I posted some pics on the general forum, but Rut asked me to go a little deeper with my story here. On 4/2/2018 I lost a one time co-worker (he retired) a turkey hunting buddy and a great human being. Kenny and I have been friends for for almost 20 years and shared many turkey hunts together. I was supposed to hunt some sweet private land for easterns in north Florida 4/13-4/15. I found out Kenny passed away as I was returning home from a hunt last Sunday. That night thinking about never being able to hunt with or spend time with my friend was eating me up. The next day I called my Dad and told him I was cancelling our north Florida hunt. Instead, I said I wanted to hunt the no quota, crowded romp and stomp WMA where Kenny took me on our first hunt together. Picking a spot was easy, the exact hammock we hunted that first mourning long ago. Friday, Pop and I only heard one lone hen clucking between us. That night, I looked at all my marked spots all over the WMA, but something told me to go back to the same place from Fridays hunt. We got in extra early and were about 100 yards apart, looking in opposite directions. At gray light I heard a distant gobble, then again and again. He sounded off about 15 times, but had to be 500 yards off since I could just barely hear him. A few minutes later a hen shows up and I get her worked up and let my live bait do her thing. She wanders over towards Dad after about 40 minutes of entertaining me. All of the sudden a loud deep gobbler cluck comes from the thick brush that borders the hammock. Out steps a strutter with a glowing white head. I put the crosshairs on him, cutt and up comes his head...BOOM. He jumps straight up then turns and burns it back into the thicket. I can't believe it, I missed and let my buddy down. After about 5 minutes, figuring I have nothing to lose, I grab an old dog chewed on box call. I hardly ever use a box, but thats all Kenny ever used. Yelp yelp yelp cluck cluck yelp yelp. Gooooobbbble. I can't believe it, he's still close by. A few purrs on a pot call and out he comes. Some sharp cutting with a diaphram call and up comes the head again, the 835 roars and he hits the ground. I jump up and run to him, drop to my knees and cry. Looking skyward, I thank God and Kenny. I know they were both with me that mourning. I had been wearing a gold flying gobbler pin both days during this hunt. When I saw Kennys wife at the memorial service this afternoon, I hugged her and handed her the pin and a breast feather from our gobbler. As I explained what it was I had just placed in her hand, we both started weeping. Kenny my friend, we will hunt again together someday. This time, the first shot is yours.
