As I drove in to one of my favorite hunting spots, I was full of anticipation. I had been watching a long beard work the field for days. I felt confident of my plan to end the cat and mouse game we had been playing. He normally entered the field in the far corner and followed the wood line down to a small pond where they would bathe and drink in the heat of the day. I planned on ambushing them on there way there. He had a flock of anywhere from 10 to 15 hens with him each time I had seen him. Which, as any hunter knows makes him a tough bird to work.

I prepared my spot under the cover of darkness, slipping into the field's edge to place a hen and jake decoy. Clearing the leaves under my tree as to not make a sound when clutch time arrived. I moved some brush in front of me to cover any slight movements that might have to be made. Surveying my setup, I hoped my plan would come together. Sitting back, I got quiet as daylight entered the sky line. I began to hear them fire off in the distance. He was deep in the wood line to my far right. Roosted just where I had hoped There were a couple other birds I could hear gobbling at the edge of another field I had permission to hunt. I took note of their location in case this plan didn't work and I had to run and gun that afternoon.

I counted off the minutes to fly down. After hearing a couple of his girlfriends hit the ground, I flew my hen and jake into the field with wing beats and cackles on my Hunters Specialties diaphragm. I shook my head at the sound of 13 hens flying down to accompany him on his daily routine. It's a hard task to take a turkey with a couple of  ladies let alone 13, but I felt confident in my plan nonetheless.

The field began to fill up with rays of sunshine as I saw the first hens emerging from the tree line. They were about 100 yards away in the corner. As the thirteen blue heads emerged, I thought to myself: I should have gotten more comfortable, but it was too late by then. Finally, I saw him in all his glory step out into the field strutting like he owned the place. Honestly, in his mind he did. Turkeys always have the upper hand. They have the best eyesight of anything I have ever hunted and at that moment I had 28 eyes to catch the slightest movement.

They fed in the corner for awhile before filtering out into the field. I was beginning to wonder if they would ever turn toward the pond and when the lead hen started arguing with another hen about pecking order, I saw my chance. She yelped three times at the other hen and I mocked her perfectly. I saw the alarm in her face as she focused on my hen decoy. The tom who had settled into feeding also took notice of the new arrivals to the field and began to display again. After staring the decoy down, the boss lady started in again and I copied her as best as I could with a slightly more aggravated tone. She turned and began to slowly filter my way with her group in tow. My legs were really beginning to cramp now and I glanced at the sun, curious how long I had been there. That's the thing about games like this: they can last mere seconds or drag out hours. This one felt like the latter. As they came closer, I realized that the gobbler was staying at the back of the pack, meaning I would have hens all over me before he got into range. Soon the closest hen was about 40 yards out, but the tom was still at a distance of around 70. I was afraid one of the wary hens would bust me before he got into range. I settled down with my calling a bit as they began to surround the decoys. I could feel my opportunity slipping away if he didn't close the distance soon.

The lead hen was losing interest and turned her attention toward the pond. I couldn't blame her as the beads of sweat were running down into my eyes. She filtered down the edge beside me along with the rest of the hens and I noticed he was coming a little closer as he followed the hens towards the pond. I felt confident in my 1187 Remington, Undertaker choke, and Penetrator shells. I focused in on the red head in front of me and prayed for a few more steps. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken my attention away from the beady eyes in front of me. At the sound of a putt, I squeezed the trigger. He flopped once and started to get up as I sounded off my second shot. I put the safety on and took off after my prize afraid he would try to get up again. Once I got there I realized the shot was good and fell to my knees. Heart stopping to heart pounding action can exhaust a person. He was a beautiful, mature gobbler and I had worked hard for him. I relished the moment awhile before I began to make phone calls. I took pictures and sent them to my hunting buddies. He weighed 21 lbs with a ten and a half inch beard and one inch spurs. Carrying him out, I realized I had taken a beautiful, mature bird, on a beautiful spring day. Things don't get any better than that!