Pennsylvania Game News - May 2022 - 13

cut the distance until he was directly
below us in the ravine.
Then he turned stubborn.
I talked turkey with him for more than
a half-hour, offering quiet clucks and
purrs, then soft yelps. He was no more
than 30 yards away, but hidden by the
steep ravine. Brian and I could almost
feel the air vibrate when he gobbled.
When soft calling didn't bring him
in, I yelped more insistently, going from
fighting purrs - which can work like
magic - to a gobbler yelp. A hen investigated,
approaching to 10 yards, but
not the gobbler. He wasn't interested in
either a battle with a rival or a blind date.
With the hen so close I quit calling,
at least until she rejoined that out-ofsight
tom, then I hit my call again. He
talked back for another 20 minutes but
still came no closer, then went silent.
An hour's worth of trying to change that
did nothing.
DOCTOR'S ORDERS
I had done everything right: found
a great property, gained permission to
be on it, discovered the hidden field,
predicted where the birds would roost,
heard a gobbler and brought him into
range.
Yet the lay of the land kept Brian from
even seeing the bird, let alone covering
its head with his shotgun bead.
With Brian resting, I returned alone
on Tuesday, but heard nothing, then
spent Wednesday walking and scouting.
Exploring a big patch of woods showed
three places where turkeys churned the
ground, raking for leftover acorns. It
looked like the work of a big fall flock.
A muddy gobbler track said two things:
birds were spending time there and the
gobblers and hens were mixed together.
That meant it would be difficult to get
MAY 2022
any Romeo to leave his Juliet.
But I would try.
Not right away, though. A doctor
appointment prevented me from hunting
Thursday morning. But my doc
- a turkey hunter - suggested I hunt
afternoons or evenings, now that we'd
reached the point of the season when
all-day hunting was open.
That wasn't something I'd ever tried,
but that evening was as good a time as
any, on the hill with all those turkey
scratchings.
After an early supper, I slowly and
quietly eased into the woods on an old
trail near some fields, figuring to get
ahead of any birds that might roost along
one of the field edges. The trail gradually
bent right, away from the fields, leading
to a small rise with a shallow gully on
the right. If a gobbler was below me, he
ought to come up the rise in front of me.
If any birds thinking of roosting on the
field edges responded to my calls, they'd
come from my left. Both approaches
offered easy shots.
I sat down at 6:30, remaining silent for
10 minutes before offering a few quiet
purrs and clucks. I waited 10 more minutes,
called again, let another 10 minutes
go by and added a few soft yelps to my
sequence. The clock ticked past 7 o'clock.
At about 7:05, I yelped again, planning
to add some flock talk by calling
at different pitches and cadences, but a
Gobble-Gobble-Gobble! interrupted me.
That bird was below me, more than 100
yards away. I let 30 seconds pass and gave
a soft yelp. His immediate reply told me
he was closing the distance.
I saw him strutting 80 yards away. But
instead of coming through open woods
on the small rise in front of me, he was
angling to my right. His every step made
the angle more extreme, and my shot was
13
Pennsylvania Game News - May 2022

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