Report from The Turkey Opener

Scratch one Gobbler.

Today was the Kentucky Spring Gobbler Opener. The morning hunt was a bit of a scratch. Moose and Mooselette saw nothing out at Dead Skunk Hollow. Angus had a herd of hens at Blackberry. A gobbler came in but didn’t get close. Angus chanced a shot and the gobbler fled; it was too far. I went to the Honey Hole. I had one hen working out of Left Leg Creek that kept coming to my calls, but kept running away.

After Moose and Mooselette came in, there were some gobbler over in Hundred Acre Wood. Moose tried to work them, but the fled of the north end of the property. Sadly, they ran right into the gun of the neighbor. There were four that crossed the creek. Three survivors were seen fleeing the scene a while later, making a beeline for Hootin’ Holler. I believe it was these three that came to my calls after lunch.

After a tasty meal of hamburgers and fries, Mooselette and I decided to go out to The Hand. It is her favorite spot, and I’d heard a gobbler out that way during lunch. It is a little copse of trees growing in the foundation of the old house, on a high spot, just off the road. It give one a commanding view of the western pasture and the neighboring ridges. We call it The Hand, because it looks like a hand with a palm and five fingers from an aerial photo.

We had not been there long, when I started getting honored by a gobbler clear over beyond Garbage Pit. I was using a Toby Benoit Rebel Yell box call. Toby used to say these things were loud and the gobbler was well over 400 yards away when he answered. Eventually, another gobbler joined in, and then another, and they came out from behind Garbage Pit and started making a beeline for us. I was hoping to get them close enough for Mooselette to take a shot with her 20 Gauge, but when they close to within 40 yards one of the gobs got hinky, and they all started to flee. I picked off the largest one at 50 yards as he was departing the scene.

When Mooselette and I got out to the bird, he was on his belly, kind of humped up. Normally this is a sign that the gobbler is still alive. I asked Mooselette to put a finisher on him, but she demurred. I probably should have stood back and done the deed myself, but I’m partial to these #4 lead Federals and they stopped making them a while back. I figured if he wasn’t moving I could do him in without a shot. The gob let me approach him and get a boot on his neck. That’s when he decided to wake up. Much to my suprise, this was not just a two-year-old with nubby spurs. Rather, it was a mature gob with 1 1/8″ daggers. I got one hand on a leg and started realizing my mistake.

I’m in pretty good shape; it’s been almost 2 years since the chemo. I’m certainly doing better than I was last year, but I figured out in the middle of all this that my batteries were running low. It took me a good long time to get both legs, and then another little while before I could get both hands around both legs. All the while, the gobbler was taking extreme umbrage at my assault and was lashing out at me with those leg-sabres. When I finally got the lift-and-separate job done on his neck, I was spent, and collapsed by the bird.

Mooselette carried the gun. I carried the bird back as far as our set-up. That was as far as this old turkey hunter was going. I called back to the house and Angus came out and carried my gear in. Mooselette walked with me while I carried the bird. I made up to the last hundred yards and my legs turned to jelly. I’m back in the game, but not quite back far enough.

When we got the bird up to the house, I managed to get him measured. The 12 inch beard is a personal record. He went 21.5 pound and had 1 1/8 inch spurs. Mooselette watched me skin him while the guys went back out.

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