"Lil" Michael, an 18 year old LSU freshman, decided that he would rather party with his frat buds than open the Louisiana season. Frankly, I was glad as I was late getting home Friday night from a crawfish boil at my daughter's house in Lafayette.
"Lil" Michael and his Dad met me at noon Saturday and we split up to hunt. "Lil" Michael went with me and I sent Big Michael on a reconnoiter to another area. The hunts were uneventful with the exception of Big Michael seeing some tracks in the road. We went to Big Michael's camp for the night.
We were up early as "Lil" Michael and I had to be at my selected listening point before any hint of daylight as gobblers had been roosting near the road we went in on two weeks ago and we would likely be seen if late. One gobbled just as we reached the listening point. Soon an estimated ten were gobbling and "Lil" Michael heard two more that I couldn't hear. There was a good tree that overlooked the road with a dip behind the tree for me to hide in and move about. It proved to bea good place for me as it was in tossing distance of the Thermacell when the mosquitos found us.I could swat while he remained still.
I was afraid that the gobblers were too far but soon reminded myself of the reason for bringing callers along. I chose the Morgan Spanish Dagger Yelper to greet the closest gobblers when I could tell they were on the ground. They liked it. I then immediately switched to softer calling with what I am now calling my Silvestris Special. They liked that too and at 7:03, two gobblers were within twenty yards and "Lil" Michael's shotgun barked. He possessed nerves of steel and a dead eye; his Dad, not so much. We took a photo and then headed to his Dad's truck as a light rain was beginning to fall. As we got to his Dad's truck the rain was falling heavily and we heard a turkey gobble at the thunder. Soon Big Michael appeared soaking wet and we spent three hours sitting in the truck watching it rain.
Once the rain stopped, I took Big Michael to another area where he got on a gobbler that would not come. While he was hunting I went to another area altogether to scout and found nothing but hogs. "Lil" Michael had taken his Dad's truck so he could go back to Baton Rouge to brag. Big Michael and I went to the camp for the night. Big Michael asked if I wanted to hunt with him the next morning. I told him I would, but only on one condition; he had to leave his callers in the truck. He reluctantly agreed.
I decided to take him to "Lil" Michael's listening point the next morning. Nothing gobbled that morning where ten had gobbled the morning before, but we soon heard the two gobblers that "Lil" Michael had heard to the east, so we took out after them. I again started them with the Spanish Dagger and they both liked it. I also immediately switched to the Special which they also liked enough to both start towards us. All of a sudden putting broke out as two "walk ons", as Tom Kelly calls them, came from the direction we had first listened from. One of them flushed and Big Michael attempted a flying shot. Exasperatingly he came to me for his chastisement for shooting at a flying gobbler.
We spent the mid-day period in a big wide open creek bottom in which two silent separate gobblers made us. As it was getting late I suggested that we try the gobbling turkey he had messed with the afternoon before. He agreed.I picked the ridge to call from and soon had a very old gobbler answer my Morgan Caller from about a quarter mile away on the next main ridge over. I seriously doubted that he would come as we were quickly approaching sundown. I switched to the Special as I didn't want to overcall a turkey as old as this one. He moved north along the ridge periodically answering me and as he reached a point on the ridge the frequency and vigor of his gobble increased. What a gobble. You could hear each separate note clearly, but his gobble was soft. I don't think I have ever heard a sweeter gobble.
Then he was closer and answering every yelp, purr and cluck I made. He came across and up the adjacent finger ridge. I could not see him as I was without gun but Big Michael had a ringside seat as the gobbler came near the top of his ridge and hopped up on a leaning log and strutted and gobbled at sixty yards. I so wanted to turn my head to look at him but dared not move. I have only heard three gobblers screech in my life and this was the third. I first thought he had made us but instead he was pleading for me to show myself, so sweet was my call. I only recognized his sounds as screeching when he resumed gobbling and found himself forced to retreat back across the hollow to roost. I expressed my pride in Big Michael for not attempting the long shot at such a fine gobbler. My grandson and I will be after him Friday or Saturday morning depending on the weather.
I present to you Michael Wesley Reeves.
