I took off work today and tomorrow to go to a wedding in Charleston. I decided I would hunt this morning, then drive later today. Turned out to be a good decision. I got to the farm in TN around 5:30am and set up about where I did the last time I was there. Around 6:00am I started hearing gobbles to my left and to my right. I didn't call, but just listened and waited. I watched a red fox trot by, he never even knew I was there. Once I thought they were on the ground, I started doing some light calling. I had sporadic answers, but none seemed to be overly interested. I heard two gunshots in the distance, followed by two gobbles down the ridge from me. After that, he seemed to gobble just to hear himself gobble. That was the first I heard from that bird. So I had two choices: stay and keep working the medium temp birds around me, or book it on down to that hot bird. I learned last weekend that no matter how bad you want to make that original bird you are working come in, sometimes the turkeys don't play along. If there is another bird that is hotter (gobbling at everything), go to him! So I got up and trotted down the ridge I was on and stopped in a little creek drainage bottom to yelp. He answered and seemed close. There was another big hill in front of me, and I didn't know exactly where he was, so I decided to stop in that bottom and try to catch him at the top of the hill above me. Here is where I set up.
With every yelp series, it sounded like he was slowly, (but surely) getting closer. I started doing some excited cutting and yelping and he double gobbled. He sounded close, so I scooted down a bit so I could aim my gun higher, got my gun on my knee and pointed it at the top of the hill. I resisted the urge to call anymore. I just kept hoping he would keep coming. All of a sudden I heard drumming. I knew he was coming then. Then I saw his head crane over the rise looking for the hen. I waited for him to walk down and he gobbled the whole way down the hill. I could see the steam from his breath and actually feel the gobble in my chest. An experience I'll never forget. I dropped him at around 20 yards. Here is what he did once he crested the hill in front of me. The last arrow is where I shot him.
He was a nice 3 year old bird. Had a 10" dripping wet beard and 1-1/8" spur on one leg and a 1" spur on the other.
He was missing a few tail feathers, maybe he was a scrapper? We'll never know....
I cut his crop open and have no idea what any of it is. Any of you know?
