Story of the Hunt

The fifth hunt for this superb strutting tom proved successful after four previous frustrating hunts. He was absolutely the finest to watch strut for his bevy of five hens. It all started when I was hunting the bottoms one morning below this abandoned farm, which is a relic of a farm, littered in cow bones, but the perfect habitat for turkeys. Rolling hills, heavily wooded virgin forests with no undergrowth, old fields intermixed. Taking a break by a creek, I spied two hens above me in the field, then came the boss, in full glory. I sat some 200 yards away and decided to give him a try.

Calling just puffed him up more, a hen replied but none came. I sufficed just to watch the show. A beautiful one was given, for sure. A big tom, perfect fan, a long arched beard. After they wandered out of site, I gave chase and got one gobble but no interest other than that and never could find the bugger again.

Hunt two had him showing his stuff again out in the fields and as soon as I called, he’d show off but his main hen would lead the group further away. Hunt three, same thing, only this time, I figured I knew how to get in front of them. When they disappeared over the ridge, I hotfooted it around the wood lines and came to the rise expecting to see him in gun range. No such luck, they completely vanished, I looked everywhere. Everywhere, that is, until I saw where he was yesterday…the FRONT YARD, right beside the main country road. Lordy, there I was driving by an hour before roost and he’s in full strut right by the road, with his harem of hens. I purposely sped up, hoping they wouldn’t spook, but the lead hen bolted for the woods and the boneyard boss broke out of full strut into half strut and looked at her like, where you going? Again, I figured I could get in front by parking on a logging road below the old farm house and crossing behind them. No such luck, no feather, no sign, no nothing. Well, all I had to do was be there in the morning, hope for a gobble, and get in close.

No such luck, no gobble, in fact I’d never heard this bird gobble in the morning. Got him to shock gobble twice in the afternoon but that’s it. Guess with all those chicks he had, why bother. Nothing left to do, but sit and watch for a while. I called a little but to no avail. I catch a glimpse of turkey out of the corner of my eye and it’s two jakes and a hen. I watch them go by and figured, heck, they may be heading to join up with the boss, so I gave chase.

Slow walking through the woods, I again, caught a glimpse of a half strutting tom gliding down the hill. I glassed the area and saw nothing, so I started easing closer to the field and there were five hens nestling in some sagebrush weeds. Just beyond was the boss, all puffed out like a proud peacock. He was dancing, turning, waving that tail at his beauties. They were all squatted and I sort of hoped I’d get to see the show, but he never attempted. I guessed his distance at that point was 45 yards, way too far for such a fine bird.

So, I pulled an old gobbler trick I learned from a few of them and I tree walked closer to them, being sure to keep the tree between his eyes and me. I got within 30 yards but the hens were right smack dab in front of him. I just waited. I knew better than to call, what with the boss hen’s jealousness or perhaps it was wisdom in taking him off whenever I called. Then the hens rose and one by one fed into the field. Crap, if they went out there, he surely would follow and there goes my chance. I just waited, I had a shot a time or two but a hen was always too close. Then justice came to call and the turkey gods shown down upon me. I guess my fair play the evening before was being rewarded. I’ve known so-called turkey hunters or two that would’ve stopped their truck right then and there and shot him in the front yard. Me, I figured he deserved better, besides I love a gobbler that outwits me a time or two. The best thing that could have happened, did. Those hens turned and started back into the woods straight for me.

Oh, Oh, I was caught. I was standing two foot behind my walking tree and nowhere to go. I simply bowed my head and hoped to the good Lord I looked like a dumpy tree. They got within 5 yards of me and the tom was slacking and had just stepped into the wood line. When I peeked up under the brim of my hat to see where he was, the hens caught me. Clucking started up, big time. I glanced at the boss and he’d went into the alert stance. No time for second guesses and I bought my 10 gauge up behind my tree and leaned over and dropped him cold at 14 steps. Hallelujah, the boss rests in peace. A fine bird I was honored to shoulder back out for the two mile trek to the truck.