I was looking forward to the upcoming turkey season with great anticipation. For weeks I had scouted my hunting areas, set up numerous hunting blinds and checked and double-checked my equipment. I was more than ready.
On opening morning I headed out at 5:00 a.m. Rain had been predicted, but so far so good, it remained dry. By 5:30 a.m. I had heard several birds gobbling, but they were far off. I continued calling but got no response. Unfortunately by 6:30 a.m. the rain started and continued off and on throughout the day. I stuck it out, but did not see a single bird.
The next morning I headed out by 4:45 a.m. Cool but comfortable, it was going to be a beautiful day. I headed to a different stand in the area where I had heard the gobbling coming from the previous day. I slipped in quietly and settled into my stand. It was totally silent until about 6:00 a.m. Then the birds started to gobble and shortly I could hear them flying down from the trees. I started to call and got several gobbles in response. Completely ready for some action I waited, but nothing appeared. I called again and again could hear gobbling but it had moved away from me. Again I called, but the responding gobbles seemed even further away. Based on the volume and location of the calls, I had a good idea of where the birds were.
I decided to take a slow, quiet walk toward that area. Wanting to travel light, I left everything at the blind except for my shotgun and a small box call. Slipping silently along the leaf-covered trail I was grateful for yesterday’s rain. I came to the bend in the trail leading out to an open field, which was where I had thought the calls were coming from. In the distance I could see two birds sparring with each other. Now what? I looked down the trail, 50 yards before I would have a clear shot. Normally it was a walk that would only take a couple of minutes, but I knew I would have to move very slowly. What were my chances of stalking close enough? I debated with myself. Did I just leave and come back early in the morning or try to get close enough? I did not want to spook the birds, maybe ending any chance for the next day. "I’ll never know, unless I try." I thought. I decided to give it a try.
Ever so slowly I started down the trail, taking small steps. Testing each bit of ground before I placed my entire weight on it. Tree roots, leaves, fallen branches, slippery muck and water littered the entire trail. What was I thinking to even attempt such a stalk? I kept edging forward, watching the birds, and freezing every time they looked in my direction. Several times I stepped down into the water, feeling my foot sink into the underlying muck until I reached the solid bottom. Many times I had to stop, one leg raised to take a step, and wait till the birds looked away. By now my hips and knees were screaming at me from the stress of my movements. I briefly thought I should just quit and leave, but then reasoned that since I was this far it didn’t matter whether I spooked the birds coming or going, so I opted to continue.
I had gone about twenty-five yards and luckily, the birds still did not know I was there, and now I could count at least six. I continued up the trail when one bird took off at a run and the rest followed. I could not help but think I had blown my chance, but then they stopped after about ten yards. I kept going forward and the birds slowly picked their way down the edge of the field. I was almost there; only ten feet more before I reached an old ground blind left from last year’s deer season. The only problem was that those ten feet were in a fairly open area, yet offered no chance for a shot. I went to take another step and my foot wouldn’t move. Looking down I notice that as my foot sank into the muck an old strand of barbed wire had caught on my ankle. I slowly reached down and untangled the wire. Then, un-noticed by the birds, nine of them total and all jakes, I slipped into the old stand. By now, the birds were about seventy yards out in the field.
I positioned my gun on the shooting rail and pulled my call out, giving a few purrs and clucks. The birds stopped, their heads raised high and two gobbled in response. I was hoping that I could call one bird back close enough for a shot. I called again, more vigorously this time. I couldn’t believe what happened next. All nine of the lovesick birds came straight at me at a dead run. Bunched together closely, there was no chance for a shot and had it not been for the blind I believe they would have come right over the top of me. They veered off from the blind and scattered, looking for the mysterious hen. Two birds passed so close I could have grabbed them by their necks. As they spread out looking one bird finally stood alone. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it and I had to remind myself to breathe. As he raised his head high to look around I placed the crosshairs of my scope just below his head and pulled the trigger. He dropped to the ground, flapped his wings a couple of times and laid still.
I had expected that the others would vacate the area quickly, but instead they ran over to the bird I had just shot and stood there pecking at him, then stretching their necks high. By now my adrenaline level was at its peek and I just wanted to get to my bird. I did not want to spook the birds but they just would not leave. Finally I stood up, but they just looked at me. I couldn’t take it any more. I wanted to get my bird. I waved my arms and started to leave the blind and that was enough for them. They turned and ran back down the edge of the field.
The realization of what just transpired passed over me; a fifty yard stalk on nine wild turkeys, a stalk that took forty-five minutes, then calling the birds back and waiting for a clean shot, and finally harvesting a nice bird. I was elated. I slung the turkey over my shoulder and headed back down the trail. In spite of the added weight of the bird I covered the distance back to my original blind quickly. I was anxious to get back to the house and share my story with my husband over a hot cup of coffee. I packed up the remainder of my gear and headed out. Yes, it definitely was going to be a beautiful day.
