The hen makes gentle clucks from a treetop behind me, odd perhaps, but this is one of the last days of the 2016 spring turkey season. For the most part, the hens are now sitting to incubating their eggs. The made morning rush is giving way to deliberate calm. At least on the part of the hen, not so with gobbler booming in the morning to my front. He is not in the mood to let go of his dominance or mating drive.
As the rays of sunlight begin piercing the woodland, my mind wanders over the passing days. Reminiscing about a turkey season before 
completion; who would think that is possible? This morning I’m having trouble shaking the feeling of melancholy, it’s typical at the end of a season to feel a certain reverence, but it’s not quite over yet. As the rays of sunlight begin piercing the woodland, in spite of the hard gobbling tom, my mind wanders over the last passing days.
Gobble gobble at the hen’s soft clucks.
It all started by accompanying my grandson on his youth hunt, the memory of those seven long beards coming in while he caused and earthquake in the magnitude of 3.6. The moment of consternation when he missed one of the biggest turkeys I’d ever seen afield that quickly gave way to a warm, confident feeling he’s on the road to becoming a hunter. He saw that insight that keeps us all hunting for just one more of those sights.
Gobble gobble the hen softly clucks.
My good friend Kody from Alberta, Canada, here on his first ever, heck he was the first Canadian ever to hunt spring turkeys in Wisconsin. 
Only two days to hunt but we crammed a full array of turkey hunting experiences into those days. This gobbler ushering the morning could very likely be one that Kody set up tight on; it’s in the same area. If only Kody could have hunted one more day. No one can predict the actions or behavior of turkeys; they are so random. The melancholy feeling set in after Kody departed for the airport so I setup in the field point where we had a close call with several different turkeys. I called a few times and let my mind wander savoring the memories of hunting with Kodyhunt’s highs. Suddenly the sight of two toms walking towards the decoy jerks me back into focusing on the now. With two
tags still open in my pocket, the last day of the fourth Wisconsin season, I realized the tom’s heads were going to intersect which would allow me to kill them both with one shot. A feeling of frustration enveloped me as stood over the two dead birds; why didn’t, couldn’t this have happened when Kody was here? No predicting turkeys.
The hen’s wings caress the air as she flys off roost to her nest, and I take over her clucking. The tom does not seem to notice any difference and gobbled right back.
Last week Rye, my Grandson from Texas came to visit, he’s seven and wants to hunt so bad. With his help, we set up a pop-up blind, and then he had a blast randomly sticking out the decoys. He called his little heart out, dang, no turkeys showed up only some crows. A couple of years ago I gave him a crow call to use on Texas crows, so I told him to order those crows to go away. Well, I don’t know what he said in crow to make those crows go so wild. Whatever his calls meant to the crows remains a mystery, we were soon witnessing 25-30 crows darting about trees around us, screaming and diving at the blind. Had it been crow season we’d have had to eat a bunch of crows. As it was, he just blew that call with more urgency and laughing between breaths. Oh yeah on the way back he begged to carry my gun, it’s all about fun, so he was my gun bearer.
Gobble, gobble, yelp, cluck.
Those last calls were a whole lot closer with some mind clearing directness bringing my attention fully back to the present, the shafts of sunlight are lighting the woods glistening through the rising mist. The canopy is thick late in the season limiting visibility for that turkey and me. The early morning wet dampened the woods allowed me to move quietly and get real close to this gobbler, him and I have a little contest to settle. The hen quietly flew off to her nest some time ago, so I took over her clucking without the old gobbler realizing the change. His gobbles had an urgency to them now at times he sounded like he was moving away and the next sound like he was in range, but I had not heard him fly down yet. Oh, of course, he is hopping from tree branch to branch trying see me through all the leaves. The gobbling sounded closer and farther depending on which direction he pointed his beak during the gobble.
For a moment all went quiet and then the tell-tale thud, he is on the ground and my gun is pointed at exactly that location. I cannot see him only his feathers are making noise as they shake and rattle with his movement. The turkey is in range all I need to do is see him. Tension has a way of building in these situations; I dare not move, or the turkey may periscope me and then fade away as he did on so many other 
mornings this season. The gun is comfortable on my knee as I grip the striker for one last cluck while hoping he is not looking directly at me. There is no reaction to my cluck; all is quiet until that red, white and blue pulsing bulb of a head appears as if floating up a little draw in the hillside, it’s all I can see moving along. The turkey’s body is not visible only the head; it’s in range… At the blast, the bright head disappears being replaced by a wing tip skidding down the draw. I race to grab him to avoid joining his slide all the way to the bottom for retrieval.
A genuinely fine bird, double beard, 1 3/8” spurred gobbler. Heck, they are all fine birds I just love turkey hunting.
FirstBubba says
As the summer heat sets in and I spend more time guarding against melanoma on my aging, wrinkled skin, I often drag out my hunting journal.
Of late, I find myself turning more and more to the turkey stories. As magic as the appearance of a deer is, it can’t hold a candle to the thunderous approach of a love stricken gobbler.
Every time I read one of your threads, it dawn’s on me just what turkey hunting means to me.
My dad loved hunting wood ducks in the creek bottom. More than once I’ve heard him say, “I’d crawl through a mile of briars to snap a trigger at a woodie!”
I feel the same way about turkeys!
Charlie says
Yeah, I understand how a hunter feels about their primary prey. As the turkey bug infection becomes more acute throughout my thoughts it’s just hard to focus on other things. This morning while sitting on my deck enjoying the sunrise with a cup of coffee; up the valley where I killed this last gobbler; lo and behold a thunderous gobble greeted me during the hazy summertime sunrise.
WRC says
I’ll second that Bubba. I’m already scouting for the fall seasons and the hatch looks good again this year here in WI. Lots of birds being sighted.
Charlie says
We had a patch of wet and cool weather late spring which, made me fear for some of the poult’ s survival. However, like on your side of the state there are turkeys, turkeys everywhere. C’mon fall.
N.C.L.W. says
Excellent post! Point, as well… Seasons evaporate so quickly.
The double reminds me of a double opportunity of my own that could’ve been had last fall season, yet didn’t take due to it involving a Whitetail Doe as well as the (then in season) Ruffed Grouse. I was walking a route of trails in an area not far away when I rounded a bend to see the Doe eating around 35 yards away when a Ruffy stepped out onto the trail. Knowing myself and the gun in hand had it been timed better in accordance with gov’t regs I’d have had a slug through the Deer’s lungs (standing perfect broadside) and got the Grouse by cycling one of the 6’s into the chamber. As it stood I let the Grouse go as I am not willing to risk peppering a Doe with a spreader load of #6 shot… It was a great moment! Of course had two Gobblers lined up for me this past Spring I’d have had to pass on that shot, too. It’s one per Season, per Region in this jurisdiction.
Needless to say maybe but things happen in Hunting when, where and the way that they happen to do so. Not on our schedules. The seasons do have a way closing all to quickly!
I have no way of ascertaining which animal is my favorite to Hunt. Turkey are amazing yet I see so many animals every bit exciting about that I haven’t taken (or even Hunted for) such as Elk, Moose Sheep and Goats, all are pretty close to where I am writing this from now. My philosophy remains thus – I Hunt what I can, where I am with what I’ve got. Let’s all do our best and have a grand ol’ time.
All the best to everyone whom reads this! Stay safe and best of luck.
Charlie says
Well said and I could not agree more. Btw, surprisingly, bow hunting elk shares many similarities with turkey hunting. It’s all good.
Kody says
Have you ever been Haunted by a turkey?. I know it sounds like the opening line for a comedian’s stage performance. How could an otherwise rational, confident and incredibly good looking Canadian allow this to happen? I have spooked all manner of game in my life without getting spooked by those events as the years go by. Big deal, the game heard you, smelled you or spotted you and vanished in a flash. It happens! So, why am I having turkey flashbacks, why does this particular turkey flash me a look that says he knows something I don’t? I have named him El Diablo because there is clearly a supernatural element at work here When they asked me at the border if I had anything to declare that is what I told them. They seemed real interested and I was there for a while answering questions.
Charlie says
Oh my. Already naming a turkey? You my friend have crossed the rubicon early in your newly minted turkey hunting career. There is only one cure for that haunting feeling you have; hunt El Diablo again. Just don’t confide in any border security agent, they for the most part do not any sense of humor.
FirstBubba says
Kody, in 2008, I was hunting a farm near home loaded with turkeys.
Opening day, we hunted hard and had a bull tom almost gobble us to death, but early spring foliage kept him hidden and safe.
At least once a day over the next three days we hunted this “ghost” gobbler hard, only to be thwarted at every move.
I hunted the next 2 days alone, never hearing or seeing a bird.
The next weekend, a buddy showed up from out of town.
Two more days of total frustration as he would give us the slip and go silent.
The last day Mitch was here, he said, “Let’s go try that bird ONE MORE TIME!”
We set out dekes and camo’d up. The buffalo gnats were absolutely horrendous! I finally turned my face mask around to keep the gnats from getting in my nose, mouth and eyes!
I started with a few yelps and cuts until I finally got a distant gobble. I then turned my efforts to a series of “fighting jake” calls and the gobbles got closer…and the gnats and heat got worse.
Then we realized the gobbles we’re fading into the distance.
Mitch turned to me, pulled his mask off to reveal a sweaty, gnat chewed face and stated a desire to be elsewhere!
He began gathering dekes as I walked to get the truck.
The Cummins diesel rattled the 100 yards back down the rough dirt track. Mitch threw stuff at the truck and I turned around. We rumbled back through the mesquites to Greg’s makeshift corral.
I’m trying to navigate around potholes when Mitch starts saying, “THERE! THERE! THERE!” and pointing out my window.
I kicked the truck into neutral, stepped out of the truck, opened the back door, retrieved my Rem 870 and shot the bird as he stood staring at the rumbling diesel, not 35 yards away.
Twenty three pounds, 3/4″ broomed spurs and 9″ and 5″ beards. As wary and sly as the bird had been, I never would have expected him to be caught flat footed!
Mitch was absolutely ecstatic! I doubted myself for driving up on the bird and shooting him. Mitch passed away the next February.
Yep! The smile on his face was worth it.
Kody says
Great story FirstBubba. Uncanny to the point of seeming like ghost in the woods, those wild creatures will continue to amaze us.