The darkness slowly melted away, the trees grew solid, then the larger branches became visible and finally the smaller. The skyline glow became stronger and stronger, the ridge turning from an iron hard and stark black silhouette to a beautiful, oak covered, sun drenched hill top.
I was walking a bench above a small, steep banked creek and stopped to look and listen. It was a weekday, few other hunters were in the woods, if I was to bag a turkey today it would require some luck and effort on my part, I’d have to find them myself it seemed.
However, hunting and most any other endeavor in this life demands one thing, you have to show up! You can’t bag Thanksgiving dinner sitting at home. Once you put yourself in the big woods anything can happen.
As I watched a grey squirrel flit from tree to tree a sudden commotion caught my attention and to my astonishment a black shape scurried down the far side of the stream and vanished into the bottom. My first impression was it might be a small bear, but to be on the safe side I sat against a large white oak, pulled down my camo mask and raised the rifle, resting it upon my knee.
The stream bottom was hidden from my sight by a high bank. I popped a mouth call in and waited, unsure of just what I’d seen and what to do next. My patience was rewarded when a red head popped up over the bank and a gobbler appeared some 80 yards off. When four other gobblers materialized I thought my eyes would pop out.
Good grief, the abrupt and absolute changes you go through in the woods. One second I was relaxed and enjoying watching a squirrel, the next my heart was trying to break a rib it was pounding so hard and I was breathing in short little gasps, so excited I was likely to jump out of my skin at any moment.
The gobblers, originally spread out over a 20 yard front quickly gathered together in a patch of beech brush and looked things over. My mind was racing. To call or not to call? Gobblers can be notoriously call shy in the fall and I was not ready to reveal my position as yet and be subject to the intense scrutiny of five pairs of six power eyes. Best to just watch and see what was up?
People time and turkey time are two far different propositions. People are impatient, want everything to happen now and quickly get on to something else. Turkeys have no such inclinations. They have all day to do anything or nothing. They are wary and know a coyote, bobcat, fisher or hunter could be hidden anywhere around them. Caution is part of their nature so these birds just stood there, scratched the leaves a little, preened, pushed each other around as boys are apt to do and looked, listened and then looked and listened some more. They were checking the area around them very carefully.
About 30 minutes passed and finally the gobblers all stuck their head and necks straight up and stared around them. I had the impression they were ready to move and giving the area one last look over to make sure the coast was clear. One or two took a few steps to my right, they weren’t going to head in my direction by themselves it appeared.
I decided to call, but just enough to let them know I was there. A small whine and two soft clucks seemed sufficient. The turkeys starred even harder it seemed and I held my breath waiting to see what they would do.
Time crawled by, then a gobbler turned and slowly began picking his way in my direction, looking for acorns in the leaves. The other turkeys began to follow, weaving back and forth as they pecked, but always in my direction.
The small saplings and beech leaves made it difficult to draw a bead on any of them and the very last gobbler had a beard I guessed to be 11-inches long, thick and heavy. He was a tank. However, all the gobblers were mature and had beards of 9-inches or more. I couldn’t lose on any of them if I could only get a clear shot.
At 40 yards the gobblers all stopped as if on an unseen clue, stuck their heads up yet again and stared directly at me, looking for the turkey they’d heard. Where was she? For five minutes I didn’t dare breathe, afraid to even twitch or blink, more or less raise the rifle those last few inches to aim. A small rock was digging into my rear and a knot was killing my back, but the discomfort had to be ignored.
Then the turkeys turned 90 degrees to my left and began to angle away. I raised the rifle and when a gobbler hit an opening I called loudly. He stopped, I put the crosshairs on the base of the neck and squeezed. The gobbler dropped instantly and the other gobblers ran off.
As I admired my trophy and marveled at his incredible beauty I thanked my God for the joy reserved for the ethical hunter in the great outdoors and the dinner yet to come.