I should note, no turkey was killed in any of these setups, but the stories that are about to be told are exciting and contain lessons for everyone.
They are lengthy, but worthwhile to those who are in need (both of tips and a good laugh).

Day 1 0f NYS season
After having setupone busted by a coyote and setuptwo sounding like a scene out of a Vietnam movie (three turkeys were shot within ten minutes of each other at different locations), I decide to move down the road to another property. One the way, Ispot this glisten in the field on the property, and glass a nice longbeard and a hen. I park, load my stuff into my vest, and across the meadow and towards the mountain. I come tothe stream, where a flood washed away my bridge. At this point, I amgungho, so I ford the stream, water pouring into my boots, but I am in primal mode, and continue up the bank. Get to the edge of the field, setup a jake and hen, and go to the perfect tree. Pine with low hanging limbs, and a perfect shooting lane. Cutts on the glass are the next thing that shatters the silence of the woods, followed by my jake gobble from my tube, nothing responds.I wait, remembering patience is a virtue, and shatter the silence again with that same combofifteen minutes later. The wind howls, and nothing else. This continues for thirty minutes, then I see a crow, flying low over the field. I ask him to caw, and sure enough he does, and after that I hear the sound we all want to hear...deep and close. "Gun up," I tell myself, and I get ready for action. Fifteen minutes without a sound, only the wind and the brook. There he is, like a ghost appears, in full strut, with a dangler of a beard scraping along the grass. He strusts towards me, and I begin to count down...80 yards, 70 yards, 60 yards... I get to 60 and he disappears into the brush to the side of the logroad I am on. I cutt, gobble, and nothing comes back at me. I begin to hang my head and nod off, when Isee black moving in to my right now. He comes in and starts eyeing the decoys. My heart is racing, and I am a little anxious from the previous encounter, so once he sticks his head up at 40 yards, I let fly. All I see is his rear running towards the opposite side of town. I give chase, thinking I might have crippled, but when he flies and I trip over a hidden barbwire fence, I decide enough is enough. Remember kiddies, put that safety back on, just like I did. I pace off the shot I just took, 61 yards. Well, I spent the rest of that day working on yardage perception.

Day #2 of NYS Turkey Season
All yesterday I plot and scheme about how to get out of work today. After alot of thinking, I develop a plan where I would call from my cell to my loyal father, who understands my addiction of late. The plan is I will place his number on speeddial, and if I am working a bird and cannot make it to work, I will call him, and the lack of a person on the other end will be his cue to call my work, tell them I am having car trouble and will be running late, and thus my problem is solved. The plan is set, however, once I get home, I am stricken with a stomach ache and all that entails. The girlfriend comes over, and insists I hunt the next day, since I have been annoying her with turkey calls in the house and talking turkey to her for close to four months. So, I bed down, thinking tomorrow is the day.

Day #3 of NYS Turkey Season
I awake at 2 the next morning, with a sore throat and a stomach ache, and change that alarm from 4 to6:30, thinking today isnt the day, andgo back to sleep. At 6, the phone rings, waking me from a dream where I had justshot a turkey on the fly, only todiscover it was hollow. The other end of thephone is Philip, my hunting buddy from Long Island, who informs me he just shot a longbeard in my backyard practically. I say great, am about to hang up, when he says, "Holy s&$&." I ask whats wrong, and he says the following, "John, you are not going to believe this, there is a bird in your field, gobbling and strutting like crazy." I ask for clarification, and he says its the land I was hunting day one. I tell him frankly, "That bird is going to die today!" He says, "Git er done" and I burstinto then outof the bathroom and run into the living room. Needless to say, at this point my girlfriend is a little miffed, first for being woke up by the phone, second for me bursting out of the bathroom, and third for me now suddenly deciding at the last minute that I am going hunting after she had been telling me too the whole night before. I apoligize, give her a kiss goodbye, and run into the living room again, throw on my camo and grab the gear, and I am out the door. I call work, leave a message to the effect of, "I am sick, cannot come in, bye!"
I get to the field, and no gobbler is present. Still, I ford the creek again, boots soaking, and head to the same setup location. This time, I point the opposite way, and setup the same hen and jake. I position myself behind a concrete watering hole so only my gun and head are showing, and start playing the yelp and cutt on my glass. Nothing. A few distant gobbles is all that I hear. I continue with my normal routine, until out of trees comesthe longbeard. I call on my mouth call, and get nothing back. He seems aprehensive, so I keep it light. He moves to 80 yards (a real 80 now mind you) and struts back and forth. I call, he gobbles, the only time he talked to me. He moves to 50, and I begin to get ansty, but remember day one, so I wait. He struts for ten minutes, back and forth, before slowly moving off back into the trees. I cutt and gobble and nothing comes back. I shrug behind the water hole, and begin to form a game plan. I am upset, and wanted that bird so bad. I sit there, maybe for ten minutes, and hear something rustle in front of me. I peek around the side of the concrete and there are two hens, pecking at my hen decoy. One of them spots me, and they both take off running, but without any putts.
I decide this location is blown, so I move 200 yards up the hill to a hollow that is covered in sign. I setup a hen, setup my blind, and call. Nothing. I wait another 15 minutes and call...nothing. Frustration grows, "I should have taken that 50 yard shot." I calm myself down, and wait twenty minutes and decide to move. Just as I am about to get up, my boxcall in my pocket makes a cutt as I shift my weight, anda gobble nearly rolls me over from behind. I turn, see that he just passed behind a knoll, and turn around, resetup, and tear down my blind from behind me. I cutt on the glass, and he goes crazy...double gobble. I look, and see that from the direction he is coming from the decoy is almost directly behind me. This is bad, and remind myself that I cannot move at all. I continue to cutt with the mouth call, and he triple gobbles and starts on a dead run towards me. He hits the stonewall in front of me...30 yards, and begins to work towards the gap. This is perfect, and I get ready to click off the safety and move the gun onto him as soon as his head passes behind the pine tree in front of me. Just as his head begins to pass behind the tree, I click off the safety. His head does that backtake thing (we have all seen it) and his snood just shrinks. Putt, putt, putt and he is off and running. Apparently, when I clicked off the safety the gun moved, and he caught this just as he was about to pass behind the tree at 25 yards. I made the mistake, and he got lucky. At this point, I am fuming. This bird was so hot. I go over to my decoy, kick it over, and pack up and head to the car. Wait, patience. I decide to get in front of him, so I run down to the creek, up the streambed for half a mile, then up the hill again, to where I thought I could intercept him. I change calls, going with rasp, and setup. After twenty minutes, nothing. I decide this is it, and start towards the car. I give one last cutt before I get into the open, and I get a double gobble back from two different birds who are real close. I panic, setup a decoy and get to the biggest small tree I can find. As I lean back, my upper back tells me this is a thorn tree, but I take the pain and lean into it. A few seconds later, putt, putt, putt from a bird I cannot even see. I cringe, but hold tight and start to cutt real loud to cover up the putts. I get a double gobble back, closer this time, followed by an angry hen. I start a dueling cutting session with the hens, and the woods light up with gobbles from near and far, but the closest are the two origional gobbles. They get closer, then move away, then get closer, then move away. All the while I am calling as aggressively as I can, cause for once, I can call how I like to. Gobbles continue, closer, then farther, then closer. Finally, things get quiet, and after twenty minutes I think it is near noon, so I glance at my watch. I see it is 11:45, then I hear a whole lot of putt, putt, putt. Ten minutes later, the woods were dead quiet. I pack up my things, and left.

There arethings to be learnedin the above stories, and trust me I am going to be on these birds this weekend. I hope you all enjoyed, and maybe learned something!