Well, I promised you guys an update...

So far, I' ve been in turkeys every morning. I' ve spent a lot of time exploring new territory and getting beat by toms hanging up on me. This is only my second year to hunt this 2500 acre lease and I' m still learning the lay of the land on some of it. There are a lot of creeks, cut-over, and thick young growth to negotiate. But, I' m figuring it out.

Monday morning was a storybook morning. Clear and cold and the birds were gobbling their dang fool heads off. I could hear at least 4 of ' em from the ridge. They are henned up right now, so they gobble a lot on the limb and then stay with their hens on the ground. I keep trying to challenge the boss hen but I haven' t managed to make her mad enough to come kick my butt yet. I remained patient and just moved around in the huge hardwood bottom that the ridge overlooks, enjoying the cool morning and taking notice of the dogwoods and crab-apples in bloom. About 8:00, I got a promising response to my calls. I barely heard the ol' boy sound off about 400 yards away, but he answered with gusto several times in a row and I could tell that he was on his way. I had to prompt him to give away his position a couple of times, but he made steady progress. After about 20 minutes, he came into view! A fine 2-year-old bird at about 75 yards. He had about 9 or 10 inches of thick beard and decent spurs. Definitely a shooter! I felt my heart rate rising and had to concentrate to make sure I let him get into range. I had already ranged several trees and let him cross that imaginary line of " certain doom" . I clucked once just to get him to gobble for me, hoping that he would puff up into a strut. He started to get suspicious, looking for that hen that was nowhere in sight, so I figured that it was time to close the deal. He stepped behind a pine tree and I moved the barrel of my old turkey-slayin Ithaca to the kill zone on other side. He stepped into the clearing just like he was supposed to and I took careful aim and squeezed off the shot. I saw that I had framed his head perfectly at 30 yards as the old girl jumped in my hands. I brought the recoil down expecting to see wings flapping and thats exactly what I saw... gaining altitude with every beat! All I could do was to watch him and hope that he was running on adrenaline and that he would fold and crash. When he topped out above the canpoy, I knew that wasn' t going to happen.

Now, I' ve been shooting this gun for 35 years and have patterned the old barrel I had cut down and inserted with a .675 in tube. The pattern showed just a little light for my liking at 40 yards, but adequate and evenly distributed. This fellow was inside 30 yards and I could see the brush behind him desintegrate in line with his head on both sides of him. The only thing I can figure is that either there was a freak hole in the pattern, or there was a limb between him and me that I didn' t see.

I was back on the ridge above that bottom and the hollow on the other side this morning and I swear I heard that same gobbler sound off -- laughing at me! Go ahead and laugh, Mr. Tom. Lick your wounds and heal up strong and a little smarter than before. We' ll meet again!

Man, I' m having fun!!