On Monday, along with Alaskan friends, Doug and his daughter Katerina, we got up at 5:30 to set up along a tree line where we had seen turkeys feeding on a regular basis. The morning started off frosty and foggy and the birds started gobbling early. We could here gobbles on three sides of us as the eastern horizon slowly grayed up. When the fog lifted at about 8:00 we could see a flock of turkeys across the road with 3 toms strutting. We called and called and coaxed one tom over a ditch, two fences and the highway to come check out our setup. He didn’t like what he saw at about 50 yards and “put-putted” off into the brush.
Shortly after, two toms came in from behind us out of range and fed back into the trees. Doug and Katerina left us to pursue those toms. By this time it was 9 am, and we were getting ready to regroup and move to a new location when Erin spotted some movement below us on the hill. It was the other two toms from across the road. I recognized one as a one legged tom with a nice beard I had seen the day before. He had been feeding 90 yards below our position that day, and the pair worked their way to that patch of clover again this morning.
That was at 9 o’clock in the morning. For two hours we called to these toms. They would look our direction and occasionally gobble, but they held their ground in the wide open. Later two hens came and joined them on that patch of clover. It was getting late. I could tell that 5 hours of sitting was getting old for Erin, despite the number of turkeys we had seen.
So I asked Erin if she wanted to see if we could get closer. My whispered words were:” this probably isn’t going to work, but let’s slide on our butts when they put their heads down to feed. When they raise their heads, we freeze. Got it?”
Erin nodded slightly and we began our stalk across the open hillside. Each time the turkeys raised their head we froze and I whispered “this probably isn’t going to work…” then the four would continue feeding and we would continue our butt-scoot inches at a time. We covered 50 yards in about an hour, through thistles and across rocks. Erin gritted it out until we were within 30 yards then as cool as a professional slowly rested the 20 gauge across her knee, and anchored the nearest tom with a perfect head shot.
I have never seen my little girl so excited. After ejecting the hull from the breech, she was admiring her prize, and grinning from ear to ear. Doug and Katerina had witnessed it all from behind us and were there to congratulate Erin as she swung that turkey on to her back and packed it back to the car.
The beard measured 9 inches and each of the spurs was a perfect 1 inch. Upon opening up the breast, we discovered #8 bird shot and evidence of a previous wound in the left breast. Apparently this tom had escaped a previous encounter and was wary, but not wary enough for this unconventional tactic that “probably isn’t gonna work”.
