As exciting as turkey hunting can be, going at it day after day can soon become a grind, especially if you’re putting in an hour before work several days in a row. When I was a middle school teacher, I never scheduled films during hunting days, for fear I’d fall asleep at my desk. Come Saturday morning, I’d hunt for the first few hours and then stretch out in the woods from sheer exhaustion.
That kind of craziness was back in the day; as a more mature hunter, I’ve learned to pace the season and my energy levels. As the fifth week of a five-week season rolled around, my wife had a medical appointment first thing in the morning, so I dutifully played taxi and left the house around 9:00 a.m. First stop was to visit with my landowner to see if she had seen turkeys in her cultivated or pasture fields. She hadn’t seen much activity, but did force me to eat three freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
This small property had two hot spots. I headed directly toward the nearest, parked my truck, gathered my gear, and headed out. Vegetation was near jungle-scale, and I called with several callers, hoping to nudge a goggle and earn a starting point. Fifteen minutes passed with no response, so I changed to plan B. Parking along the entrance lane, I climbed up a steep hill to a small flat where turkeys often hung out at midday. On the way up, I noticed a batch of fresh scratching in the leaves, not more than one day old. If birds had been there, they could still be close by.
Easing against a large oak, I glanced at a hunting blind 75 yards away. No doubt the owner had taken a big tom on opening day and perhaps a second bird the next. This small farm often holds a lot of gobblers, yet hunting pressure shuts the survivors down in late season.
Cold Calling
I didn’t expect to get a gobble, yet I recognized that I was in turkey country. So I planned to spend an hour calling occasionally with a peg and slate, which gave my best clucks and purrs. The first series of calls netted no response, so I laid the caller in the leaves and made sure my crossbow sight was lit and I could swing the new Katana easily from side to side.
Suddenly, I saw the silhouette of a turkey on an adjacent ridge. For a few seconds it seemed to be focused on my location, but then fed into a patch of honeysuckle. Soon other birds became visible, one with a bright red head. Holy cow! Could I possibly get a shot? Would the birds come my way, or should I begin calling again?
I’d learned and forgotten this lesson several times. When a turkey hears your calls and begins to respond, it will come to the exact tree you’re sitting against. Once I was hunting fall turkeys and spotted a gobbler moving through a timbered bottom 200 yards away. I used a Lynch Box caller to make a gobbler yelp and saw the tom turn and begin walking toward me. I was standing in the middle of a logging road with no place to hide. The leaves were dry as morning cereal and I soon heard each step as it came ever close. That bird came to my exact location and I shot it in the head as it peaked around the tree I used to shield my position.
Another time I hunted in West Virginia on public land and was delighted to hear a gobbler respond a couple hundred yards away. The next time I called, it responded about half that distance away. In minutes I saw the gobbler amble toward me and reached for my caller. “Why call?” I thought. Sure enough, the long beard came steadily along and in about five more minutes, I took the shot.
Realtree Really Works
As the turkeys worked toward me, I noticed another gobbler, and then another, until I realized that this was a flock of gobblers, probably jakes. This late in the season, any legal turkey would suffice, especially if taken by a crossbow. When the birds dipped into the ravine between our ridges, I turned slightly for the best shooting position.
When the first gobbler appeared, it seemed as if they would feed past me at about 20 yards. I tried to pick out openings through which I could put an arrow. I could hear scratching and knew the birds were close, yet concentrated on the route the first turkey seemed to be taking. Suddenly, a large red head appeared just five yards away. Like a submarine periscope, its head and neck gradually rose to search for the hen that had been calling. This was the perfect shot with a crossbow, yet I dared not move with the tom at full alert and so close.
In the next few seconds, six more gobblers came up the hill at point-blank range and searched the flat for any sign of feathered brethren or sisterhood. My heart was pounding and I dared not breath hard for fear of being noticed. As the spring gobbler staredown continued, I thanked Bill Jordan for his great camouflage and I chastised myself for not being ready. Last fall, I watched a patch of sorghum in South Dakota waiting for a mule deer to pass by when I heard the fodder rustling in front of me. The crop was too short to hide a deer, yet the sound was within 20 yards. I should have had my crossbow glued to the spot, but instead sat fully alert. Suddenly, just like that gobbler popping over the hill, a coyote stepped from the cover and stopped. Had I been doing my job as a hunter and had my sight on the spot of the sound, the arrow would have been through it in an instant. Instead, I had to lower my head and move the bow slightly, enough movement for the coyote to whirl and escape.
Patience Pays in Bowhunting
I believe the first tom to emerge was a longbeard. Eventually, it lowered its guard and began to feed back into the ravine. Two other gobblers fed toward my left and I allowed the first one to disappear before sighting on the last bird. It caught the slight movement and pucked, yet stood erect with its back full exposed. In an instant, I put the red dot on the center of feathers and released.
The 2-inch diameter 3-blade Wac-em expandable broadhead flipped the gobbler upside down and it flopped a few times and then lay still in the honeysuckle. I could hardly believe my good luck.
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