situations before, I figured my best bet was to make him think that I was leaving. Knowing he was at least 400-500 yards away, I picked up the decoy and camo and ran across the open field. Quickly I placed “hen” 30 yards away in the fescue and ducked into the tree line. Taking the 6×3 piece of camo, I tied it across two limbs to give myself a make-shift blind. If the tom was to come in though, I probably wouldn’t have time to move above the camo netting without being seen. We would cross that road if it came to that. Settling in after a quick 6 minute reset, I loudly called. I heard a gobble in the distance. It was the same bird, but so far away. I waited for what felt like an eternity but was most likely under 90 seconds and called again. I got an immediate response. Watching the direction that I had just heard the two gobbles, I saw the old tom running through woods in my direction from about 300 yards away. Apparently worried that “hen” was leaving, he continued to come. I clucked a few more times keep him moving my direction. Picking out a spot over the ridge I expected him to cross, I began to focus on the bead of the Mossberg. Waiting patiently, I knew he would eventually cross the hill. 10 minutes passed and I was still sitting with the shotgun pointing at the ridge. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted him. He was 60 yards away and about 30* left of where I was aiming. This wasn’t good. Not only did I need him closer, but I needed to rotate without being seen.
His eyes were on hen. The old girl was doing her job. Quietly and slowly, I began the process to turn towards him without being spotted. Under the cover of the camo netting, I was able to get lined up while he moved 10 yards closer. He was completely fanned out and was hissing at hen. He couldn’t figure out why she was giving him the cold shoulder. I didn’t dare call again for fear of spooking him. I was going to have to let her do the work. He turned around twice showing off his fan. I am still not sure how he didn’t see me shaking with the adrenaline flowing through my body. My muscles were starting to fail me holding the shotgun in one position for so long. He eased closer to hen and I knew he was really starting to question her interest. It was going to be a long shot and I really wanted him closer. I knew that he was inside 40 yards, but barely. I could make the shot, but didn’t want to get into a footrace with a crippled turkey. His interest was waning and I had to make a decision. Call and risk spooking him and blowing the entire hunt? Shoot and trust that my practice and skill would make a clean kill? Or wait and see if he moved closer?
Instincts told me that this hunt was over. I pulled the trigger and the size 4 shot passed through the camo netting. The old tom immediately flopped to the ground. I covered the 37 yards in a time that would have impressed scouts and stepped on his neck. This bird was going home with me. I looked at the clock and couldn’t believe that I had been working this bird for over 2 hours. Upon examining the bird, he had a quality beard and was good-sized. The measurements later came in at 23 pounds, 9″ beard, and 3/4″ spurs. A bird to be proud of by any hunter, but for my first I was especially thrilled. I knew there were bigger on this property, but I wasn’t about to complain.
I went back and picked up my pack. I took down the camo netting that had a rather suspicious hole in the center of it. I was going to have to replace that for the person that I borrowed it from. This was easily explainable though. Picking up the bird and hen, I made the proud walk back to the truck. When I arrived home, I woke up the family to tell them of the adventure. I knew that you couldn’t kill one from bed and I went! Although I was wet and tired, what a great morning to bring home a turkey!?!
Dirt Road Dispatch 