Pennsylvania Game News - May 2017 - 13

My efforts to coax them 20 yards closer
failed. Eventually they drifted back the
way they came.
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At least now I knew where this gobbler
was roosting, but I couldn't come up with
a way to get above him.
The old way in would take me through
thick brush, with a network of skimpy
trails only a hen could find her way
through. Navigating that tangle would be
hopeless in the dark.
I needed to find another option.
I tried calling him downhill again. I
found a couple of dusting spots in the log
landings, so I tried hunting them, with and
without the decoy.
I tried setting up farther away. Some
days he gobbled; some days he didn't.
One day I even risked flushing him by
walking directly under the trees where he
normally roosted.
"Success!" I thought. "He didn't
flush!"
At daylight that double-crosser gobbled all right - 300 yards away over where
that hen had been on opening day.
The next day, he was back to his
normal roost.
Unable to approach him from below, I
hatched a new plan. I'd take my old way
in - except I'd start very early and climb to
the top of the hill, take a route that curled
around the thick brush and then, without
a flashlight, drop down to his regular
roost site. With a little luck, I'd be right
above him.
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With no trail to follow, I made plenty
of noise, but was sure to slow down as I
got near the roost area.
At 5:35, I quietly eased myself down
in front of a tree to wait for the sun to rise,
MAY 2017

and he gobbled less than 50 yards away.
He wasn't visible in the treetops, and
nothing in the treetops looked like any
other turkeys were there either.
Where were the others - the three hens
and the jake that had been keeping him
company? Could he be alone? Would this
be the day?
He started gobbling with gusto, hardly
even taking a breath between gobbles. As
close as I was, and as hot as he was, I was
afraid to offer him any call but the tiniest,
quietest tree yelp possible, and whispered
it to him at 5:45.
He gobbled right back, and followed it
with one thunderous rumble after another.
I waited 10 minutes and repeated
my soft call. He double-gobbled several
times, then flew down to my right, my
weak side as a right-handed shooter.
His landing spot was within range, and
in a small dip that prevented him from
seeing me twist to raise my shotgun.
His head popped up, obscured by a sapling. I waited for him to step away from it.
When he did, my finger tightened on
the trigger and the big butterball went
down.
That headstrong gobbler had taught me
several important lessons.
First, that staying with a gobbler, day
after day, can be a great path to a turkey
hunter's education, and to fill a tag.
I learned that, even in the bare hardwoods, a bird that sounds like he's in
the next ZIP code might be only a few
hundred yards away.
I also overcame my fear of getting
close to a roosted gobbler.
I discovered that the quietest tree calls
possible will get the gobbler's attention.
But the truly important lesson is that
even the most stubborn gobbler is vulnerable if he stays put when all his friends
and lovers leave.
13
Pennsylvania Game News - May 2017

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