Visiting brother gets his gobbler
One of the things that I've learned is that a trophy-sized wild turkey has been sidestepping hunters for a few years.
Last week, I received a call from my brother, Jim, who lives out of state but hunts in Pennsylvania whenever he can. The rainy weather and my work schedule had been playing havoc with my hunting days. When he called, I bumped back my schedule to go spring gobbler hunting.
I was at a sportsmen's club meeting and we were talking about all of the nice birds we've been seeing and hearing in the woods in the area. It was near sunset and the meeting was breaking up when I decided to listen one last time for any gobbling from a turkey going to roost.
I was not disappointed, as I heard several gobblers booming off in the fading light — which meant that I had at least keyed in on an area that would hold some birds in the morning and give us a chance at calling one within range.
When I got home, I met with my brother and told him of the news. He was excited because he had a limited window to miss work as well.
I told him to be ready to wake up at 4 a.m. because we needed to climb some hills in the dark and work back on the ridge. We couldn't get too close or we would flush the birds off the roost. We also had to pick a likely area in which they would come to our calls.
When we got to our hunting destination, I told my companion to close the door of the truck very quietly, as I was aware of how keen the hearing of turkeys can be. We worked our way up the steep hillsides, knowing that we would approach the turkeys from the opposite side of the ridge and likely could get into the flats on top to set up for the hunt.
Our strategy was to cover both ends of the flat and hope that the birds would travel toward either end or through the middle. I knew we were in great shape timewise, as the night air was devoid of any bird calling.
The first twittering of the day came as I sat on a log in a jumble of brush near a clearing. I left my brother at another crossing that was a likely traveling area for a gobbler that wanted to strut his stuff.
My attention came back to the hunt when I heard a booming gobble over the ridge near my stand. I was in a great location and I struck my call with a few light hen calls.
The gobbler went ballistic with his calls and I let him work his way toward me. I now was wishing that I hadn't been so lazy and brought a few decoys to get him in close.
The sound of a booming gobble always gets my heart racing, and then I saw his blue head pop up over the ridge. I had placed my shotgun in a strategic location on the right side of the log anticipating that he would work his way up the draw with the cover of the shrubs.
I chose correctly as he came cautiously forward, gobbling and searching for that hen. This bird was a mature gobbler and he was intently searching for anything out of place that might alarm him. He worked his way closer and I slid the safety off my 12 gauge, thinking that I needed him to be 5 yards closer and clear of the brush.
He held up and was eyeballing my location for what seemed like an eternity. The next thing I knew, he went to the left and came within 30 yards of me in the opening and still was peering at me in a highly suspicious manner.
I couldn't adjust my position and never get off a good shot because the log separating us. He didn't like what he was seeing, and with two warning clucks went back over the ridge.
Needless to say, I was very disappointed in my hunting preparation, but I heard the gobbler head around the ridge toward my brother. If he stayed on the trail, he would be on a collision course with a second hunter. I hoped that my brother would fare better than I when I heard a single shot come from his location.
He called to me and I went over to join him and his bird, which was a fine trophy. His gobbler ended up being a 20-pound bird with a 10-inch beard and 1Z\x-inch spurs.
My brother was convinced that hunting ridge-top toms would always be one of his finest memories.
Jay E. Hewitt is an outdoors columnist for the Butler Eagle.
