I took leave and went turkey hunting again yesterday. I really pushed my body hard. I was on post by 5:30 and in the woods before 6 AM and hunted until 2 PM or so.

I set up several times on a huge gobbler. For those who don't hunt, what I mean when I say "set up" is that I sit down against a large hardwood or pine tree, depending on what is available. I prefer hardwoods, because the bark doesn't catch in my hair! I flip down the foam seat sewn into the back inside of my turkey vest and normally held up with Velcro, and sit on that. To keep me from sliding when I am sitting on a hill, as I did several times yesterday, I stick a straight rough stick no more than two inches in diameter and under the front edge of my cushion. (A smooth stick would roll.) Then I make sure my face mask is in place and, if I have time, I shut my eyes and squirt a puff of bug juice around my head and shoulders, and on the back of my hands. Then I put my shotgun in the most comfortable position I can, identify firing holes, most likely approaches, and ranges (I can shoot a gobbler out to about 40 yards).

Anyway, I saw this gobbler only once. He wouldn't come in any closer than about 100 yards, no matter what I used to call, or what calls I made. He was traveling with a large flock of hens (Merriam Webster calls them a "gaggle" like geese, but everybody I know says "flock"). I figure there were three reasons he might not have come in:

1. He wanted to stay close enough to the flock to be sure no other gobbler stole them away.

2. He wasn't giving up what he had for one hen.

3. There was a small ditch between us, but in years past, I have seen gobblers fly across wide creeks to get to a hen, so I know if they are hot enough, they will do what it takes to get to her.

I had a hen come in beside me on my right. I didn't dare look for fear she would putt (the turkey warning sound) and that would be that. Maybe she did, though it didn't sound like putts I have heard before. She started out yelping as she moved toward me, then she purred, then she made a sound I have never heard. It was similar to the sound gobblers make when they are drumming, but it didn't act like a gobbler, otherwise. And it didn't come to me, it went to the gobbler that had gobbled at me. It was like a cluck followed by a hum or whine. She (he?) did that at least a dozen times. She finally moved off, toward the gobbler, which might be the real reason he didn't come to me.

When I accepted that the gobbler was gone and not coming in, I moved back up to high ground and paralleled his movement down the bottom. I stopped every hundred yards or so and called, but he seldom answered. Each time he did, I dropped off in the bottom and set up on him again.

That was a bunch of times. I lost count of the times I climbed out of that bottom. I usually try to angle up steep hills, which takes longer but is easier on the body. However, yesterday I was chasing that gobbler. He was moving with his flock, leaving his mark in the torn up ground where he and his flock searched for food.

All day I never thought to gobble, as a hunter friend suggested I might have done. He also said I could have tried using a loud fighting purr. Didn't think of that either. Also didn't think to use the fall tactic of running at the flock to disperse it, then calling the gobbler in to me. And what fun it would have been!

I carefully picked through timber and tiptoed across black water streams edged with thick foliage. I flushed a quail beside a rough, rutted road. Saw a stinging nettle--prefer mine in capsules (it's great for allergies).

The terrain was beautiful. Rolling hillsides, and green, so much green--and a rough stone artifact that looked like a hollowed out summer squash.

As for me, my ankle held up well. I was especially careful when traveling up or downhill, because both required me to set my foot down at an angle. I broke an acrylic nail--oh well!

About noon, I stopped, drank a little water, and ate a protein bar. After I ate I called and set up a couple more times, still couldn't get the gobbler to come in, and finally called it a day.

Went up one last hill, trekked through lob lollies and fire ants, got to the car, ditched my gear, unloaded my shotgun, and headed out. On the way home, stopped for a welcome cold drink, and reflected that although I still didn't get my gobbler, I had a great time.

Wonderful.