herb mcclure
Senior Member
A Most Favorable Turkey Season
Recently, this past year, there was a thread on the GON Turkey Forum, which ask, Post up, “Your Favorite Hunt of the Year”---(2016). Since now, I have hung-up my spurs and don't hunt to kill gobblers anymore, I kinda may be out of place, even commenting here; except for my memories. However, I did share a hunt last year with my good friend, Mark Sharpe and posted some comments about our hunt. This was my only turkey-hunt last year, and it made sixty-years in the turkey woods. But, when looking back over lots and lots of past-turkey-hunts, when I did hunt to kill; it was no trouble choosing my most Favorable Turkey-Hunt. This was the last hunt of a kill, and a special season for me, which this hunt took place in. When all the hunts of that season were groped together, they made for: “A MOST FAVORABLE TURKEY SEASON”. This was the turkey season of 2013. For some unexplainable happenings, (possibly from the Good Lord), I heard more strong-gobbling; in that season; than in any season I can actually remember. People who know me; they know I can not hear. Hearing the strong-gobbling of that season ; was better to me; than the killing.
Like some sports athletes, who have done their thing and then they decide to retire; from what they have done. I---too, having done my thing like the athletes, which was turkey hunting. I have retired from the killing part. Retiring from the killing, doesn’t mean, I will stop studying wild turkeys, or stop going into their big woods habitat. No way, I can always take a camera. However, things sure can changed, and they have changed; since the 2013 season ended. (Will explain more about this subject later.)
Many of you, have already read about my special season's hunts, which were published by GON Magazine; (March of 2014). I have been ask several-times, when telling about the magazine article, with far-away sportsmen; living in other states. They have asked, “Why not put your story of the 2013 season, on the GON Forum”; (under turkey-talk) ; for everyone to read? For there request,---and now a more recently reading of a new book, which is about the history of the Blue Ridge WMA, (where my special season took place). I have now decided, to re-write that season's hunts and post them in a new thread; on this forum.. The new book, is about a man, who was responsible for the original native wild turkeys, (which I have wrote about; to have-survived! This great book, also influence me, to rededicate my special season; in honor of this person. Originally, I had dedicated the story of that season, to my own turkey book; thus the title, of the magazine article: A season for the book. But now, after reading Duncan Dobie's new book titled: ARTHUR WOODY And The Legend Of The Barefoot Ranger; I was influenced for a second-dedication; to Arthur Woody. Ranger Woody's taking-care of and protecting the wildlife and forest on the Blue Ridge WMA during the 1920's, 30's, and 40's is why those original Eastern Wild Turkeys, (which to many hunters, are doubtful), were able to survive and were not killed-out; like wild turkeys were all killed-out almost everywhere else. It was those descendents from the native turkeys, which I hunted in 2013. Anyone who is interested in learning about the Blue Ridge's original wild turkeys, and the real history of Ranger Woody should read Dobie's great book.
There is no denying I was schooled in the old tradition of what is term, Old School Turkey Hunting, because in my early-times that was the only knowledge of how to hunt wild turkeys there was. I have never changed from old-school, but I actually customized my style, because of poor hearing. To hunt my style I soon learn I needed to hunt in very remote areas; to be away from other hunters; which would take advantage of me. Thus the Blue Ridge and it's turkeys became my chosen place.
This unique place where original wild turkeys have always lived, is in Georgia's, and our Nation's, oldest Wildlife Management Area; known as the Blue Ridge WMA. This area is located in the high mountains of North Georgia. The Forest Service created the Blue Ridge WMA in 1928, from lands they already had in their ownership, which Ranger Woody was taking-care of since 1911. This was forty-thousand acres, which at one time spawn-over parts of five different counties. The Blue Ridge WMA has always had original eastern wild turkeys; living within it's boundaries, Thus this area, did not need restocking; when Georgia decided to open the very first Spring Gobbler Hunt there; in (1955). The state chose the Blue Ridge WMA, because there was a sustainable turkey population; when compared to elsewhere. My personal turkey hunting, started in 1956 and I took my first wild turkey on the Blue Ridge WMA in 1958. As of the 2016 turkey hunt, it designated 60 years of turkey hunting. After writing about the Blue Ridge in 2012; I very much wanted to have a good hunt there; in 2013.
THE HUNT SEASON OF2013
Due to a very unseasonable cold Spring in 2013, with snow still on the ground in late March; I was slow, or late to start turkey hunting. Having put in a lot of my time during the Winter and early Spring months scouting; I had located several different places; with turkeys using the woods. All of these places, I have hunted for many years, and knew somewhat to expect from the turkeys there. The first morning, I decided to go turkey hunting, it was cold and still, ( with 20 degrees). That was following a very windy cold-front; the day before. Knowing a place where turkeys like to roost; to be out of the wind; I eased up into the mouth of a steep hollow. This was on frozen leaves and frozen ground. When good daylight came, without calling, a strong gobble was heard up towards the head of that roosting hollow. I waited well past sun-up, not to rush things, (because of the Winter-time weather), and the turkeys non-mating mood. I made a low yelping hen-call; with my Leon's turkey caller. Nothing happen, and I knew the gobbler up-there could hear and knew where the call had been made from. Thirty-minutes later with no more calling, being done, or gobbling having been heard; here comes a gobbler with his head draw down into it's neck feathers. I was trembling and shaking all over, in anticipation of a quick season's kill. However, that's not what happen. I miss the shot; when his head went behind a tree. I shot the tree instead, of the gobbler. No doubt, the shaking from being very cold and rushing the shot, plus being over-anxious; helped cause this unexpected happening. I left the woods and went back home; disappointed you know.
The next week on April ,4th ---I went back to the Blue Ridge area; but this time to a different place. This was also a chosen still-morning to go hunting. My reasoning for choosing these still mornings is because; any wind or other noise; even a creek; takes away what little hearing I have. Easing my way down a steep lead that led down to a small level-shelf; were I have set-up many times. It is a typical place that I term a (calling-place). Again after daylight came, I heard two or three gobbles on down the lead near the bottom of a place; we call the “penitentiary cove”. This name, the (penitentiary), was giving to this gorge, because it is so steep on three-sides; it's like a prison's walls. But, the wild turkeys, they find it to there liking; especially the shelf that I was set up on, (a calling-place). Just having previous experience’s hunting there many times, and biding my time, not to rush things; help me to know what to expect and how to hunt. Without any more gobbling, later that morning, three adult gobblers with their feathers drawn-up above their ears; like the one I had already miss the week before; came up the lead to the shelf. They too, came from just one series of hen-yelps; made with Leon's turkey caller. Very slowly, and cautiously this time, I waited for a good shot to be had; and harvested the largest gobbler from the three. Well at least, now I had killed a gobbler, and it was taken from the woods that was in the original Blue Ridge WMA.
April 11th--- Choosing another still hunting morning, I could not wait to go to my most favorite calling-place. This time on a mountain's-top way down Noontootla Creek, and then a long hard climb to get up-there. This same mountain forty-seven years ago, the late, Arthur Truelove took me there and he killed the first gobbler that was killed; from the calling of my Leon's turkey caller. There had been plenty of scratching before the season open; due to a bumper red-oak acorn crop. The temperature had also warmed-up, and I hoped to hear a wild gobbler sound-off. When daylight came, no gobbles were herd. I waited on pass sun-up, before making a call; still no gobbles were being heard. I decided to stay there and call off-and-on sparingly; all day. Walking around in these woods and wild calling, is not my way to hunt. As explained; it's because of my hearing. I always do some calling, at all my calling-places, after setting-down; even if no gobbling is heard. Mountain turkeys I have learned; will come a long ways; if the calling is done from the right places; but they don't come to just anywhere.
After a long waiting spell there, and calling off and on, suddenly a gobbler's head appeared and was seen coming up-over a contour, which is a rim to a steep mountain-side. This gobbler was followed by a hen. That hen being with that gobbler; (may have been the reason why I did not hear any gobbling). Waited patiently, for the gobbler and the hen too, to go behind some cover; were I could raise my gun and put the bead on his now snow-white head; (shinning like a white-light). Because, he was now strutting to a new hen; (my hen decoy that I always use). After harvesting this second Blue Ridge gobbler; it made me very thankful, and humble. A second Blue Ridge gobbler that could be dedicate. This also was a special gobbler too; because he lived in the neighborhood; where I killed my first gobbler near here; in 1958.
Two gobblers having been killed now, and its just April, 11th. Could it be in the books, for me to take a third gobbler from the Blue Ridge? Well you better believe, I will try. However, ever since Georgia, has had a three gobbler seasonal limit, and I now hunt only the Blue Ridge; where it's difficult to kill only one-gobbler. I actually have only kill three gobblers there in a season; just one time before. That was in 2008. The Blue Ridge has always been a prestigious place; to have your name wrote on the kill sheet. Many things hinder a hunter from being able to sign your name there. The terrain, the weather, and the turkeys; all make for a hard-hunt. Many a season, when it was only a week-long season, I have hunted all week; without hearing or finding a gobbler anywhere to hunt. What's is so great about this special season so far; you may ask? Well---having gone into the woods of the Blue Ridge WMA, only three-times that season and then being in contention with gobbler all three-times; is very unreal. Not to mention some limited gobbling that I was enjoying listening to also!
The next week on April 17th---I went back to Noontootla, with my Grandson-in-law, Clayton Santiago. This time however, we saw some other hunter's flash-lights that were shinning; coming up the mountain-side. After intercepting and letting them know we were already there and that I had killed a gobbler here the week before. They bid us good-by; and left. No gobbles were heard, which was to be expected with all the talking and walking around; plus they reveal a gobbler was heard there yesterday from another mountain; but could not locate one; after coming there. There were still plenty of fresh turkey-scratching in the leaves. Having other hunters in the woods, caused me to decide; to rest the area for a while. From past knowledge of hens and gobblers coming together there; I felt like there would still be a turkey hunt. Waiting out an awful-long rainy spell, the next week and a very rainy weekend of April 27th and 28th; I chose to hunt again on April 30th. All day Saturday and all day Sunday; it had poured the rain. My rain-gauge showed showed 51/4 inches of rain for the weekend; providing some rest from us turkey hunters.
Tuesday morning at 2:AM, I check-outside my house, and found it to be still; with stars ever where. To Noontootla Creek I went again; for a third time. Another two hours and I was getting into my place on the mountain-top; where I had killed the second-gobbler; of this season. I found it was very still and only a whoop-a will was heard calling. When daylight came, I could see fresh turkey scratching made from the day before; right where I was now standing. This having been made after the rain had stop. But, even in the still air; no gobbles were heard. I eased over to an old friend, (an-oak tree) and set myself down against it; where I had done this many times before. Out in front of my seat, is a pine tree with limbs almost to the ground; shot-gun shells are stuck on it's broke-off limbs. They are reminders of other gobblers taken there before. When the sun came-up, I pick-up Leon's turkey caller and made a series of hen yelps. There was no reply. I made a second-series of hen calls, to which a short sound was heard; but could not tell what it was; or where. I made a third-series of yelps very low and I made-out a gobble this time, which sounded like it was across Noontootla Creek gorge; up high. No more calling did I do;. However, I put my hands behind my (hearing-aided---ears); and strain to hear. Only one time before in all my years hunting at Noontootla; have I made-out a gobble across that gorge. That was when James McClure and I was hunting back in 1976. That was the year of my longest one-day hunt, and finally killing the old Black Jack gobbler, (9:AM---7
M); first time calling, to gun-shot. Fairly quickly, the gobbles were much stronger and closing in; on my side of the gorge; (he must have flew across from where he had roosted). I hope for a quick third kill; Not so, instead of coming up and over the rim of the gorge; like all other gobblers in the past have done. He was now moving away; staying below the contour and gobbling real strong and very loud to my weak ears. However, as he was moving going away. I tried calling with low clucks and yelps, which did no good; all the time his gobbling became weaker; until I could not hear him anymore. I just sat their pondering what to do. After several minutes I began to hear his gobbling again. My heart pick-up at a faster beat; maybe he was coming back and above the rim-contour. No, when he got closer he was still below the rim. Then too my surprise, he was then going away a second time. Going and coming is a trait that mountain gobblers do often; especially when they are suspicious of a place, or the calling there. My pondering mind say's, (the gobbler was mess-with, or possible even shot at; here at my call-place; since I had been gone). He did seem reluctant to show himself above the rim. An old turkey hunter, Lu-Bur Adams, (White County) told me: “When a gobbler dose this; get up and go to where he came too the first time. Because, a mountain gobbler may come back to where he has been before; but will not go no further forward; than where he has been”. Without good ears; I chose to stay put. Regardless, this morning had been a thrilling time to be in the turkey woods; on the Blue Ridge WMA. Especially, with all the gobbling I had heard. (Maybe a total of thirty gobbles), so powerful, so loud and clear; like I could feel them shaking the ground. Now it has been over an hour; since the last gobbles were heard. I pick-up my Leon's turkey caller and sucks some low hen yelps out. A gobble, cut-off my calling, before I was through with the call. The gobble sounded like it was on my back side; from where the gobbler was earlier. Had he circle around and come back; this time behind me? Slowly, I adjusted myself around to face that direction. Knowing I was up against an obstinate gobbler; I was reluctant to call anymore. In a few minutes he gobble again; thus verifying the direction. Little by little he began to gobble at different noises of the woods. He was getting himself all work-up; no doubt. Never before, can I ever remember killing a gobbler on his third-time coming in. Because, he had come back a third-time and was gobbling so much; I thought I would cluck and purr. When I did, no more gobbling after that. WHY?
More time---going by, everything too quite; which seem like an eternity. Had the gobbler left for a fourth-time? Sometimes though, when a gobbler goes quite; he may be slipping-back. So at this point, I was cautiously alert. Then a gobble happen that was so-close,--- so-powerful and---so- shrill; I thought my hat would fall-off; as I jerked in response. The place where my gun barrel was pointed, a large dark round gobbler's tail, was seen inching up-over a contour, followed by a snow-white head in the middle of that tail. Waiting for the gobbler to move on up, and go behind a tree; where I could aline-up the sights, and hopeful, he would turn side-ways to keep from leaving a pattern of 71/2; on his tail-feathers. He did pass behind a tree and then he turn side-ways. Thus, letting me harvested a third gobbler; for the 2013 season. Of all the turkey-kills, I have ever made; this was the most jubilant kill of them all. Because, the gobbling I heard that day; was so powerful and strong; it seem-like the woods and ground were shaking. The gobbling I was treated to on that hunt; I will always believe; happen from a power;-------up-above!
In closing, I would like to go back to a statement made near the beginning of this story; (How things have changed). Little did I know, after the 2013 season was over; how my life-style would change, from an outdoors-turkey man, to a seven-day a week care-giver; since October of 2013. I am not telling about this change; to complain. No-Sir-Re, because, I want all who read this, to understand; I do this care-giving; because I want to! I'm not paid to do this at all. Also, my new occupation; has made a better man of me. A sister-in-law, who is ninety-years of age; suffered hart-failure and was admitted to a nursing-home after a short hospital stay; in October of 2013. She, having no children, or a living husband and all her other relatives all live far away. It was obvious, she needed someone to step-up and be a care-giver to her. My wife and I, we close-up our mountain log-home, and moved into my sister-in-law's house in Gainesville; there we could do for her. I will say, When one is exposed to an old folks home, and see's all the suffering in those places; and how little help they are able to receive. This has caused me to learn; there were more important things in this life; than the beloved wild turkeys of the Blue Ridge WMA.
Herb McClure
A quote from Sheldon Henderson, of Blairsville, GA.,
“WHAT WOULD OUR LIVES BE WITHOUT MENORIES”?
Recently, this past year, there was a thread on the GON Turkey Forum, which ask, Post up, “Your Favorite Hunt of the Year”---(2016). Since now, I have hung-up my spurs and don't hunt to kill gobblers anymore, I kinda may be out of place, even commenting here; except for my memories. However, I did share a hunt last year with my good friend, Mark Sharpe and posted some comments about our hunt. This was my only turkey-hunt last year, and it made sixty-years in the turkey woods. But, when looking back over lots and lots of past-turkey-hunts, when I did hunt to kill; it was no trouble choosing my most Favorable Turkey-Hunt. This was the last hunt of a kill, and a special season for me, which this hunt took place in. When all the hunts of that season were groped together, they made for: “A MOST FAVORABLE TURKEY SEASON”. This was the turkey season of 2013. For some unexplainable happenings, (possibly from the Good Lord), I heard more strong-gobbling; in that season; than in any season I can actually remember. People who know me; they know I can not hear. Hearing the strong-gobbling of that season ; was better to me; than the killing.
Like some sports athletes, who have done their thing and then they decide to retire; from what they have done. I---too, having done my thing like the athletes, which was turkey hunting. I have retired from the killing part. Retiring from the killing, doesn’t mean, I will stop studying wild turkeys, or stop going into their big woods habitat. No way, I can always take a camera. However, things sure can changed, and they have changed; since the 2013 season ended. (Will explain more about this subject later.)
Many of you, have already read about my special season's hunts, which were published by GON Magazine; (March of 2014). I have been ask several-times, when telling about the magazine article, with far-away sportsmen; living in other states. They have asked, “Why not put your story of the 2013 season, on the GON Forum”; (under turkey-talk) ; for everyone to read? For there request,---and now a more recently reading of a new book, which is about the history of the Blue Ridge WMA, (where my special season took place). I have now decided, to re-write that season's hunts and post them in a new thread; on this forum.. The new book, is about a man, who was responsible for the original native wild turkeys, (which I have wrote about; to have-survived! This great book, also influence me, to rededicate my special season; in honor of this person. Originally, I had dedicated the story of that season, to my own turkey book; thus the title, of the magazine article: A season for the book. But now, after reading Duncan Dobie's new book titled: ARTHUR WOODY And The Legend Of The Barefoot Ranger; I was influenced for a second-dedication; to Arthur Woody. Ranger Woody's taking-care of and protecting the wildlife and forest on the Blue Ridge WMA during the 1920's, 30's, and 40's is why those original Eastern Wild Turkeys, (which to many hunters, are doubtful), were able to survive and were not killed-out; like wild turkeys were all killed-out almost everywhere else. It was those descendents from the native turkeys, which I hunted in 2013. Anyone who is interested in learning about the Blue Ridge's original wild turkeys, and the real history of Ranger Woody should read Dobie's great book.
There is no denying I was schooled in the old tradition of what is term, Old School Turkey Hunting, because in my early-times that was the only knowledge of how to hunt wild turkeys there was. I have never changed from old-school, but I actually customized my style, because of poor hearing. To hunt my style I soon learn I needed to hunt in very remote areas; to be away from other hunters; which would take advantage of me. Thus the Blue Ridge and it's turkeys became my chosen place.
This unique place where original wild turkeys have always lived, is in Georgia's, and our Nation's, oldest Wildlife Management Area; known as the Blue Ridge WMA. This area is located in the high mountains of North Georgia. The Forest Service created the Blue Ridge WMA in 1928, from lands they already had in their ownership, which Ranger Woody was taking-care of since 1911. This was forty-thousand acres, which at one time spawn-over parts of five different counties. The Blue Ridge WMA has always had original eastern wild turkeys; living within it's boundaries, Thus this area, did not need restocking; when Georgia decided to open the very first Spring Gobbler Hunt there; in (1955). The state chose the Blue Ridge WMA, because there was a sustainable turkey population; when compared to elsewhere. My personal turkey hunting, started in 1956 and I took my first wild turkey on the Blue Ridge WMA in 1958. As of the 2016 turkey hunt, it designated 60 years of turkey hunting. After writing about the Blue Ridge in 2012; I very much wanted to have a good hunt there; in 2013.
THE HUNT SEASON OF2013
Due to a very unseasonable cold Spring in 2013, with snow still on the ground in late March; I was slow, or late to start turkey hunting. Having put in a lot of my time during the Winter and early Spring months scouting; I had located several different places; with turkeys using the woods. All of these places, I have hunted for many years, and knew somewhat to expect from the turkeys there. The first morning, I decided to go turkey hunting, it was cold and still, ( with 20 degrees). That was following a very windy cold-front; the day before. Knowing a place where turkeys like to roost; to be out of the wind; I eased up into the mouth of a steep hollow. This was on frozen leaves and frozen ground. When good daylight came, without calling, a strong gobble was heard up towards the head of that roosting hollow. I waited well past sun-up, not to rush things, (because of the Winter-time weather), and the turkeys non-mating mood. I made a low yelping hen-call; with my Leon's turkey caller. Nothing happen, and I knew the gobbler up-there could hear and knew where the call had been made from. Thirty-minutes later with no more calling, being done, or gobbling having been heard; here comes a gobbler with his head draw down into it's neck feathers. I was trembling and shaking all over, in anticipation of a quick season's kill. However, that's not what happen. I miss the shot; when his head went behind a tree. I shot the tree instead, of the gobbler. No doubt, the shaking from being very cold and rushing the shot, plus being over-anxious; helped cause this unexpected happening. I left the woods and went back home; disappointed you know.
The next week on April ,4th ---I went back to the Blue Ridge area; but this time to a different place. This was also a chosen still-morning to go hunting. My reasoning for choosing these still mornings is because; any wind or other noise; even a creek; takes away what little hearing I have. Easing my way down a steep lead that led down to a small level-shelf; were I have set-up many times. It is a typical place that I term a (calling-place). Again after daylight came, I heard two or three gobbles on down the lead near the bottom of a place; we call the “penitentiary cove”. This name, the (penitentiary), was giving to this gorge, because it is so steep on three-sides; it's like a prison's walls. But, the wild turkeys, they find it to there liking; especially the shelf that I was set up on, (a calling-place). Just having previous experience’s hunting there many times, and biding my time, not to rush things; help me to know what to expect and how to hunt. Without any more gobbling, later that morning, three adult gobblers with their feathers drawn-up above their ears; like the one I had already miss the week before; came up the lead to the shelf. They too, came from just one series of hen-yelps; made with Leon's turkey caller. Very slowly, and cautiously this time, I waited for a good shot to be had; and harvested the largest gobbler from the three. Well at least, now I had killed a gobbler, and it was taken from the woods that was in the original Blue Ridge WMA.
April 11th--- Choosing another still hunting morning, I could not wait to go to my most favorite calling-place. This time on a mountain's-top way down Noontootla Creek, and then a long hard climb to get up-there. This same mountain forty-seven years ago, the late, Arthur Truelove took me there and he killed the first gobbler that was killed; from the calling of my Leon's turkey caller. There had been plenty of scratching before the season open; due to a bumper red-oak acorn crop. The temperature had also warmed-up, and I hoped to hear a wild gobbler sound-off. When daylight came, no gobbles were herd. I waited on pass sun-up, before making a call; still no gobbles were being heard. I decided to stay there and call off-and-on sparingly; all day. Walking around in these woods and wild calling, is not my way to hunt. As explained; it's because of my hearing. I always do some calling, at all my calling-places, after setting-down; even if no gobbling is heard. Mountain turkeys I have learned; will come a long ways; if the calling is done from the right places; but they don't come to just anywhere.
After a long waiting spell there, and calling off and on, suddenly a gobbler's head appeared and was seen coming up-over a contour, which is a rim to a steep mountain-side. This gobbler was followed by a hen. That hen being with that gobbler; (may have been the reason why I did not hear any gobbling). Waited patiently, for the gobbler and the hen too, to go behind some cover; were I could raise my gun and put the bead on his now snow-white head; (shinning like a white-light). Because, he was now strutting to a new hen; (my hen decoy that I always use). After harvesting this second Blue Ridge gobbler; it made me very thankful, and humble. A second Blue Ridge gobbler that could be dedicate. This also was a special gobbler too; because he lived in the neighborhood; where I killed my first gobbler near here; in 1958.
Two gobblers having been killed now, and its just April, 11th. Could it be in the books, for me to take a third gobbler from the Blue Ridge? Well you better believe, I will try. However, ever since Georgia, has had a three gobbler seasonal limit, and I now hunt only the Blue Ridge; where it's difficult to kill only one-gobbler. I actually have only kill three gobblers there in a season; just one time before. That was in 2008. The Blue Ridge has always been a prestigious place; to have your name wrote on the kill sheet. Many things hinder a hunter from being able to sign your name there. The terrain, the weather, and the turkeys; all make for a hard-hunt. Many a season, when it was only a week-long season, I have hunted all week; without hearing or finding a gobbler anywhere to hunt. What's is so great about this special season so far; you may ask? Well---having gone into the woods of the Blue Ridge WMA, only three-times that season and then being in contention with gobbler all three-times; is very unreal. Not to mention some limited gobbling that I was enjoying listening to also!
The next week on April 17th---I went back to Noontootla, with my Grandson-in-law, Clayton Santiago. This time however, we saw some other hunter's flash-lights that were shinning; coming up the mountain-side. After intercepting and letting them know we were already there and that I had killed a gobbler here the week before. They bid us good-by; and left. No gobbles were heard, which was to be expected with all the talking and walking around; plus they reveal a gobbler was heard there yesterday from another mountain; but could not locate one; after coming there. There were still plenty of fresh turkey-scratching in the leaves. Having other hunters in the woods, caused me to decide; to rest the area for a while. From past knowledge of hens and gobblers coming together there; I felt like there would still be a turkey hunt. Waiting out an awful-long rainy spell, the next week and a very rainy weekend of April 27th and 28th; I chose to hunt again on April 30th. All day Saturday and all day Sunday; it had poured the rain. My rain-gauge showed showed 51/4 inches of rain for the weekend; providing some rest from us turkey hunters.
Tuesday morning at 2:AM, I check-outside my house, and found it to be still; with stars ever where. To Noontootla Creek I went again; for a third time. Another two hours and I was getting into my place on the mountain-top; where I had killed the second-gobbler; of this season. I found it was very still and only a whoop-a will was heard calling. When daylight came, I could see fresh turkey scratching made from the day before; right where I was now standing. This having been made after the rain had stop. But, even in the still air; no gobbles were heard. I eased over to an old friend, (an-oak tree) and set myself down against it; where I had done this many times before. Out in front of my seat, is a pine tree with limbs almost to the ground; shot-gun shells are stuck on it's broke-off limbs. They are reminders of other gobblers taken there before. When the sun came-up, I pick-up Leon's turkey caller and made a series of hen yelps. There was no reply. I made a second-series of hen calls, to which a short sound was heard; but could not tell what it was; or where. I made a third-series of yelps very low and I made-out a gobble this time, which sounded like it was across Noontootla Creek gorge; up high. No more calling did I do;. However, I put my hands behind my (hearing-aided---ears); and strain to hear. Only one time before in all my years hunting at Noontootla; have I made-out a gobble across that gorge. That was when James McClure and I was hunting back in 1976. That was the year of my longest one-day hunt, and finally killing the old Black Jack gobbler, (9:AM---7
M); first time calling, to gun-shot. Fairly quickly, the gobbles were much stronger and closing in; on my side of the gorge; (he must have flew across from where he had roosted). I hope for a quick third kill; Not so, instead of coming up and over the rim of the gorge; like all other gobblers in the past have done. He was now moving away; staying below the contour and gobbling real strong and very loud to my weak ears. However, as he was moving going away. I tried calling with low clucks and yelps, which did no good; all the time his gobbling became weaker; until I could not hear him anymore. I just sat their pondering what to do. After several minutes I began to hear his gobbling again. My heart pick-up at a faster beat; maybe he was coming back and above the rim-contour. No, when he got closer he was still below the rim. Then too my surprise, he was then going away a second time. Going and coming is a trait that mountain gobblers do often; especially when they are suspicious of a place, or the calling there. My pondering mind say's, (the gobbler was mess-with, or possible even shot at; here at my call-place; since I had been gone). He did seem reluctant to show himself above the rim. An old turkey hunter, Lu-Bur Adams, (White County) told me: “When a gobbler dose this; get up and go to where he came too the first time. Because, a mountain gobbler may come back to where he has been before; but will not go no further forward; than where he has been”. Without good ears; I chose to stay put. Regardless, this morning had been a thrilling time to be in the turkey woods; on the Blue Ridge WMA. Especially, with all the gobbling I had heard. (Maybe a total of thirty gobbles), so powerful, so loud and clear; like I could feel them shaking the ground. Now it has been over an hour; since the last gobbles were heard. I pick-up my Leon's turkey caller and sucks some low hen yelps out. A gobble, cut-off my calling, before I was through with the call. The gobble sounded like it was on my back side; from where the gobbler was earlier. Had he circle around and come back; this time behind me? Slowly, I adjusted myself around to face that direction. Knowing I was up against an obstinate gobbler; I was reluctant to call anymore. In a few minutes he gobble again; thus verifying the direction. Little by little he began to gobble at different noises of the woods. He was getting himself all work-up; no doubt. Never before, can I ever remember killing a gobbler on his third-time coming in. Because, he had come back a third-time and was gobbling so much; I thought I would cluck and purr. When I did, no more gobbling after that. WHY? More time---going by, everything too quite; which seem like an eternity. Had the gobbler left for a fourth-time? Sometimes though, when a gobbler goes quite; he may be slipping-back. So at this point, I was cautiously alert. Then a gobble happen that was so-close,--- so-powerful and---so- shrill; I thought my hat would fall-off; as I jerked in response. The place where my gun barrel was pointed, a large dark round gobbler's tail, was seen inching up-over a contour, followed by a snow-white head in the middle of that tail. Waiting for the gobbler to move on up, and go behind a tree; where I could aline-up the sights, and hopeful, he would turn side-ways to keep from leaving a pattern of 71/2; on his tail-feathers. He did pass behind a tree and then he turn side-ways. Thus, letting me harvested a third gobbler; for the 2013 season. Of all the turkey-kills, I have ever made; this was the most jubilant kill of them all. Because, the gobbling I heard that day; was so powerful and strong; it seem-like the woods and ground were shaking. The gobbling I was treated to on that hunt; I will always believe; happen from a power;-------up-above!
In closing, I would like to go back to a statement made near the beginning of this story; (How things have changed). Little did I know, after the 2013 season was over; how my life-style would change, from an outdoors-turkey man, to a seven-day a week care-giver; since October of 2013. I am not telling about this change; to complain. No-Sir-Re, because, I want all who read this, to understand; I do this care-giving; because I want to! I'm not paid to do this at all. Also, my new occupation; has made a better man of me. A sister-in-law, who is ninety-years of age; suffered hart-failure and was admitted to a nursing-home after a short hospital stay; in October of 2013. She, having no children, or a living husband and all her other relatives all live far away. It was obvious, she needed someone to step-up and be a care-giver to her. My wife and I, we close-up our mountain log-home, and moved into my sister-in-law's house in Gainesville; there we could do for her. I will say, When one is exposed to an old folks home, and see's all the suffering in those places; and how little help they are able to receive. This has caused me to learn; there were more important things in this life; than the beloved wild turkeys of the Blue Ridge WMA.
Herb McClure
A quote from Sheldon Henderson, of Blairsville, GA.,
“WHAT WOULD OUR LIVES BE WITHOUT MENORIES”?
