Pennsylvania Game News - April 2019 - 38

He gobbled plenty and sounded mature.
All I had to do was sit down and give
him a few minutes. He'd fly down, and
my homemade scratch-box call would
reel him in on the skidder path.
I watched him set his wings and glide
to the ground, then started talking turkey.
First, I made a hen's muffled tree call.
No response - which isn't unusual with
the gobbler already on the ground.
I waited 30 seconds and followed up
with a clear, but quiet, hen yelp.
Again, no response.
I couldn't see the ground where he'd
landed, and began to wonder if he already
had hen company. If they were there, or
coming from the slope below, my hunt
might be harder than I'd thought.
After five minutes of silence, he let out
a booming gobble. He already had closed
most of the distance.
The skidder trail was to my left, but he
wasn't on it. Instead, he was just about to
enter the corner of the field to my right.
My setup would have been perfect -
except for the fact that part of the field was
screened by a thick patch of blackberry
bushes, and he wasted no time getting to
that spot.
He was in range, but a shot was impossible.
I purred softly, sparingly, and he
gobbled back. If he'd move just 10 feet
right or left, he'd be mine.
The gobbler strutted and fanned out,
but never moved more than a foot or two.
I couldn't see him clearly through the
brush. Mostly he just stood there waiting,
statue-like.
Five minutes later, two other birds
entered the field. "Here come his girls,"
I thought.
Things were looking up.
When they got close to him, he stepped
forward and opened his wings, then began
38

beating them and kicking at the other
birds, pushing them off about 20 feet from
his little strut zone.
I was wondering what had happened
when I picked out a beard and realized
these other birds were jakes and the gobbler was making sure they knew who
was boss.
The jakes headed my way, entering the
woods 10 feet away. Wanting the mature
gobbler, I passed up the slam-dunk shot.
The boss held his spot for another 20
minutes, then left for the woods the way
he came.
I never had a clear shot or saw his
beard.
He gobbled once from inside the
woods, but the calls I offered didn't bring
him back.
A few minutes later, I spotted another
turkey coming across the field. His red
head suggested he was a subdominant
2-year-old.
But when he stepped into the woods
only 6 feet from me, I decided his short
beard - while twice the length of the
jakes', wasn't enough for me.
I stayed for a couple of hours, but nothing gobbled, nothing yelped, and nothing
entered the field.
That was OK. It was only Monday, the
season was young and I didn't spook any
birds. The boss would be there tomorrow.
The next morning, I was back, hoping
to spot that gobbler in the treetops again.
I did, and I found my spot, then
watched him move around on the limb
and stretch his neck to inspect his domain.
He sounded off.
"Yep, that's him," I thought.
This time I 'd set up closer to the corner
of the field - so those blackberry bushes
weren't in the way - and faced the spot
where he'd strutted yesterday.
I'd shoot him as he made his way to
Pennsylvania Game News - April 2019

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