Guyon
Member
Got a nice gobbler on Friday.
I deer hunt on a farm in the fall and winter, and this year, I asked the owner if I could hunt turkey there. He was happy to oblige. On Thursday, I called up two hens and heard a lot of gobbling but saw no toms.
On Friday, I crept in near where I heard the hens fly down the previous morning. I spotted a good place to set up, slipped up toward the tree I'd chosen, and promptly spooked the hens off their roost. Once the cacophony of their cackles died down along with my blood pressure, I decided to set up there for a while anyway. After about an hour of occasional calling, I heard gobbling by a creek at the bottom of the property, and so I eased down that way into some pine trees. I set up in a couple of spots down in the thinned pines, but I was kept in indecision about my location because I began to hear gobbles from different angles. Finally, I heard one that I definitively fixed down by the creek, so I moved within about 30 yards of the water. As soon as I set up there, I heard ANOTHER gobble from up the hill. Important note: I now believe this gobble was the last utterance of the bird I ultimately killed.
That spot is also where I heard footsteps and rustling in the leaves and straw behind me. But after a half hour of purring and yelping about every ten minutes, I attributed them to a squirrel, stood up to shift my little portable seat, and promptly scared the horny gobbler (perhaps about to mount me) who was only 30 feet directly behind me. He cackled and flew up into the trees above the creek. Bird number three spooked. Lucky me.
Cursing my stupidity, I moved uphill and set up under a small cedar, the only one out there amidst the pines. Because it was such a good spot as far as cover--nice little scrub pines in front of me and plenty to break up my silhouette behind me--I was determined to stay there a while. I called about every fifteen minutes for about forty-five minutes until I spotted a nice bird slipping in from my left up the slope. He was angling toward an old logging road but taking his time. It was at least fifteen minutes between the time I spotted him and the time I shot him because he went behind a cropse of trees and stalled out in order to torture me. I clucked a couple of times on my mouth call, but he didn't seem all that interested. Finally, he stepped out about 30 yards away just where I'd hoped he would, stuck out his neck, and met his maker.
All told then, it was roughly an hour and a half from the time I heard his last gobble up on the hill and the time I shot him. Lesson here? Patience is king when it comes to turkey hunting. If I'm right, it took that bird about 90 minutes to silently travel around 100 yards. Estimated speed = just over a yard a minute. Some bugs crawl faster.
The gobbler was probably a two-year old. Spurs were 3/4" and 7/8". He had a 10 1/4" and a 6" beard and weighed 19 1/4 lbs. The bonus? My uncle had just given me a box call that he'd made. I used that call to lure in my bird.
I deer hunt on a farm in the fall and winter, and this year, I asked the owner if I could hunt turkey there. He was happy to oblige. On Thursday, I called up two hens and heard a lot of gobbling but saw no toms.
On Friday, I crept in near where I heard the hens fly down the previous morning. I spotted a good place to set up, slipped up toward the tree I'd chosen, and promptly spooked the hens off their roost. Once the cacophony of their cackles died down along with my blood pressure, I decided to set up there for a while anyway. After about an hour of occasional calling, I heard gobbling by a creek at the bottom of the property, and so I eased down that way into some pine trees. I set up in a couple of spots down in the thinned pines, but I was kept in indecision about my location because I began to hear gobbles from different angles. Finally, I heard one that I definitively fixed down by the creek, so I moved within about 30 yards of the water. As soon as I set up there, I heard ANOTHER gobble from up the hill. Important note: I now believe this gobble was the last utterance of the bird I ultimately killed.
That spot is also where I heard footsteps and rustling in the leaves and straw behind me. But after a half hour of purring and yelping about every ten minutes, I attributed them to a squirrel, stood up to shift my little portable seat, and promptly scared the horny gobbler (perhaps about to mount me) who was only 30 feet directly behind me. He cackled and flew up into the trees above the creek. Bird number three spooked. Lucky me.
Cursing my stupidity, I moved uphill and set up under a small cedar, the only one out there amidst the pines. Because it was such a good spot as far as cover--nice little scrub pines in front of me and plenty to break up my silhouette behind me--I was determined to stay there a while. I called about every fifteen minutes for about forty-five minutes until I spotted a nice bird slipping in from my left up the slope. He was angling toward an old logging road but taking his time. It was at least fifteen minutes between the time I spotted him and the time I shot him because he went behind a cropse of trees and stalled out in order to torture me. I clucked a couple of times on my mouth call, but he didn't seem all that interested. Finally, he stepped out about 30 yards away just where I'd hoped he would, stuck out his neck, and met his maker.
All told then, it was roughly an hour and a half from the time I heard his last gobble up on the hill and the time I shot him. Lesson here? Patience is king when it comes to turkey hunting. If I'm right, it took that bird about 90 minutes to silently travel around 100 yards. Estimated speed = just over a yard a minute. Some bugs crawl faster.
The gobbler was probably a two-year old. Spurs were 3/4" and 7/8". He had a 10 1/4" and a 6" beard and weighed 19 1/4 lbs. The bonus? My uncle had just given me a box call that he'd made. I used that call to lure in my bird.
