So this story of turkey killing actually begins back in 2009, so let me take you back.
In the Spring of 2009 in the hills of Kentucky where I am fortunate to hunt, there was a bird who managed to attract the eye of all of us who hunted the property. Even as a 2 year old, he sported a long thick beard, a deep raspy gobble, and had some girth on him to make the lovers of wild turkey breast on the grill drool.
He roosted nightly in a thick cedar grove, surrounded by challenging terrain; to the North was a steep drop off that was choked with cedars and had a large lake at the base of it, to the South was a large grassy field that was off the property lines and inaccessible, to the west was another drop off that was very open with briars and small cedars that provided little to no cover, and to the East was an old cemetery that while it was within the property lines held little cover besides the headstones and also sloped downward as well.
His daily pattern was to fly down from a large oak that stood on its own by the cemetery, and land in the open field. He would then spend the day strutting, and working the hens that would amble out from other corners of the field to get their servicing. In the evening, he would return to the same tree but fly up from quite away in the field. Every once and awhile he would move closer to the tree but from the cedars, where it was almost like he knew the poor visibility would shield him from hunters. Adding to the frustration was the fact that from the front porch of the house, you could sit and see the field he owned. Even at a distance of 500 yards you could see him out there prominently and have no doubt who was out there. Due to his home tree and cemetery haunt, we christened him "Caretaker".
Everyone that hunted this bird encountered the same issues; terrain problems, getting busted due to poor cover, and the almost supernatural ability of this bird to detect something out of the ordinary is his "home" territory. Many times and to many hunters, he would notice something just out of place by a scrub bush or briar and turn and go the other way.
It became almost a rite of passage that if you were hunting the farm, you had to hunt this bird at least once to give him a try. For those of us that travel there yearly, some would just plain give up on him one year and never hunt him again and some of us would give him at least one chance.
Over the years, we tried everything. Ground blinds were thrown up but negated due to sloping terrain or him not passing close enough by. Guys threw their best calling skills out at him, but whether it is due to the fact that all the area hens came to him or to the fact that he could not see them he would not commit. He would happily gobble, and move to within 60 yards or so but never closer. Decoys, no matter the make and no matter how appealing to the human eye would do nothing but send him off to a different area. Some would get to the spot way early, hoping to catch him on flydown; but he'd just glide out into the field. Some would stay until dark hoping to catch him in an ambush at the roost; but he'd just fly up from a distance away. Even the Youth Hunt was employed as a tactic to kill him, hoping that the earlier date would allow some lucky young hunter to catch him with no hens and lay their tag on him. To add insult, one time my hunting buddy swore that bird stared at him from the roost after fly up and gobbled at him incessantly. That tale has evolved into legend at our camp to say the least.
By 2010, Caretaker quit gobbling for the most part. Oh, he would do it a little in the morning and sometimes in the field, but there were no gobbles at calls anymore. There were rarely shock gobbles to crows, or owls, or geese. When he would let loose though, it was a sound to be enjoyed and when he decided to let loose the hens would come faithfully out like a harem. He schooled me in 2010 when I set up on him, and was convinced my "Michigan Sounding" calls would be the difference maker to make him curious enough to come in. I spent that afternoon staring at him at 70 yards strutting back and forth for an hour, then moving off as if to say "Thanks for allowing me to taunt you. Go back North you fool". My temper was up over this bird.
In 2011, we had all had enough. We all took turns hunting him with rotations in the morning and afternoon. One unsuccessful hunter would report back as to what he did, and the others would try to use that information to get the chance to shoot him in the face. By the end of that season, we had all moved on to other birds, and Caretaker still owned the field. Twice in 2011 I had him close; Once I set up in the cemetery by a headstone and just waited. He came within 50 yards but the hen he had with him busted me and they both putted off. The other time, I lost him in the cedars at dusk and could never get on him to get a clean shot. I was sick.
As opening weekend of 2012 arrived, I pulled into the farm on Friday morning the day before the opener at 2PM. This year was also somewhat bittersweet for us; the property was being sold around the farm and this would be our last year to hunt it. Any bird we took off the property would be our last ones for the area. After the normal greetings, we sat on the porch and had some fellowship. Caretaker was in the field as always. I watched him cross the field from South to North, and angle towards the cemetery to get out the hot sun. I made a note of this in my head.
Saturday we hunted our lease, with little success and as the rains moved in we headed back to the farm. With the weather being iffy, we decided to hunt the farm and stay close to home in case more storms moved in. My hunting buddy Jay moved off to give Caretaker a try for the evening hunt. He had him at 60 yards or so, but when some noise from some locals 4 wheelers grew close, Caretaker moved off to a different area away from him. Skunked again.
Sunday morning, we hunted the lease again and were challenged by henned up gobblers, ferocious winds gusting to 40mph and a lack of birds due to local tree logging that the property owner had being done. We headed back to the farm for lunch and rest. While my buddy took a nap, I was antsy. I drove up to the farm and glassed the field from my 4 wheeler. After moving to various points, I finally located Caretaker. He was in the South portion of the field, and was strutting in the shade. When I looked at my phone, I saw it was 1:45. I knew this would be one of my last chances to give Caretaker a shot. I drove back to the house, grabbed a limited amount of gear and headed down to the lake to make the long walk up to the cemetery.
My plan was to move into the cemetery area as quietly as I could, and set up in some cover. While I do not normally like to ambush birds, Caretaker was no normal bird. I figured with the wind blowing like it was, it would allow me some more leeway in regards to movement. I could then only hope that he stayed on the same pattern he had done on Friday. When I got to the top area, I climbed into a small cedar and glassed the field. I saw Caretaker and surprisingly another smaller Tom moving to the North. Within 10 minutes, they reached the only scrub tree in the field. It was the moment of truth; if they went left their path would lead right to the cemetery and if they went right I had no cover and a limited chance at them. I swear that bird sat at that tree for minutes deciding what to do. The wind seemed to blow him to the left, and so they went. I moved as quickly as I could the 50 yards back to the cemetery, and crammed myself between a tombstone and a large briar bush. Now all I could do was wait.
I set my phone by my knees to keep an eye on the time. I figured it would take them about 20 minutes to make it to me moving like they were. I slowly alternated between scanning to the left and right, and moving my gun from my thigh to the ground so my limbs didn't fall asleep. After about 15 minutes of watching the grass sway in the wind, I finally saw the red tinge of a head coming over the rise.
I raised my gun up slowly, and moved the red bead crosshair to his general direction. He had to go about 20 more yards from his current location to be on the property and within shooting range. At about 10 yards he stopped, and surveyed the landscape in front of him. It give me a chance to verify that the lead bird was Caretaker when the wind blew the grass from him. I held my breath, as he stared into the cemetery and checked the area. As the wind gusted briars, limbs and growth around me he flinched back once as a limb startled him slightly. I could have thrown up when I saw him start like that. Thankfully though, he seemed appeased that the cemetery held no threat. Head down, he moved on and into the last 10 yards I needed.
I shoot a 20 gauge Remington, with a TruGlo SSX choke with Federal Premium #7's and here I have to thank a friend for all the patterning and shooting he has done to recommend that setup. It is absolutely devastating and it handled the task for Caretaker.
I let him come an extra 5 yards, and then could not chance it no more. I readied myself, and gave a short yelp on my mouth call. He came to attention, and extended his neck. That was it. With one shot, I dropped the bird that had literally haunted us for years. There was no flopping, and he fell like a stone. It took me a moment to get myself together, and get feeling back in my legs. Then I ran to him.
(22 pounds/ 10 ounces, 10 ¾ beard, and 1 1/8 spurs)He was well worth the wait, and headache. I have never seen a bird with as many battle scars as this one had. He had broken wing feathers (which you can see in one of the pictures) and healed over scars on his legs from battles and various spurrings. I took a minute or two to take it all in, then collected my things, loaded him up in my turkey tote and began the long walk back down the hill to the 4 wheeler which would take me to the farm. To say much celebrating, and storytelling ensued would be an understatement. He is already at the Taxidermist.
It is birds like these why I am thankful for this grand sport of turkey hunting. May you all find success in the woods, and good luck this Spring! Thanks for reading!
