Stark darkness envelopes me as I enter the timber line. For now it is my ally as it cloaks my movements and my intent. Scientists tell us about the black holes in space and the mysteries that they possess. Time travel has been discussed as a possibility in the confines of these dark expanses. I’m no Einstein, goodness knows I couldn’t make the ‘The Three Stooges’ B team in the world of intellectuals; but as I enter this black hole I am beginning to believe there is something to this time travel theory.

Traveling through this murky atmosphere I am magically transformed from an aging old duffer, hobbling along a faint trail with bum legs and a bad back to a much younger man full of hope and vitality. My movements seem cat like, effortless as I maneuver through a maze of vegetation and trees. The wrinkles on my face are no longer a result of aging sagging skin but are due to a mischievous giddy smile. You know the one I am talking about. It is the one that Wylie Coyote supports as he forms his plan to bring down doom on the Road Runner. I am prepared, I have experience, and I have a plan. I am confident. They say confidence is sexy. I find that rather humorous because sexy and me have not been used in the same sentence in quite a few years now. Perhaps there is something to this blackhole/ time travel thing….

My weapon of choice today is a Benelli Super 90 with a twenty one inch barrel. When I get to my destination I will screw on another 32 inches of pipe known as a Metro Barrel. Add an extended choke on to that and you have a weapon that is well over six foot long. This is going to be fun!

I am almost to my “spot” when the gobbling starts. They seem to be everywhere and talkative. There is more babbling going on in the tree tops than a gossip session at the ladies aid society. I get my decoys set up and sit in a location that I feel will allow me an easy shot when they show up.

Sitting in predawn twilight listening to the communication among the toms is intoxicating. Knowing you are less than one hundred yards from more than one bird causes such a rush of happy anxiety that it is nearly unbearable. The anticipation of what could[/i] happen at fly down keeps you on the edge of your seat. This alone is worth the price of admission to this traveling turkey show.

Though I knew I was very close to some roosting toms I never heard them fly down. Once on the ground, as it so often happens they were not near as vocal. I still had one close however. He was gobbling in a valley below me every now and then. After two hours of my best efforts I only managed to scratch up a few spooky hens. When I heard the tom sound off in the valley again it was time to move on him.

I cautiously moved down the hill toward my target leaving my decoys behind. My first stop I called hoping to get a bearing on his location… Balllalllallaooo, he was still there. I called some more but it was evident I could not convince him to come to me. I had to move toward him hoping to dupe him into believing I was a hen interested in his magnificence. I moved in his direction again. The next position I took up was scary close to him. I couldn’t get a visual because of the slope of the hill but by his vocals I knew I was on the edge of spooking him with a wrong move.

This my favorite part of turkey hunting. Feeling that as a result of your calls, an opportunity is going to present itself at any moment on a vocal, located target; knowing one wrong move on your part and you lose. It is very similar to hunting elk in the rut without expending near the effort.

On my next series of calls it is evident he made a lateral move. That could be good or bad. I feel like I have entered his “personal space” and continue an attempt to speak his dialect in order make a connection with him. He sounds off Ballallallooo… The cadence of my already pounding heart gets ratcheted up a notch when it becomes obvious he is making his way to my location. I search for shooting lanes in the direction I think he will come. There is no doubt he has bought into the ruse now. He has been completely bamboozled! He is double and triple gobbling as he moves ever closer. Due to the thick vegetation, I cannot yet see him but he is so close that the shockwaves of his vocal serenade reverberates through the forest and causes a vibration in my chest. The ground almost shakes with each gobble as he announces his greatness and arrival in full strut! I am in heaven!!!

From the first moment I saw him to his last step he was in full strut. As he glides across time and space the sun filters through the trees at just the right angle as if to spotlight his highness. The shade of green in the iridescence of his feathers was accented in such a way that combined with his shape and movements, reminded me of a leprechaun dancing through the timber. I silently giggle at his antics.

It is hard to keep it all together in moments like this. I am so enchanted by the sight in front of me that I fail to recognize the angle of the shot. Being right handed there is no way I can position my body correctly to make a shot without spooking the bird. In younger days I would have probably made an attempt to reposition myself and blown my opportunity. Experience can be a wonderful helpmate. When the tom briefly goes out of view I switch the gun to the left side and draw down on him southpaw style. Problem solved.

He makes a right hand turn and is now facing me. Any closer and he will hop up on the end of my five and a half foot gun barrel. From here it is all anti-climactic. A decision is made to render judgment. The strutting Gobbler is met head on by a menacing cloud of fire, smoke, and lead blowing holes in his colorful bulbous head as well as his majestic fan. The blast pushes him rearward and he goes belly up. A few involuntary kicks and twitches and his oxygen habit has been cured. As I examine my fallen trophy I wish I could wake him from his repose and chase him another day. Hmmm, where are those black holes when you need them……



Here he is hanging by nothing other than his spurs...




He was a beauty. Not my biggest, but then it is the hunt I will cherish and remember. Unless I write it down I won’t remember he weighed 24 pounds, had a 10 ¾ inch beard; and his spurs measured 1 3/8” and 1 9/16”.

Great story and a sweet bird Antler, let me be the first to say, "Congrats!"

S&R

Awesome, Antler!! I see another forum gets to be blessed by your abilities! Glad I surfed over here and discovered your latest trophy.

Congratulations, my friend.

just awesome, the whole thing.........congrats on a great bird.....

awesome read...congrats on a nice bird and memory Antler Eater...

I am looking at your post titled "Antler Goes Southpaw on Boss Tom" and I immediately knew I was going to be in for a gooood read,and a long one at that
Awesome story bud,I always look forward to read all your posts.
Congrats on yet another beautiful bird
I still cant figure out why the 53 inch +barrel length though?[:-]

yea why such along barrel lol you wnat to try to hit them in the head and capture them as a pet lol. but congrats on a nice bird and a very good story

Since I got the Metro barrel I just thought I would use it on turkeys for the fun of it. There are a couple of advantages to the gun when it is attached but not enough to be significant in the turkey woods unless recoil is an issue with a person. It does tame the recoil of a turkey load noticeably.