A lesson in turkey hunting from an expert...The old boss bird himself.

by: Scott Carroll

You ever get that feeling when the alarm goes off at 4:00 a.m., Why bother? Why go and have the same thing happen that has happened every morning this year. You coming home empty handed and have your feelings hurt yet again, because you can’t seem to close the deal on that old boss bird. It starts out different every time but always ends the same. Then you think, “Well I’m not going to kill him here in bed”. So, off you go, hoping that today will be different.

Well I had that happen to me too just the other day. After years of hearing stories of this old tom that my Archery Adventures partner Brad Frost and his brothers had been hunting, I began to have a few stories myself. Unfortunately, mine were turning out much the same. We could always hear the bird gobble from the roost, hear him hit the ground and gobble well into the morning and some times even call him in as close as 45 yards, but always have some thing just blocking our view for a clean killing shot. One time Brad and his brother Jarred even had him as close as 20 yards but the crazy bird left the hardwood ridge he was coming in on. Instead circled around behind them and in doing so walked right through a clear cut head high to a man, spotting them at 20 yards as they turned for a shot and off he went. This bird just did things a turkey shouldn’t do. I guess that’s why he has lived this long. We know for a fact that he is at least 4 years old. Brad has been hunting him for 3 year and this is my first year.

You could always count on him being in 1 of three bottoms that formed a horse shoe and today was no different. I could tell this morning was going to be much windier than all the other mornings so far. Normally I hate hunting on windy days but the calm days of the past had not brought me any success. So, I was hoping today might be different. As daylight got closer all was silent. I waited at the head of all three bottoms hoping to hear him fire off. My plan today was to get inside 100 yards even if it meant bumping him off his roost. However after not hearing any gobbling I decided to hunt the bottom to my right, a bottom we called Dog Hollow. Well, as luck would have it he hammered off in the direction I was heading. It was time to move and move fast. Again, as luck would have it I had a silent entry right to the turkey due to a fresh cut fire break. As I walked he gobbled just enough to let me know his location. I now began to slow down and stopped just as the fire break broke back to the right and I lost all my cover. I figure this would be a good spot to wait and listen. I knew he was close but it wasn’t until he gobble one more time that I realized just how close. I was right on top of him. I slowly began to sink to the ground. Daylight was just breaking and still to black to see off into the bottom where he was roosted, yet light enough for him to see me along the edge, should I take another step. So, I waited. He gobbled. Now I have a line on him. I have not made a sound, no calls, nothing. He has no idea I’m here. Slowly, I begin to scan the tree tops in front of me, which are nearly eye level due to the steep ridge in which I’m sitting. There he is a black blob some 60 yards away. I pull out my binoculars to make sure. Yep, that’s him man what a rope he has hanging down, even from this distance I can tell it is over 10 inches. He is searching the ground below he looks as though he is ready to pitch down. I must let him know I am here but I will not call much. Experience with this bird has taught me he will stay put and gobble all morning long until he pulls in a hen if you continue to call to him. I have heard him gobble for many mornings and enjoyed every one but today it was about ending this game. I wanted to put my hands on him. We all wanted to see him up close. How big was he, how long are his spurs and what is the length of the beard on this bird that had caused us so much frustration? Finally, I decide I will give him a couple a fly downs with my hat and one short and sweet series of yelps on my mouth call. I can tell from his reaction that he heard it and he liked it. He is now strutting on the limb back and forth. I must now take my vest off in case I have to crawl to the edge of the fire break to make my shot. Just as free my self from my vest I hear him pitch down. Which way did he fly? He headed my way. He couldn’t be more than 40 yards away. I can’t see him but I can hear him walking in the dry leaves. I slowly raise the Remington 20 gauge my dad was so generous enough to let me borrow. (A bow wasn’t going to kill this bird.) I’m following only the sound of his steps as he moves from right to my left, I only hope I can see him as he walks along the steep ledge down in front of me. I stretch my neck as high as I can as I struggle to see over the edge. Oh, there he is, he just crossed behind that pine tree. Is he in range? As I raise my head off the gun to check the distance I can tell he is and it’s now or never. I squeeze the trigger and down goes one of the most prized animals I have ever taken. After we put the tape to him he sported an 11 ¼” beard, 1 3/8” spurs but only weighted in at 18 pounds. Price you pay for love, I guess.

It has truly been a team effort. We all played apart in the taking of this wonderful bird. I was the one fortunate enough to pull the trigger on him but if it wasn’t for the constant updates from Brad and his brothers this day my have never came. We were all at one or more times educated by the master himself. He was a great teacher and we will remember him forever.