Is a Tom by Any Other Name Still as Sweet? That is not a question I have ever considered until this spring. Brad and I have been chasing them together without a lot of success. In desperation we have changed location a couple of times now. On this day, we headed out to Shirlene’s property. In a wonderful dawn morning gobbles sounded in trees we had walked by in the darkness. So moving back toward the truck we sat up and put out the trustworthy Toby!
The tom hits the ground and gobble again and again. Hens sounded to our north, but he would have to come by us to get to them. A close gobble sounded like the hunt would be over soon, but for all our looking we didn’t see him. Then now a gobble with the girls behind us confirmed what we dreaded. Somehow he had slipped passed us to the ladies. Toby had scared him off from out sweet calls of seduction.
We moved over to the north ravine, and saw a hen, but the big boy was gone for the day. The walk to the truck and the debriefing began. Would not change a thing just some days they go the other way. In the office later as I continued to think about the slip this Tom had pulled on us I came up with a plan.
Four o’clock that afternoon I headed back to see if the big guy would be as cautious going back to bed as he was waking up that morning. A quick glance down the lane as I drove by in the truck showed a couple of birds near where he had eluded us that morning. I would park to the south and move through the timber back up to the tree near where he was roosted. We had noticed a deer stand still there from the fall. It would give me something I could spot from the bottom of the timber while moving up the hill.
I eased through the woods and just as I spotted the tree stand I saw the head of a hen moving off to the west along the top of the ridge. She either had spotted or heard me, but she didn’t fly or putt too wildly. The first big tree east of the deer stand I set Toby out again and hid next to a cedar tree with some buck brush in front. Great cover, but a good view as well. Just to mix it up I pulled out the gobble call and gave it one good shake and settled in for the evening. It was 5:30.
A cluck, a purr or a yelp about every 15 minutes was it. Don’t want to draw to much attention. It’s now about 7:15 and time to be on high alert. There across the meadow movement. It’s a hen. She is looking at Toby she passes through at gun range. The sun is going to be a problem. I can barely make out that she doesn’t have a beard. Now another hen follows and I never do get a clear look. If he’s not strutting I am not sure if I will be able to identify him in the light.
“GOBBLE,GOBBL, Gobbl” rattles through the timber. I guess he saw Toby, but I can’t see him. West not more than 40 yards I would speculate. The seconds tick by, and now there it is movement at not more than 15 yards through the cedar tree. . . but what? A Tom cat! He walks through the decoy and moves on to the east. In the sunlight I nearly took off his tail with a load of six’s. I am sure the desired tom saw him, and the night is over, but I hold still in hope.
“Tists fuuuuuu” the magic sound that a veteran turkey hunter dreams of in his sleep. There it is the top of his fan right where I first saw the tom cat. He is coming right to Toby for a stand off. I can barely see the sites on my shotgun in the sun’s glare through the feathers of the big boy. Not more than 10 yards separate us and the guns roars just as he clucks in disbelief at Toby.
I jump up to retrieve him and see a hen flying west. He doesn’t move as I was on him. The tom cat is nowhere to be seen.
Vital Statistics: Kansas, April 28, 25 lbs, 11 ½ beard, 1 1/8 spur and 7/8 spur; total score 68
Gobbler Comin' 