The alarm clock went off at 3:15am, making my wife nearly jump out of bed and hit the ceiling, whilst I awoke with a smile on my face. Many would think that getting out of bed to chase after an ugly bird at such an hour is a sign of lunacy. Maybe it is. But, if so, then I must be a lunatic, because I happen to enjoy it.
My wife didn’t move much after that, opting to roll over and cling to my pillow as I gathered my gear together and dressed for the morning’s hunt. Donned in camouflage with a plethora of calls, backpack and shotgun in hand, I headed out the door with hopes for success after a few weeks of attempting to bag a ‘gobbler’.
It’s an hour’s drive to public land, North of the city, which was shown to me by a kind gentleman whom I met online after politely asking if anyone was aware of decent public hunting grounds within a reasonable drive from Toronto on a forum I frequent.
I arrived at one of the locations at 4:45am, geared up and walked in. I had a good idea of where I wanted to set up, since I had watched three hens in an open area a few days beforehand. My hopes were set on them having a gobbler in tow if they were to return.
Shortly after setting up decoys and creating a blind at the base of a pine tree, in amongst the nettles, I had the pleasure of being joined in the area by three deer that entertained me while I waited for the legal time to uncase and unlock my firearm.
No sooner had that time come that the action began all around me.
I was ecstatic to hear the first gobble. It wasn’t the first of the Spring, but, it was the closest within earshot that I have been to one so far. By my best guess, it came from approximately 300 yards in front of me. When a crow sounded off and I heard another gobble behind me, this time at approximately 125 yards, I became elated. When I broke out the slate call and started with a few clucks and purrs and had another gobbler go off within 100 yards to the left of me…well…either the smile on my face was going to make the camouflage useless or my heartbeat was going to be noticed by every bird around, because it seemed to be audible due to my excitement.
Gobbles seemed to be going off all around me like an intense fireworks show for around 45 minutes. The birds producing the sounds were moving around, but, not far from where I first heard them. The bird I had first heard at around 300 yards had closed his distance to within 200 yards, based on the intensity of his calling. The bird I had heard from behind me had become silent. The bird to the left was moving in the other direction.
I had pretty much quit calling all together, except for the very rare few yelps to let any gobblers know that the ‘little hot hen’ I was trying to be was still there, if they wanted to get to know her better.
As more time passed, I became anxious. I made a decision that it was time to make a move on the bird that was moving in towards my location, thinking it was my best chance at a successful harvest.
Just as I was about to get up and move…I heard a sound that I hadn’t heard since taking the wild turkey course and immediately recognized it as a Tom’s ‘drumming’. A quick glance to my left, without making too much obvious motion, revealed a Tom, in full strut, approaching my ‘Pretty Boy’ and ‘Pretty Girl’ decoys. On his way to the decoys, which I had placed 25 yards in front of me, the Tom passed within 6 yards of me. I became more still than Dan Marino sitting in the pocket for what seemed like 15 minutes…but, in reality, was most likely around 45 seconds. If there ever was an opportunity to take down a wild turkey with my bare hands, that would have been it. It seemed to be that close.
As the Tom remained focussed on the decoys, I flicked the safety on my Browning BPS into the ‘fire’ position and checked it not once, not twice, but three times to make sure that I wasn’t going to do something dumb like have the safety on. While the Tom’s attention was elsewhere, I slowly raised the firearm to my shoulder and achieved what I deemed to be a good ‘lock on’ position.
The Tom came out of strut to check out ‘Pretty Boy’, went back into strut facing away from me, then turned around. A quick cluck on the mouth call sent his head lurching forward…and I barely remember pulling the trigger. Instinct must’ve kicked in…that and I swore I heard someone tell me to shoot. No, I know someone told me to shoot. My Grandfather may have passed away more than a year ago, but, today he was there, there’s no mistaking the sound of that voice.
After making sure the Tom had dispatched this world with some dignity, I’m not ashamed to say that I had a good cry and thanked God and my Grandfather for my birthday present that came a day early.
Stats:
8.7Kg
Spurs: 2.1cm and 2.5cm
Beard: 22cm
My wife didn’t move much after that, opting to roll over and cling to my pillow as I gathered my gear together and dressed for the morning’s hunt. Donned in camouflage with a plethora of calls, backpack and shotgun in hand, I headed out the door with hopes for success after a few weeks of attempting to bag a ‘gobbler’.
It’s an hour’s drive to public land, North of the city, which was shown to me by a kind gentleman whom I met online after politely asking if anyone was aware of decent public hunting grounds within a reasonable drive from Toronto on a forum I frequent.
I arrived at one of the locations at 4:45am, geared up and walked in. I had a good idea of where I wanted to set up, since I had watched three hens in an open area a few days beforehand. My hopes were set on them having a gobbler in tow if they were to return.
Shortly after setting up decoys and creating a blind at the base of a pine tree, in amongst the nettles, I had the pleasure of being joined in the area by three deer that entertained me while I waited for the legal time to uncase and unlock my firearm.
No sooner had that time come that the action began all around me.
I was ecstatic to hear the first gobble. It wasn’t the first of the Spring, but, it was the closest within earshot that I have been to one so far. By my best guess, it came from approximately 300 yards in front of me. When a crow sounded off and I heard another gobble behind me, this time at approximately 125 yards, I became elated. When I broke out the slate call and started with a few clucks and purrs and had another gobbler go off within 100 yards to the left of me…well…either the smile on my face was going to make the camouflage useless or my heartbeat was going to be noticed by every bird around, because it seemed to be audible due to my excitement.
Gobbles seemed to be going off all around me like an intense fireworks show for around 45 minutes. The birds producing the sounds were moving around, but, not far from where I first heard them. The bird I had first heard at around 300 yards had closed his distance to within 200 yards, based on the intensity of his calling. The bird I had heard from behind me had become silent. The bird to the left was moving in the other direction.
I had pretty much quit calling all together, except for the very rare few yelps to let any gobblers know that the ‘little hot hen’ I was trying to be was still there, if they wanted to get to know her better.
As more time passed, I became anxious. I made a decision that it was time to make a move on the bird that was moving in towards my location, thinking it was my best chance at a successful harvest.
Just as I was about to get up and move…I heard a sound that I hadn’t heard since taking the wild turkey course and immediately recognized it as a Tom’s ‘drumming’. A quick glance to my left, without making too much obvious motion, revealed a Tom, in full strut, approaching my ‘Pretty Boy’ and ‘Pretty Girl’ decoys. On his way to the decoys, which I had placed 25 yards in front of me, the Tom passed within 6 yards of me. I became more still than Dan Marino sitting in the pocket for what seemed like 15 minutes…but, in reality, was most likely around 45 seconds. If there ever was an opportunity to take down a wild turkey with my bare hands, that would have been it. It seemed to be that close.
As the Tom remained focussed on the decoys, I flicked the safety on my Browning BPS into the ‘fire’ position and checked it not once, not twice, but three times to make sure that I wasn’t going to do something dumb like have the safety on. While the Tom’s attention was elsewhere, I slowly raised the firearm to my shoulder and achieved what I deemed to be a good ‘lock on’ position.
The Tom came out of strut to check out ‘Pretty Boy’, went back into strut facing away from me, then turned around. A quick cluck on the mouth call sent his head lurching forward…and I barely remember pulling the trigger. Instinct must’ve kicked in…that and I swore I heard someone tell me to shoot. No, I know someone told me to shoot. My Grandfather may have passed away more than a year ago, but, today he was there, there’s no mistaking the sound of that voice.
After making sure the Tom had dispatched this world with some dignity, I’m not ashamed to say that I had a good cry and thanked God and my Grandfather for my birthday present that came a day early.
Stats:
8.7Kg
Spurs: 2.1cm and 2.5cm
Beard: 22cm
