Opening Morning Held Some Excitement

March was coming to a close and spring gobbler season was almost upon me when I headed up to my buddy Richard's hunting place in middle Georgia, as I'd been doing for years.

Beginnings

I first went wild turkey hunting as a young teen, and Dad and I had never really gotten serious about it. Oh, we would go to the woods, but we were rarely out there early and we never really put in the time to scout or to even sit much in the woods.

It was more of a good excuse to get away from home and relax for a day or two, and it worked well for that.

As I entered my early twenties, I got a little more serious about it. I borrowed an old Crescent Arms 16 gauge shotgun from Dad (my only scattergun was a tiny 410) along with his old Lynch World Champion box call and hit the woods. Sometimes I went alone and other times not, but Dad wasn't too interested then and he generally stayed home.

I got good at finding new ways to screw up a turkey hunt, and in a relatively short span of time what little turkey hunting spark was within me began to wane. Every time it would brighten a little and I'd wander onto another Florida WMA in search of turkey, I'd mess up somehow and that would be the end of it. When my friend obtained the hunting place in Georgia, I started learning how to mess up on private land. And so the years and the turkeys passed on by.

Fast Forward...

In 2012, when this story takes place, I headed out early while four other hunters did likewise.

The gobbling began even before I had my gear together. I found a place to be and hunkered down, calling from time to time. The gobbles came a-plenty and several times I thought about moving to try to head them off, but I had learned that staying put was often the best idea, so there I stayed. A critter did show up, but it was only a raccoon.

No sweat, just another in a long line of turkey-hunting failures. I wasn't too worried about it.

A Friend's Opening Morning Double-Header

Along about 8:13, I heard a distant shot. Later on I found out it was my buddy Wes shooting a gobbler - and then he shot another one in a separate setup around 9:45! This is a fellow who dearly loves turkey hunting and has done a lot of it, and that morning turned out to be his best one ever. It was great.

We decided that I would go hunting with him the following morning (Sunday), and try to benefit from his experience.

We did that, but although we heard gobbles and other turkey talk, we couldn't bring any birds in close. I wasn't heartbroken, but I was a little disappointed. Ah well. At least I got to learn from an experienced hunter, and that always helps!

I hunted alone on Monday morning and heard plenty of turkey talk but saw no birds. We skipped the next two mornings, and then Richard and I decided to hunt together on Thursday.

Close Encounter

We heard some very impressive gobbling and even conversed with some birds, but our caution kept us farther away from the birds than I guess we should have been. We finally slipped down into the hardwood bottom where we knew the turkeys had been, and hunkered against trees about ten yards apart. I called a little and then Richard called, and we were regaled with a crescendo of loud yelps accompanied by a gobble!

The birds were on the far side of Richard from where I sat, and he readied the gun while I called softly and the turkeys strolled up and posed for him.

The hens did, anyhow - the gobbler must have slipped away, because we never did see him. And that was as close as we came that morning. It was pretty cool, even though we didn't get to bring one home.

On Friday morning, we arose weary. We hadn't talked about whether we would hunt together, so I asked Richard, "Same as yesterday?" He replied, "No! This time, let's get a gobbler." Hard to argue with that!

Once again, we stood in the pre-dawn and listened for gobbles. They didn't come as plentifully as they had the day before, but at 7:00 we did hear one coming from the same vicinity we'd hunted on Thursday, so we began walking.

My Good Fortune Begins

We hadn't gone far before I looked down and spotted a white stone with a distinct shape. I picked it up and it turned out to be a nice Indian arrowhead, just as I'd hoped. A very nice start to the day.

The Setup

The gobbler didn't talk much by itself, but crows kept triggering shock-gobbles from it. When we got close, Richard hit his crow call and was immediately answered by a gobble. I suggested that we slip down the hill and set up higher on the slope than we had the day before, and we did just that. The idea was to keep us out of the turkeys' natural travel corridor while we slipped in and got set up.

By 7:13, we were setting up against separate trees. This time, Richard sat behind me (uphill), which would allow me any downhill shots that might arise. If anything came in on the side of the hill, it would definitely be fair game for him.

We were sitting on the side of a slope leading down into a hardwood creek bottom. We sat on low cushions amid the previous autumn's discarded leaves while we peered downward through intermittent brush into the fairly-open hardwoods below.

My Call

The only call I brought on the hunt was a Gobbler's End red cedar box call with a cherry lid, made by Ed Blankenship. I'd had it for years but hadn't done a whole lot with it. It works well for light and loud calls, and has an excellent purr. Actually, I think it's a better call now than when it was new.

We called softly and I began to hear something moving in the leaves to our left. I softly told Richard about it so he could look out for anything coming that way, in case he hadn't heard. Moments later, I spotted some movement down below me. It took the form of a turkey and moved through an opening in the brush. I could hardly believe my eyes.

I eased the gun up and whispered "I see a bird." A few seconds later, it moved across another small opening. Naturally, it stopped behind another clump of stuff where I had no chance of identifying it and getting a shot.

Lots of folks like to use special turkey hunting shotguns, but the gun I was clutching intently was my father's old Browning Superposed, a 12-gauge over/under shotgun built in the 1930s. With the top (full-choked) barrel, it produced a respectable pattern of number 4 shot at 30 yards, and I enjoyed carrying it more than any other shotgun I've ever used. Crammed into its chambers were two rounds of Remington Express Power Piston 3" magnum ammo, which had also belonged to Dad.

While waiting for the bird to show itself again, I began to hear turkey talk from down the hill. I recall thinking that it sounded too far left to be the one I'd seen - and I guess I was right because the next thing I knew, I saw another turkey slip past the first opening - and this time, I could tell by its white head that it was a gobbler. It stopped behind a screen of stuff, and I was then waiting for either of two birds to become visible - one of which I had positively identified as a legal gobbler.

The Chance

While waiting, a third turkey came into partial view down there, also from the left, and it seemed to be a tom, but at that moment the second bird stepped into a small opening and offered me a pretty clear shot. I let him have the top barrel, and the world exploded while time began to flow in an entirely different manner.

Two birds flew and headed back the way they'd come, and as they did I could tell that at least one of them was a gobbler. One bird took off running to the right, and I knew that it was my bird and that I had not made a clean kill.

Believing that my only chance was to be found in action, I sprang to my feet and took off at a high lope down the hill and into the hardwoods.

The Chase

Every sense I owned was on super-high alert, and I easily ran among the trees in hot pursuit. It was, quite literally, awesome. Adrenaline is wonderful stuff.

Guided by my eyeballs and instincts, I dashed forward. It's hard to describe the chase, but I quickly began closing the gap even though he was running pretty well. I stopped and spotted him zip across a slope on the other side of a creek and then disappear, going downward. I sprinted along the brushy creek bank a bit and stopped to look and listen. I heard movement in the leaves down there and darted forward to an opening in the creekside brush, just in time to see him running along the shallow creek itself.

I quickly shouldered the old shotgun and gave him the bottom (modified choke) barrel, which instantly solved all of his problems, as well as mine. The time was 7:24 - only eleven minutes after I'd noted the time while we were setting up. He'd died maybe 75 yards from where he'd been when I fired, but the errant route of the chase covered between 100 and 150 yards.

I then had to climb down into the steep creek bed to get him out, which I was more than happy to do. Thankfully, the water level was very low and my Bogs boots kept me perfectly dry.

My Bird

The bird was only a jake (a young adult male), but that did nothing to quell my joy. I'd finally gotten my first wild turkey! As usual, the hunt had turned into even more of an adventure than I'd expected, but that's how it goes when you combine me and turkey hunting in the springtime woods. It was made extra-special by the use of Dad's old shotgun, which as far as I know had never killed a turkey before then, and some of his old shells.

Lessons Learned

Experience and guts are what got me this bird. Oh, it was a big accomplishment for us to get the bird close (the range was 30 yards) and to get a shot, but that would have meant nothing if I hadn't recovered the bird so I could bring him home.

I knew immediately when he ran that the bird was hit and that there would be no blood-trailing of this turkey. Experience told me that if I rested on my laurels, I would most likely lose the bird. Having the guts to jump up and sprint after it meant that I was able to close the distance and swiftly finish him off in a timely and humane manner, and make sure he didn't go to waste.

So, there it is - my first successful turkey hunt! It took a few decades before I ever got the chance to fire a shot at a gobbler, but I managed to bring him home with me, and that's the bottom line.

You can bet you'll find me in the turkey woods again.

- Russ Chastain