Hunting the same farm for the last six years had me feeling pretty good about bagging an early morning gobbler. Having made several adjustments over time, my selected spot, decoy setup, and the direction I would face while waiting were a surefire setup. Or were they?

Parking the truck and gearing up, the gobbling chorus that had been there in years previous was absent. Walking the familiar path in the dim light, there was still no signaling of the mating season for wild turkey. This lack of activity was different than in previous years. It was still early in the season, and gobblers should have been hammering right now. Being committed at this point, and seasoned enough to know you can’t kill anything lying in bed, the decoys were set and anticipation was high.

*Hopeful to excite any ornery gobblers, I had a jake decoy out to help raise their aggressiveness.*

*What’s a decoy setup without a hen to get an old Tom into range?*

Certain that at least one gobbler was perched a hundred yards or so from where I sat, comfort and excitement found me sitting in the fading darkness. Once things had settled, I hit the pot call, sounding off a series of yelps. Expecting a reply, I heard nothing. I hit it again and threw out a couple of yelps and some purrs just to let any nearby gobblers know I was there. Silence was the only response.

Waiting another 10 minutes, I called again as fly-down time was nearing and I wanted them to know my position. All was quiet again. It was a nice morning, so I settled in and kept a vigilant watch. Shortly thereafter, my suspicion that I was near turkeys was confirmed when a lone hen came barreling down from directly above me. After regaining my composure from the startling entrance, I watched as she pecked around the field 40 to 50 yards in front of me. Happy to have a live decoy, my anticipation levels remained high.

A short time later, two or three more hens flew down a little deeper in the woods from where I expected a gobbler to be perched. The ladies moved around and lightly clucked as they looked for bugs, and I felt that at any minute a tom might show.

Finally, I heard a very distant gobble to the west. I wasn’t planning on them coming from that direction, but anything can happen in the turkey woods. I watched a second pair of hens mill around the field as I yelped with a different slate. Hearing another gobble, I couldn’t confirm whether it was any closer or not, but at least I knew they were interested.

While observing in silence, I got a text. It was my uncle, whose property I was hunting on. He asked if I was calling from the back. Confirming that I was, I asked why. Then the good news came. Two toms were making their way past his house and heading in my direction.

I called again excitedly, and this time there was no doubt the gobbles were getting closer. Making out two different birds responding, they were definitely the two my uncle saw.

At this point, the duo started hammering out gobbles. They were clearly excited, and if they hadn’t already seen the hens, they would shortly. I didn’t want to call too much since they were quickly approaching, but I also didn’t want them to get hung up with the live birds between us.

I had two hens and a jake just inside the wood line, so once I figured they had turned the corner, I hit two different calls so they knew there were a couple of birds they hadn’t seen yet.

Since they were coming from the opposite direction as anticipated, I took the opportunity to reposition myself 180 degrees and got the shotgun up on a pair of shooting sticks. From there, the focus was on the shooting lane that opened up to the field edge. If they missed that lane, they would continue to the trail and head for the decoys, giving me another opportunity.

The gobbles got louder, and they were close. I still couldn’t see them, as there was some undergrowth blocking my view. Thinking my heartbeat couldn’t safely rise any more, it did when I caught my first glimpse.

The two followed the field edge and paused just before entering my shooting lane. The more boisterous tom popped his head up and stared intently at the decoy spread. I figured he would be the one to move next, but the other bird took the last two steps I needed.

Not wasting any time, as soon as the bead settled on his neck just below his head, the tungsten load flew.

*The shooting lane is apparent and the outcome of him stepping into it is pretty clear.*

One flop, and that was it. The bird lay in plain sight, and my tag was filled. As I’ve seen done in the past, the second bird attacked the dead bird, then continued gobbling as he walked 30 yards past me.

It didn’t go as expected, but the hunt couldn’t have been scripted much better. Sitting back, I let the woods and the events take me away for a little while before snapping some pictures and proudly hoisting the bird over my shoulder for the hike back.

Still Trying to Figure them Out

Playcation