My 2023 Spring Gobbler

Recently I described the debacle that occurred during the opening day of the 2023 spring gobbler season when another hunter shot at gobblers that Bob, my son, had running our way. I also told you that Bob killed one in a difficult position the following Saturday.

Unfortunately, my opening week of gobbler season had gone about as usual. As the “worst turkey hunter in the Cove,” I had a variety of excuses for not tagging a gobbler that week, including bad weather and several medical appointments. On the nice mornings when I hunted, my calling failed to interest any of the gobblers that I could hear sounding off. (On the other hand, dry-fly fishing that week was wonderful.)

Anyhow, on Sunday night while talking to me on the phone, Bob suggested that I make a drive over to the ridge where we had almost been “in business” on the opening day. “Maybe the birds will have settled down.”

I got up earlier than I would have had to for a local hunt, and by 5:00 I’d arrived at the ridge where Bob suggested I hunt. Not being real familiar with the ridge, I didn’t get set up until 5:30. I didn’t hear any gobbling for a while and was ready to leave when I heard a tom sound off somewhere out in front of me. I could barely hear him. I picked up my padded seat, stuffed it in my backpack, and quietly hustled toward the bird that continued to gobble. Actually, two gobblers were hollering.

When I was within 100 yards, I set up again. It was a comfortable seat: a cushion of moss under a big oak tree. The birds were still in the trees when I made my first yelps, and one gobbled right back at me. Experts have told me not to call much to birds still on their roosts, so I waited. Soon I saw one tom sail off to who knows where. Geez, I’m gonna have to play chase, I thought.

Then a gobbler sounded off from behind a deadfall only 35 yards away. Where had he come from? I clucked back to him once with a little diaphragm caller and made several yelps with a small box caller. The gobbler stepped into an opening beside the deadfall. I had the shotgun ready, centered it on the 19-pounder, and fired. Although he was a pound lighter than Bob’s gobbler, his beard was a half-inch longer. That helped make toting the heavy bird from the woods a pleasant job.