Really had to work for this bird, I named Mosseyhead. Whether or not he is indeed a fabled mosseyheaded turkey or not. I know he really walked small, hardly stretched his neck out at all, and arranged his plumage to appear black as a crow.

During an afternoon hunt, I yelped on my Neil Cost box call and got in return what I thought was a jake gobbling. In no hurry, I stayed put until a more throaty gobble roared from some 500 yards away. Hotfooting it now, I found myself at the basin of a large steep oak ridge. With it being near roost time, I was content on just knowing what tree he would land in, as it appeared to be a perfect turkey roost. That was until he really started to gobble. Not being able to stand the pressure any longer, I dug my toes in the earth each step and climbed that steep bank until I was just about 25 yards from the last gobble. Figuring he would ease up to find the hen when I yelped, I could bust his head just fine. Not to be, just as I sat up, he gobbled from the other side of a huge blow down tree and shortly thereafter flew to roost.

Oh well, after my heart returned to my chest , I watched darkness fall and eased out. Needing to come back in the morning from above him, I left in the opposite direction as I came so I could know where on the woods road to enter in the morning. Well, with no moon, it got dark as the inside of a hollow tree that night. I got turned around and ended up taking 2 hours to bust through a lot of thinned pine trash and briars. Then I had a 2.5 mile walk back to the truck. No supper for me, with the time to be in the woods only 4 or so hours away, I went to bed wet from sweat.

As luck would have it, I found a four wheeler trail I thought might take me to that bowl he was roosted in, that was good. My flashlight going out was not. Sitting in despair at 5:30 am, I resigned I would just have to wait for his gobble. About 6 am, as daylight tried to lighten the woods, I stood and low and behold, there were the two blowdown trees I'd marked the evening before. I was exactly where I needed to be. I eased around the blowdowns, picked a nice tree a the top of the bowl and waited and waited and waited. He gobbled for nearly an hour and 15 minutes. The only enticement I offered was the sound of a fly down with my wing. Gun up and ready the whole time, when he finally pitched down, I wouldn't have taken him for a tom if not for the swaying black roped beard.

Just that instant, my gun leg got the worse cramp I had in a long while, The kind of cramp that will awake the dead during your sleep. God, it hurt. I dared not move it, as I knew the pain would worsen. Well, ole mosseyhead helped me out by coming directly up the bowl, straight for me. I eased the gun along the side of my knee and lined up the bead and let him have a rush of NitroAmmo's 4X5X7 hevi-shot at 38 yards.

Fine bird indeed, 19.5 lbs, 1 1/8 spurs and 10.5 inch beard. Man, what a hunt, what a season. I thank the Good Lord above for his blessings.