chrislibby88
Senior Member
Got an early start this morning hoping to locate some birds from the road and move in. I have hunted this property two days last year and know where I heard birds, but didn’t do any pre-scouting so I picked out a high-ish point in some super thinned pines dropping into a creek bottom hub, parked there, hoping to hear some birds. As soon as I stepped out the car before sunrise a bird was hammering 200 yards away just down in the bottom below the pines. MONEY! I grabbed some toilet paper, stepped off the road, handled business noting two other birds gobbling from several hundred yards away and the close Tom is going off every 20-60 seconds. Now it’s go time. I gear up, and slowly slip down the old fire break on the edge of the pines and make it to the edge. I set out a single hen decoy, and as I am sitting down I head a bird fly down. I look up and to my right and a bird is landing in the hardwood ditch 60 yards away and calmly walk into the pines on the other side, ****, was that another bird roosted that I bumped or was it the gobbler? It didn’t bug out putting, so maybe it didn’t even see me in the faint light. I settle in and keep listening and a few minutes later the bird starts gobbling from the corner of the adjacent pine stand that he flew into. Not long afterwords a flock of hens start tearing it up in the bottom that the gobbler flew away from! I yelp and cut back and they start making all kinda racket so I just hush. I’m between a gobbler and a flock of hens in a creek bottom, and I figure I couldn’t pick a better spot. Minutes go by and the hens start to settle down, but ole Tom is still gobbling every minute or two from the hill in the pines across the ditch, not moving. I figure either he’s gonna come, or the hens are gonna work past me, neither happens. The gobbler is stuck and calming down his gobbles, and the hens have wondered down farther into the creek bed. Was he a jake or satellite Tom? Is boss Tom holding down the hens and he is afraid to come to the flock? As I’m beginning to lose hope I hear a twig snap in the ditch, and ole stubborn Tom is walking down the hardwood ditch just out of range heading back to the creek bottom. I make a cluck, some soft yelps, and scratch the leaves, he gobbles right back, but keeps moving towards the flock. I give him a few minutes to get out of sight and grab my stuff and start to ease around the firebreak so I can slip down into the creek bottom from farther down. As I’m picking along the fire break I see another hunter sitting 20 yards from into the pines. We were sitting 50 yards apart all morning and neither of us knew. Spoke with him briefly, he got dropped off before daylight, so I’m not sure who got there first, but he decided he was gonna head back down the road and go to the other side of the creek bottom, and I would stay there and chase the Tom down.
I started easing down into the hardwoods about 75 yards until I hit an open hillside that was ringed with palmettos and the creek on my right, and thicker sapplings behind me and to my left, pretty much the perfect spot to make a bird get a closer look. The Tom is still gobbling every 5 minutes still from maybe 100 yards away. I drop my decoy, and shuffle to a wad of larger oaks with small plants around it, scratching my feet as I go, but not calling. He seems to gobble every time I kick and scratch some leaves. I sit down, Yelp lightly, nothing, Yelp harder and hit a short string of cuts and he cuts me off. I wait a few seconds and repeat, he cuts me off again. I go quiet. I hear another gobble and it’s closer, a minute later another even closer, so I start getting down on the gun. After a brief silence I see his white head peaking through the trees and brush, and he slowly zig zags his way into and out of sight. I see his beard sticking out, and boys, this ain’t no jake. At this point he is about 60-70 yards out slowly strutting closer, then turns around and goes back, then turns and weaves closer, then back. Two steps forward, one step back. It seems to take him forever to get to 50 yards and he disappears behind two large trees in between us, and just stays there strutting. Every few seconds I will catch a flash of white head poke out, or the edge of his fan, then he hangs behind the trees for a few seconds. I can hear him spitting, so I decide this is probably the limit of the range on my gun. My pattern breaks down pretty bad between 35 and 45 yards, if he will just inch a little closer I can take him. He is slowly stepping closer as he disappears behind the trees. He comes out in strut, turns and gives me his butt, then behind the trees again... and finally he turns with his neck out, and I squeeze. He fluffs up, leaps a little and rubles to the ground. I stand up, and walk over, and I’ve done it. A nice Tom, opening day at 8:30am with no scouting and my plan to locate and work a bird on a barely familiar property has come together like a dream. This is a morning I will never forget!
I started easing down into the hardwoods about 75 yards until I hit an open hillside that was ringed with palmettos and the creek on my right, and thicker sapplings behind me and to my left, pretty much the perfect spot to make a bird get a closer look. The Tom is still gobbling every 5 minutes still from maybe 100 yards away. I drop my decoy, and shuffle to a wad of larger oaks with small plants around it, scratching my feet as I go, but not calling. He seems to gobble every time I kick and scratch some leaves. I sit down, Yelp lightly, nothing, Yelp harder and hit a short string of cuts and he cuts me off. I wait a few seconds and repeat, he cuts me off again. I go quiet. I hear another gobble and it’s closer, a minute later another even closer, so I start getting down on the gun. After a brief silence I see his white head peaking through the trees and brush, and he slowly zig zags his way into and out of sight. I see his beard sticking out, and boys, this ain’t no jake. At this point he is about 60-70 yards out slowly strutting closer, then turns around and goes back, then turns and weaves closer, then back. Two steps forward, one step back. It seems to take him forever to get to 50 yards and he disappears behind two large trees in between us, and just stays there strutting. Every few seconds I will catch a flash of white head poke out, or the edge of his fan, then he hangs behind the trees for a few seconds. I can hear him spitting, so I decide this is probably the limit of the range on my gun. My pattern breaks down pretty bad between 35 and 45 yards, if he will just inch a little closer I can take him. He is slowly stepping closer as he disappears behind the trees. He comes out in strut, turns and gives me his butt, then behind the trees again... and finally he turns with his neck out, and I squeeze. He fluffs up, leaps a little and rubles to the ground. I stand up, and walk over, and I’ve done it. A nice Tom, opening day at 8:30am with no scouting and my plan to locate and work a bird on a barely familiar property has come together like a dream. This is a morning I will never forget!
