Started the season off in Hancock doubling up with my buddy @The mtn man on a couple of 3 year old birds. We got on top of a ridge and heard them just hammering down in a creek bottom, so we hustled down into the bottom to set up on them. On the way in, we busted a herd of deer and they ran right down the creek through the middle of the turkeys and they promptly shut up. Splitting them up was probably a good thing, because in just a few minutes, they were answering back at us and soon came slipping down the ridge to where we were waiting. I shot the last bird in the group, the only one who came in strutting and spitting, and The mtn man shot a second one who just stood there gobbling.
We spent much of the next day chasing what was obviously the Big Boss Man of the local turkey population but every time he acknowledged our calling, his harem of hens would pull him away. And to be honest, I'm glad we didn't score on him because it gave me the opportunity for what came next.
I have the privilege of knowing a wonderful family who owns a small farm and frequently see turkeys in their pasture. Wanting to get my kids involved and knowing we would have a good chance of hearing and seeing some gobblers in action, I asked if we could come hunt. They told us to come on, so we did. First, I brought my 5 year old son and we sat on the ground under a big locust tree and we had 3 different gobblers talking to us before they flew down to their hens, who took them in a completely opposite direction from us. Being 5 years old, 8:30 was about all he wanted to hunt since the turkeys were gone.
That afternoon, I brought my 6 year old daughter and we set up a blind on the same ridge. We got to see hens and a jake scratching and dusting in front of us for nearly an hour. Then, shortly before fly-up, we heard a gobble on the adjacent ridge and looked to see two big toms strutting down the ridge behind one lone hen. They never came near enough for a shot, so day 1 ended with no shots fired.
The afternoon of the second day, I brought my son again and we set up on the ridge we had seen the gobblers on the previous afternoon. With a hen decoy 25 yards in front of us, we settled in for a picture perfect April afternoon in the north Georgia mountains.
We saw all kinds of action, hens and jakes, a groundhog, deer blowing at us, a lone hen that responded to my soft calling with 20 minutes of her own serenade. I figured with her sitting in front of us yelping, I ought to just shut up and let her work, but nothing showed up.
About 7:30, I looked through the trees and could see little pockets of green pasture. Standing in one of those pockets about 200 yards away, were both gobblers in full strut. I couldn't see a hen, but I knew she was there. Picking up a box call that my father made nearly 40 years ago, I shook it back and forth and made it gobble. Both birds answered in return. They now knew I was there, so I played it cool and kept quiet for a few minutes. The next glimpse I got of them, they were about 150 yards away and had a couple young hens with them but they weren't strutting anymore. I lost sight of them again, and I made a couple soft yelps on a copper pot call I picked up at the Unicoi show. At about 7:45, I heard one gobble and I knew they were at the foot of the ridge and were coming our way. I told Coleman to stand up very slowly and help me watch. I called again, very softly and then there they were. About 75 yards down the mountain, two big black bodies with red necks and white heads appeared. I told Coleman to stand like a statue. They had spotted the decoy and were hopping logs and quickly moving our way. I already had my Benelli out the window of the blind when I told my son to very slowly cover his ears. I had my bead on the lead bird and as soon as the second bird moved in line with the first, I let them have a load of Longbeard #4s. At what I would later pace off at 54 downhill steps, the first bird dropped dead in his tracks. The second bird dropped as well, but started flopping and on the steep ridge we were on, his flopping soon carried him out of sight. Not taking time to use the door, I flipped the blind over our heads and said, "let's go get him, son!" We gave chase down the mountain and when we topped the sharp nose of the ridge, I could see the bird giving his last dying shakes.
We climbed back toward our blind, stopping to admire the colors on the first bird. They truly are magnificent looking creatures.
We gathered our blind and our belongings and went to collect the birds. Carrying them out, I realized just how big they were. Once we got them home, the scales proved them to be two of the biggest birds I've ever brought home. 22.9 and 20.8 pounds and the hardware to go with it. The big one had 1 1/2 spurs and a 10 3/8" paintbrush beard while the smaller one had 1 1/8 spurs and a 10 1/8 beard.
If you can't tell by his grin, this boy is hooked on turkey hunting now!
Dad's old box call. I can vividly remember watching Dad in his cabinet shop, tuning these calls and listening to a cassette tape of Dick Kirby calling turkeys.
We spent much of the next day chasing what was obviously the Big Boss Man of the local turkey population but every time he acknowledged our calling, his harem of hens would pull him away. And to be honest, I'm glad we didn't score on him because it gave me the opportunity for what came next.
I have the privilege of knowing a wonderful family who owns a small farm and frequently see turkeys in their pasture. Wanting to get my kids involved and knowing we would have a good chance of hearing and seeing some gobblers in action, I asked if we could come hunt. They told us to come on, so we did. First, I brought my 5 year old son and we sat on the ground under a big locust tree and we had 3 different gobblers talking to us before they flew down to their hens, who took them in a completely opposite direction from us. Being 5 years old, 8:30 was about all he wanted to hunt since the turkeys were gone.
That afternoon, I brought my 6 year old daughter and we set up a blind on the same ridge. We got to see hens and a jake scratching and dusting in front of us for nearly an hour. Then, shortly before fly-up, we heard a gobble on the adjacent ridge and looked to see two big toms strutting down the ridge behind one lone hen. They never came near enough for a shot, so day 1 ended with no shots fired.
The afternoon of the second day, I brought my son again and we set up on the ridge we had seen the gobblers on the previous afternoon. With a hen decoy 25 yards in front of us, we settled in for a picture perfect April afternoon in the north Georgia mountains.
We saw all kinds of action, hens and jakes, a groundhog, deer blowing at us, a lone hen that responded to my soft calling with 20 minutes of her own serenade. I figured with her sitting in front of us yelping, I ought to just shut up and let her work, but nothing showed up.
About 7:30, I looked through the trees and could see little pockets of green pasture. Standing in one of those pockets about 200 yards away, were both gobblers in full strut. I couldn't see a hen, but I knew she was there. Picking up a box call that my father made nearly 40 years ago, I shook it back and forth and made it gobble. Both birds answered in return. They now knew I was there, so I played it cool and kept quiet for a few minutes. The next glimpse I got of them, they were about 150 yards away and had a couple young hens with them but they weren't strutting anymore. I lost sight of them again, and I made a couple soft yelps on a copper pot call I picked up at the Unicoi show. At about 7:45, I heard one gobble and I knew they were at the foot of the ridge and were coming our way. I told Coleman to stand up very slowly and help me watch. I called again, very softly and then there they were. About 75 yards down the mountain, two big black bodies with red necks and white heads appeared. I told Coleman to stand like a statue. They had spotted the decoy and were hopping logs and quickly moving our way. I already had my Benelli out the window of the blind when I told my son to very slowly cover his ears. I had my bead on the lead bird and as soon as the second bird moved in line with the first, I let them have a load of Longbeard #4s. At what I would later pace off at 54 downhill steps, the first bird dropped dead in his tracks. The second bird dropped as well, but started flopping and on the steep ridge we were on, his flopping soon carried him out of sight. Not taking time to use the door, I flipped the blind over our heads and said, "let's go get him, son!" We gave chase down the mountain and when we topped the sharp nose of the ridge, I could see the bird giving his last dying shakes.
We climbed back toward our blind, stopping to admire the colors on the first bird. They truly are magnificent looking creatures.
We gathered our blind and our belongings and went to collect the birds. Carrying them out, I realized just how big they were. Once we got them home, the scales proved them to be two of the biggest birds I've ever brought home. 22.9 and 20.8 pounds and the hardware to go with it. The big one had 1 1/2 spurs and a 10 3/8" paintbrush beard while the smaller one had 1 1/8 spurs and a 10 1/8 beard.
If you can't tell by his grin, this boy is hooked on turkey hunting now!
Dad's old box call. I can vividly remember watching Dad in his cabinet shop, tuning these calls and listening to a cassette tape of Dick Kirby calling turkeys.
