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Most Memorable Gobbler

Started by Panhandle_strutter, February 11, 2018, 09:26:31 PM

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Panhandle_strutter

Season is quickly approaching and I find myself thinking back on old hunts as the excitement starts to build. As I was reflecting, I asked myself which one was the most memorable? I began to think about the hunts and what made each one of them unique and special in their own way. Was it my first turkey? Still my biggest bird to this day (double beard 10.5/9.5 in beards, 1 3/4 in spurs), but not my most memorable. First Merriam? Special yes, most memorable, no. It didn't take long to look back on one hunt in particular that put a big grin across my face and gave me sweaty palms like I was looking down the barrel again. Yes, this was my most memorable bird.

I grew up deer hunting a local WMA on a river here in the Florida panhandle and would occasionally see turkeys while deer hunting. My dad doesn't turkey hunt so I was a little late to the game, and basically self taught myself once I could drive at 16 through trial and A LOT of errors. This particular WMA had quite a bit of property but most of it was in narrow strips that quickly turned into private land. The biggest issue was getting between the birds and private land before they made their way across the line. I spent many mornings playing cat and mouse with stubborn gobblers who simply would not come back to the hardwoods once they had left. Other times, I had worked a bird nearly into shotgun range only to watch a hen cut between us and lead him in another direction. By this time, I had a few birds under my belt and confidence due to access to a lease my uncle had, but each empty handed trip from the river started to add up and left me wondering why in the world I couldn't kill a bird there.

The river (which is more like a creek), had gotten so low the jon boat I used was basically useless. Tormented by the birds I knew would be there, I loaded up a pirogue I had access to and made the hour drive to slide it in and get after them. This particular morning was heavy overcast and muggy, and to be quite honest my expectations were pretty low. It took roughly an hour to make it to where I normally hunted and by the time I got there it was light enough they should have been gobbling on the roost. A few owl hoots and not a peep. Nothing. Dead silence. "Here we go again" I muttered to myself. Another trip, another skunk.

I decided to sit and listen for an hour or so to hopefully hear one bust off, or at least keep from bumping them off the roost. Around 8:30, and after hearing no birds I decided to nudge the pirogue off the bank and paddle on up and go as far as I could and call occasionally. About half a mile up the creek I made it around a tight curve and let out a half hearted series of soft yelps. A chorus of gobbles rung out 150-200 yards further up the creek. I honestly nearly flipped that pirogue over they startled me so badly. Completely unexpected!

I slipped the pirogue up on the bank and was scrambling to get my gun out of the waterproof floating case when they fired off again on their own. They were clearly closer than they were when I struck them. We've all been there, I was in panic mode.

I rushed to a big tree no more than 20 yards from the pirogue (thank God it was black) and turned around and assumed position. I yelped, they cut me off. I got quiet and they gobbled on their own trying to find me. A moment later I see a glowing bluish/red head bobbing behind the palmettos, and then another, and another, and another!

At this point, they were closing fast and my silence was driving them nuts. A morning full of silence was now erupting with unprompted double and triple gobbles. I couldn't help but smile to myself and take it all in. They quickly made their way into my lap, and for my own selfish reasons I softly yelped once more just to get them to gobble in my face one more time. They did, and I folded the strutter at 20 yards.

Success, finally! A fine 2 year old with a 9 inch beard and 3/4 inch spurs. The countless streak of unsuccesful and frustrating trips had finally been broken. A morning that started out as bleak as the weather quickly turned into my most memorable hunt. I guess what makes this particular bird so special is the location and the history I've had with those birds in that place. Growing up playing sports, I love competition and in that moment with my foot on that 2 year olds neck I felt like I had just hit a walk off home run. A feeling and moment I'll take to my grave!

Thanks for taking the time to read. I thought this would be a good way to build some excitement and relive some of our hunts. Feel free to share yours too




Panhandle_strutter

Wouldn't let me include in OP, but here he is!

Sent from my SM-G930P using Tapatalk


wade

Great story, I could almost hear them gobbling. Got me thinking about my most memorable tom.
Do it outdoors

Happy

I like all the memories but if had to pick one on which I was the shooter it would have to be the bird I killed with my grandad. He is someone I have always looked up to. He was never a turkey hunter. He was a deer hunter. He was getting to the point to were he didn't hunt much on his own and I wanted to get him out of the house. I still remember him packing my great grandad's remington 870 with high brass #6 shot. We didn't get into the woods till after daylight. The turkey hunter in me was squirming, knowing I should be in a good listening spot by that time but grandad was in a visiting mood and in no hurry. We ran the first tom out of the small clearing in the back of his property. We sat for a while to let things calm down and then I let a few yelps out. I heard a tom answer. He was so far out it made me question if it was really a gobble. I asked grandad if he heard it and he had not. I called again and got an immediate gobble. He was still waaay out there. Course grandad still couldn't hear it and called me crazy. I finally convinced him we needed to get set up. We had to get up over an old mining highwall and uphill a bit to give the bird a good aproach route. We set up with grandad about ten yards to my left and slightly in front. He had on his blue jeans and a green and black plaid jacket. No facemask or gloves. He was old school even deer hunting. I don't think he owns any camo at all. Anyways its tom responded beautifully. Every set of yelps was answered by a gobble. As he approached I could hear a hen that was with him yelping. Realizing our fate was in her hands I started calling to her and she kept yapping back and he would gobble. The hen made it into sight first. Yelping loudly she headed straight at us. I cut my eyes to the left and grandad had a bead drawn on her and she was only about 20 yards from him. Now grandad's eyes and hearing aren't the greatest and I was praying he didn't level that hen thinking it was a gobbler. He has spent most of his life in the woods so I knew he knew the difference between hen and tom but to be honest I was worried for a second. That's when the tom cut loose and I shifted my eyes back in front of me and there he was, full strut at 25 yards. I cut my eyes back at grandad and he still had his gun leveled in the hens direction. This was quite a pickle. My gun sat in my lap, dot sight turned of and grandad is tracking a hen in his gun sights. I managed to get my sight turned on and started cutting and cackling at the tom. He was gobbling nonstop and I hoped grandad would get his gun around on him and kill him. It didn't work. After a few minutes the hen started getting nervous and started that fast putting as she started high stepping away. This pulled the tom out of strut and he glanced around then started to do the same. Knowing it was now or never I swung the gun up and a load of #6 shot caught the tom in the back of his rapidly retreating cranium. The tom completely disappeared at the shot, falling into a small depression. He never flopped. I stood up and walked over to where grandad was sitting to help him up. "That was a shame" grandad said. "I was gonna shoot but I didn't think it was a tom". "But since you shot I guess I should have." "To bad you missed". I just stared at him. "You didn't see the other one?" I asked him. "What other one?" He replied. "The tom" I replied. "He came in behind and to the right of the hen". "What? I didn't see anything but the one turkey that was right here in front of me." I helped my grandad to his feet and just grinned at him. "By the way old man" I told him. "I didn't miss". He called bs but we walked over and there he layed. He was a good bird. 23 pounds, 10 and a quarter inch beard and 1 1/8" spurs  if I remember right. Wouldn't have mattered if it was a jake though. I wish grandad would have killed it but we had a good time and that will go down as one of my most memorable kills.

Good-Looking and Platinum member of the Elitist Club

Bullet1