Pennsylvania Game News - May 2017 - 44

directly below the gobbler.
I decided to make a most unorthodox
setup, and sit with my back to the gobbler.
I knew that the thick brush surrounding
me would not give any shooting lanes,
so there was no point in facing up the
mountain.
My only chance was if the gobbler flew
down from his roost, and went directly to
the decoy to my left, or down the logging
road to my right.
For the next 45 minutes this bird displayed all the tendencies of a love-sick
gobbler, as he vigorously gobbled at every
sound on the mountain.
While I prefer not to call to a bird in
the roost, as the minutes dragged by, it
became clear he'd need some motivation
to leave his branch.
I scratched out a few yelps and the
procession of double-gobbles confirmed
that he was interested in making my
acquaintance. When he went silent, I
knew he had committed.
The only question now was whether he
would come directly to the decoy, or walk
down the logging road.
My instincts said that he would use the
logging road, as even the most-excited
gobbler will still approach cautiously. I
shifted my seat against the boulders, and
trained my shotgun to the right.
As the minutes ticked by without a
sound, doubts began to enter my mind.
Had he flown directly to the decoy in
the landing zone? I could just picture him
strutting around the decoy, while I was
facing the other direction. Eventually, it
got the best of me and I slowly turned my
head to check the decoy.
He wasn't there.
I let out a breath of relief and turned
my head back to the right, just in time to
watch him strut through the shooting lane
my gun was still trained on and walk down
44

the logging road, less than 20 yards away.
I needed to move my head about five
more inches to put my cheek back down
on the stock.
About this time, the gobbler decided
there was something unnatural about the
clump of camouflage squeezed up against
a boulder. He broke strut and turned.
I fired two shots as he ran down the
logging road.
Unfazed, he spread his wings and
glided down the valley.
It's hard to explain the frustration that
followed spending almost an hour in close
quarters with a gobbler, every second full
of tension, only to miss him when was
practically on my lap.
The fact I had promised myself this
would be my last day of the season only
added to the agony.
I owed it to the gobbler to make sure
both misses were clean. He had flown over
the clearcut and into a stretch of old timber
approximately 200 yards below me. I
found a trail that led downhill through the
cut and did a quick grid search, without
finding any evidence he'd been hit.
I then sat back against a tree to wallow
in my disappointment.
It wasn't more than about 15 minutes
later when I heard a gobble in the far
southern end of the timber.
I sat and listened for a few minutes to
make sure my still-ringing ears weren't
playing tricks on me.
I pulled out my box call, and halfheartedly gave a yelp - only to get an
immediate response.
A few minutes later, the same sequence
occurred. But this time, he answered back
much closer.
Could this really be happening?
Not five minutes later, I saw his head
Pennsylvania Game News - May 2017

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