I have debated back and forth whether or not to share this hunting story. While the end result was a success, it is a story I’m not particularly fond of but I’ll share it anyway.
My first attempt could have been classified a success but I walked out of the woods empty handed that day. Long story short, I had managed to get myself tangled up in some mountain laurels trying to inch closer to the stubborn bird. I was shotgun range the entire time but just could not get a clear shot. He grew tired of waiting on “the bird in the bush” and I watched him walk away. The second attempt I found myself on the side of a ridge with him just on the other side. All I needed was for him to poke his head up at any time. Well, of course he never did, he wanted me to once again come to him. Damn this bird and his traditional courtship rituals! For the sake of the story, he’ll be dubbed as “OG” or “Old Gobbler” from here on out.
It was the morning of April 16th, 2015 and it was my third attempt of trying to kill this particular public land bird. My boots creaked as I walked on the soggy forest floor from the previous night’s downpour. I was in the same general area as I had tried to work the bird the previous two hunts. Once I reached the power line right-of-way, I owl hooted hoping to pin point a location. GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE! Awesome! I immediately rushed closer to his location which happened to be the location of our last encounter. As I was slowly traversing up the ridge; I heard the familiar sounds of spitting and drumming. Now mind you, it was still a bit dark at this point but just starting to get light. I immediately looked up and saw this gobbler in full strut (butt facing me) silhouetted against the sky. I’ve never witnessed this while a bird was on the roost and thought to myself, “This just might work out.” My pace slowed and my left hand became my third leg as I meticulously inched my way closer to the bird on the uneven ground. I got to approximately fifty yards and OG was still in full strut, butt still facing me, and still spitting and drumming. Remembering my previous two failed attempts, I tried gaining even more ground until I heard several clucks. I knew it wasn’t the gobbler since he was facing the other way and then I saw her; a hen perched high to my right. I was lucky because she didn’t see me as I had feared. She was becoming very antsy and looking around for a landing strip. Luckily, I noticed another hen was roosted even further to my right; I very well could have spooked the hens sending OG to boast a 3-0 record. So I’m staring at this gobbler (still full strut) and two hens. My eyes wandered back and forth searching for more hens but I could not find anymore. I wasn’t happy that I was in plain view of OG’s lady friends. I slowly sank back a couple of yards down the ridge until I had trees blocking me from the views of both hens but I was still in sight of OG.
Ten minutes passed and OG decided it was time to fly down. He flew down and started making his way to the right towards the roosted hens. Knowing that my window of opportunity may be closing, I clicked off my safety, and placed the bead on his head/neck region, and squeezed the trigger. He flapped a wing and I could have sworn I saw him beginning to strut. My eyes were more than likely playing tricks on me but just the thought was a slap in the face! I sprang up, fanny pack still attached at my waist, and shot again. Same thing, he showed signs of being hit but not in the “bird on the ground, wing flapping” way that I’m normally accustomed to. After the second shot, my left hand unbuckled my fanny pack and it falls to the ground as I started running towards the bird. He was on a fast paced walk towards the top of the ridge and I was running as fast as I could up the side of the ridge. He’s walking and I’m running but he’s still leaving me behind. I knew he was hurt but he still had some life in him! Well, I had finally gained what I thought was enough distance to finish this whole ordeal and fired off another round, my final round. Yeah, I bet you’re wondering why I was only carrying three shells, huh? Well, this year I decided I would just keep the three rounds in my gun and not carry extras. I had never needed to shoot three times to kill a turkey before. Hell, I hardly ever needed a second shot. “I don’t need to be hunting if it takes more than three shells to kill a bird”, what a stupid idea! Maybe I shouldn’t be hunting because three spent shells were scattered on that ridge-side.
No more shells and a determined gobbler that just would not die. The chase resumed and I quickly learned the third shot hardly affected OG’s speed. I got to the top of the ridge and just stopped. I was exhausted and physically could not go any further! My heart was beating so fast and so hard that I could hear it in my thoughts. I had a taste of blood in my mouth more than likely from the beating my lungs had just taken. Much to my astonishment, OG turned around and was coming directly at me! I was motionless for the most part besides my rapid rising and falling chest. This was definitely not the behavior of a typical wild turkey. I cursed myself thinking if I had at least one more shell that I could end this whole debacle. He stopped approximately ten yards away and stood by a tree. It seemed like a million thoughts were racing through my head as I sprinted toward the beast. Thoughts of hitting him on the head with my gun or grabbing his neck and choking him seemed to dominate my brain. I chose the latter and with my arm extended and fingers inches away from his neck, he took off and flew into a nearby tree about 25 yards away. Thank God this occurred because he would have beaten the shit out of me and I wouldn’t have let go either! For the meantime, this had worked out for the both of us.
I don’t know if another hunter had witnessed this (I sure hope not) but I bet they were laughing their ass off if they had. So at this point I’m lying on the ground, still catching my breath, as OG was resting on a branch 25-30 feet high. Every so often I would sit up to check on him but I mostly only cared to catch my breath at this point. When I would check on him with my binos, I noticed his right foot was slipping on the angled limb on which it was resting. I thought that he very well might just die and fall out of the tree. Well, thirty minutes had passed and this vision I had was not coming true. By the way, this nightmare that I was living in had all occurred before 7:15AM, just an hour after daylight. It started to rain and I thought this would keep him perched in the tree longer. I ultimately decided to make the 40 minute trip back home for more shells. I called my dad to fill him in on the way. The one store I had in mind of making my trip shorter was not open when I hurriedly drove past. I got home, grabbed a box of shells and my chainsaw. Knowing my luck, if OG was still there and I was lucky enough to get a forth shot, the old bastard would die stuck in the tree. I take pride in knowing I was thinking ahead at this point. Another forty minutes later, I pulled back onto the side of the road where I was previously parked and took off into the woods with a loaded gun and heavy pockets. This time I had enough shells!
I got back to the top of the ridge and came upon the dilapidated homemade tree stand that someone’s grandfather had probably built. This was my marker telling me I was getting close. I found the matted down leaves where I had laid to regain my energy and I began looking for OG. I quickly recognized the tree he had been in but he was no longer there. Maybe he died and fell to the ground or maybe he flew off to another tree. I slowly made my way down the side of the ridge looking for a black blob within the mountain laurel. Well, I found the black blob but he wasn’t dead. OG was actually sitting on the ground with his head down. Again, a turkey with properly functioning senses should have seen or heard me coming down the side of the hill; I don’t care how quiet I was. He was hurt badly and on his way out I believe. I was probably 35 yards away when I first spotted him but I closed the distance to 20 just to be sure. I quickly snapped a photo with my phone because I knew no one would believe this story. I sat on my butt with my gun propped on my knees and I delivered the fourth and final blow. Honestly, one would have thought that he would have fell over dead on the spot at this point. Not this tough old clucker. He flipped down the hillside and I was quick on his heels. He was flapping his wings and flipping down the hill all the while clucking as his body hit the ground. I caught up with him and applied a little pressure to his head with my boot to finish him off for good. My first call is always to my dad and this day was no exception. I think he had doubts that I would meet back up with this bird. Hell, I did too but it all worked out.
I feel bad that this happened and it could have been prevented for the most part. I did discover that my rear sight had gotten moved somehow. Possibly while on the first hunt when I was entangled in the laurels, I don’t know. It’s the type that has three slots in which it can be moved. Normally, it sits on the far right side. It was on the left that day. It also looked as if it had been bent upward affecting how fine a bead I should hold while aiming. An hour at the range and some superglue has now remedied this issue. My gun shoots such a tight group and coupled with the movement of my sight, I suspect only a few BB’s were hitting OG on each shot. I only pulled five BBs from his breast. Important lessons were learned that day and the “three shell only” policy had run its course in the first week of the season. People have told me this is the best hunting story they’ve ever heard. I can understand its entertainment value but those 2.5 hours are just a bad memory for me. Never the less, I got my bird and I’m working on filling my other two tags. Hopefully those will be shorter stories.
He was 19.6 lbs with an 11" beard and 7/8" spurs.
I don't know why but I have a goal of killing a turkey every year as close as I can to my daughter's bday. So far it's working out.
My first attempt could have been classified a success but I walked out of the woods empty handed that day. Long story short, I had managed to get myself tangled up in some mountain laurels trying to inch closer to the stubborn bird. I was shotgun range the entire time but just could not get a clear shot. He grew tired of waiting on “the bird in the bush” and I watched him walk away. The second attempt I found myself on the side of a ridge with him just on the other side. All I needed was for him to poke his head up at any time. Well, of course he never did, he wanted me to once again come to him. Damn this bird and his traditional courtship rituals! For the sake of the story, he’ll be dubbed as “OG” or “Old Gobbler” from here on out.
It was the morning of April 16th, 2015 and it was my third attempt of trying to kill this particular public land bird. My boots creaked as I walked on the soggy forest floor from the previous night’s downpour. I was in the same general area as I had tried to work the bird the previous two hunts. Once I reached the power line right-of-way, I owl hooted hoping to pin point a location. GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE! Awesome! I immediately rushed closer to his location which happened to be the location of our last encounter. As I was slowly traversing up the ridge; I heard the familiar sounds of spitting and drumming. Now mind you, it was still a bit dark at this point but just starting to get light. I immediately looked up and saw this gobbler in full strut (butt facing me) silhouetted against the sky. I’ve never witnessed this while a bird was on the roost and thought to myself, “This just might work out.” My pace slowed and my left hand became my third leg as I meticulously inched my way closer to the bird on the uneven ground. I got to approximately fifty yards and OG was still in full strut, butt still facing me, and still spitting and drumming. Remembering my previous two failed attempts, I tried gaining even more ground until I heard several clucks. I knew it wasn’t the gobbler since he was facing the other way and then I saw her; a hen perched high to my right. I was lucky because she didn’t see me as I had feared. She was becoming very antsy and looking around for a landing strip. Luckily, I noticed another hen was roosted even further to my right; I very well could have spooked the hens sending OG to boast a 3-0 record. So I’m staring at this gobbler (still full strut) and two hens. My eyes wandered back and forth searching for more hens but I could not find anymore. I wasn’t happy that I was in plain view of OG’s lady friends. I slowly sank back a couple of yards down the ridge until I had trees blocking me from the views of both hens but I was still in sight of OG.
Ten minutes passed and OG decided it was time to fly down. He flew down and started making his way to the right towards the roosted hens. Knowing that my window of opportunity may be closing, I clicked off my safety, and placed the bead on his head/neck region, and squeezed the trigger. He flapped a wing and I could have sworn I saw him beginning to strut. My eyes were more than likely playing tricks on me but just the thought was a slap in the face! I sprang up, fanny pack still attached at my waist, and shot again. Same thing, he showed signs of being hit but not in the “bird on the ground, wing flapping” way that I’m normally accustomed to. After the second shot, my left hand unbuckled my fanny pack and it falls to the ground as I started running towards the bird. He was on a fast paced walk towards the top of the ridge and I was running as fast as I could up the side of the ridge. He’s walking and I’m running but he’s still leaving me behind. I knew he was hurt but he still had some life in him! Well, I had finally gained what I thought was enough distance to finish this whole ordeal and fired off another round, my final round. Yeah, I bet you’re wondering why I was only carrying three shells, huh? Well, this year I decided I would just keep the three rounds in my gun and not carry extras. I had never needed to shoot three times to kill a turkey before. Hell, I hardly ever needed a second shot. “I don’t need to be hunting if it takes more than three shells to kill a bird”, what a stupid idea! Maybe I shouldn’t be hunting because three spent shells were scattered on that ridge-side.
No more shells and a determined gobbler that just would not die. The chase resumed and I quickly learned the third shot hardly affected OG’s speed. I got to the top of the ridge and just stopped. I was exhausted and physically could not go any further! My heart was beating so fast and so hard that I could hear it in my thoughts. I had a taste of blood in my mouth more than likely from the beating my lungs had just taken. Much to my astonishment, OG turned around and was coming directly at me! I was motionless for the most part besides my rapid rising and falling chest. This was definitely not the behavior of a typical wild turkey. I cursed myself thinking if I had at least one more shell that I could end this whole debacle. He stopped approximately ten yards away and stood by a tree. It seemed like a million thoughts were racing through my head as I sprinted toward the beast. Thoughts of hitting him on the head with my gun or grabbing his neck and choking him seemed to dominate my brain. I chose the latter and with my arm extended and fingers inches away from his neck, he took off and flew into a nearby tree about 25 yards away. Thank God this occurred because he would have beaten the shit out of me and I wouldn’t have let go either! For the meantime, this had worked out for the both of us.
I don’t know if another hunter had witnessed this (I sure hope not) but I bet they were laughing their ass off if they had. So at this point I’m lying on the ground, still catching my breath, as OG was resting on a branch 25-30 feet high. Every so often I would sit up to check on him but I mostly only cared to catch my breath at this point. When I would check on him with my binos, I noticed his right foot was slipping on the angled limb on which it was resting. I thought that he very well might just die and fall out of the tree. Well, thirty minutes had passed and this vision I had was not coming true. By the way, this nightmare that I was living in had all occurred before 7:15AM, just an hour after daylight. It started to rain and I thought this would keep him perched in the tree longer. I ultimately decided to make the 40 minute trip back home for more shells. I called my dad to fill him in on the way. The one store I had in mind of making my trip shorter was not open when I hurriedly drove past. I got home, grabbed a box of shells and my chainsaw. Knowing my luck, if OG was still there and I was lucky enough to get a forth shot, the old bastard would die stuck in the tree. I take pride in knowing I was thinking ahead at this point. Another forty minutes later, I pulled back onto the side of the road where I was previously parked and took off into the woods with a loaded gun and heavy pockets. This time I had enough shells!
I got back to the top of the ridge and came upon the dilapidated homemade tree stand that someone’s grandfather had probably built. This was my marker telling me I was getting close. I found the matted down leaves where I had laid to regain my energy and I began looking for OG. I quickly recognized the tree he had been in but he was no longer there. Maybe he died and fell to the ground or maybe he flew off to another tree. I slowly made my way down the side of the ridge looking for a black blob within the mountain laurel. Well, I found the black blob but he wasn’t dead. OG was actually sitting on the ground with his head down. Again, a turkey with properly functioning senses should have seen or heard me coming down the side of the hill; I don’t care how quiet I was. He was hurt badly and on his way out I believe. I was probably 35 yards away when I first spotted him but I closed the distance to 20 just to be sure. I quickly snapped a photo with my phone because I knew no one would believe this story. I sat on my butt with my gun propped on my knees and I delivered the fourth and final blow. Honestly, one would have thought that he would have fell over dead on the spot at this point. Not this tough old clucker. He flipped down the hillside and I was quick on his heels. He was flapping his wings and flipping down the hill all the while clucking as his body hit the ground. I caught up with him and applied a little pressure to his head with my boot to finish him off for good. My first call is always to my dad and this day was no exception. I think he had doubts that I would meet back up with this bird. Hell, I did too but it all worked out.
I feel bad that this happened and it could have been prevented for the most part. I did discover that my rear sight had gotten moved somehow. Possibly while on the first hunt when I was entangled in the laurels, I don’t know. It’s the type that has three slots in which it can be moved. Normally, it sits on the far right side. It was on the left that day. It also looked as if it had been bent upward affecting how fine a bead I should hold while aiming. An hour at the range and some superglue has now remedied this issue. My gun shoots such a tight group and coupled with the movement of my sight, I suspect only a few BB’s were hitting OG on each shot. I only pulled five BBs from his breast. Important lessons were learned that day and the “three shell only” policy had run its course in the first week of the season. People have told me this is the best hunting story they’ve ever heard. I can understand its entertainment value but those 2.5 hours are just a bad memory for me. Never the less, I got my bird and I’m working on filling my other two tags. Hopefully those will be shorter stories.
He was 19.6 lbs with an 11" beard and 7/8" spurs.
I don't know why but I have a goal of killing a turkey every year as close as I can to my daughter's bday. So far it's working out.
