Larry A. Smail's Blog

I am smiling!

I moved farther south to hunt gobblers in the big hollow.  I needed to be at a specific area way prior to roost gobbling. So I was settled against a big old tree waiting by 5:00 A.M. to hear that first awakening racket. If any gobbler is present, at this spot ,the bird will be a hundred yards or less. I was disappointed with my strategy for I have taken two gobblers at this site acting in the same manner with an early approach. This morning there were not any toms present. This site is one of those areas where a hunter needs to be in place for trying to approach them once the gobbling starts will almost always result in a certain detection.

However, I thought I heard two non-enthusiastic  gobbles way down over the hill. Later, I would locate a gobbler way down the hill in a hollow. Maybe this was the bird.

I moved to higher ground after 6:00 A.M. and eventually heard a gobbler way across this deep hollow high on the next hill. I debated going after the bird. I was imagining he would get with hens soon and shut up. However, he kept gobbling. Off I went.

I was approximately seventy-five yards from my jeep when a gobble exploded behind me and to my right in a hollow. My plans abruptly changed and I moved in and began calling. This was, probably, the source of those two gobbles from earlier. The other gobbler across the hill was still hard at it. I heard hen talk with the hollow gobbler and I decided to go after the talkative bird and return later to this bird if need be. Maybe his hen would be gone later in the morning.

Up the road I went. I had to cross a bridge and headed diagonally towards the high-hill bird. I knew exactly where his last gobble was heard.

I was climbing the steep hill and was almost to an old logging road where I was going to set up and call. Didn’t work at all! The gobbler decided to move along this same road and I bumped into him at about twenty-five feet. Hens were cackling way down over the hill, but there were none with the gobbler.

Later, I returned to the first gobbler and failed to get any answers.  I circled this hollow to a right-a-way line and climbed it. Here I found a Box Turtle and tried to get a photo of it. That little bugger

Box Turtle

would not come back out of the shell. I laid down in the grass beside the turtle and fell asleep, but not a deep sleep. Almost an hour later and he still hadn’t come out. I glanced behind me and a hen was feeding in the grass, eventually, she spotted me and ran off. I climbed to the top of this hill and called to no avail. I returned and the turtle had not moved, but he was looking around. This allowed for some photos.

Oh yeah, I forgot this is turkey season.  I finally moved down slope and called and the hollow gobbler answered my yelps far off. I moved closer. This gobbler would only gobble occasionally. If he responded to my calling once he would not gobble until some time elapsed. I crept in farther and set down by a tree. I hadn’t been at this spot a minute when I could see a turkey moving some eighty yards or so out. The woods here is beautiful, but as fate would have it, there were a number of smaller trees between the turkeys and myself. This would be an issue soon.

I could see a feeding gobbler at times and sometimes a hen. I didn’t, at this time, identify the size of the bird, but hey were coming towards me. Suddenly to my right in a grassy opening popped up a strutting gobbler. My shotgun was pointed towards the other bird’s direction. He was about 42-43 estimated yards away. The Jake and hen emerged and were feeding between the tom and myself. They came closer and closer, but the gobbler just strutted for the most part. I had been able to level my shotgun towards the tom and I waited. As the two turkeys moved closer, the gobbler finally went out of strut and began moving, too.

The Jake spotted something about me and his suspicion became aroused. Maybe my glasses had a shine about them. He was now at about twenty yards. I was becoming concerned he would react and ruin this hunt. Luckily the adult tom moved closer and my sights were aligned. I waited for an opening and BOOM! The shot was thirty-eight steps. I prefer 35 yards or less.

  The long walk back was now the issue. It was getting hot and carrying a big bird can become a chore.

I stopped at the landowner and teased him about his denial of butchering the gobbler for me. He never has said yes to doing that feat.

The turkey had a nine inch beard and weighed just shy of twenty pounds. Both spurs were exactly one inch in length.

Bob Miller, my step-father, holding the gobbler.