'Scott' Post Graduate Gobblers

In last week’s column, I made spring turkey hunting sound like a simple sport, and given the hunter has plenty of time and patience, it usually is. But what if the season’s three weekends are all the time you can spare, and the turkeys refuse to cooperate?

For most veteran turkey hunters — very much including yours truly — listening to several toms trying to outdo one another’s tree gobbles is a thrill second only to listening to one of those turkeys making the woods ring with double gobbles as he hurries toward the come-hither calls of an exceptionally coy hen. Sadly, silent sunrises aren’t all that unusual even where hunting pressure is nonexistent. Worse yet, toms that tree gobble lustfully and then shut up the second their feet hit the ground are fast becoming the norm.

Were it not for the fact that a mature tom has a brain about the size of a ripe pea, I’d be suspicious that, no doubt with malice aforethought, gobblers don’t gobble solely because it drives turkey hunters nuts. There was a time when that tactic worked embarrassingly well where I was concerned. It took awhile, but I finally figured out it’s gobblers that yield fine table fare, not gobbles.

Whether I’m guiding another hunter trying to fill my own tags, I almost always begin the morning inside a dog house style pop-up blind, which I set up in a prime location the evening before I intend to hunt. If the property

I’m hunting has a limited amount of turkey habitat, experience has proven that by far the best way to deal with stubborn gobblers is to stay put all morning, if necessary.

Sometimes I can do that, and sometimes I can’t. When wanderlust overwhelms me, spot-and-stalk is my favorite farm country tactic. The secret to spot-and-stalk hunting is to spend a lot more time spotting than moving. For what it’s worth, I use Alpen 8 x 42 binoculars, because Alpen’s products are the only ones I’ve tried that work with my trifocal eyeglasses.

When I spot a gobbler (or, more likely, a flock of hens accompanied by a gobbler or two), I use the terrain as cover while I circle in front of the flock’s apparently line of travel and set up a silent ambush.

If I’m hunting a large block of forest, I usually still-hunt along a ridge. In addition to using my eyes and ears, more often than not I’ll pause every 100 yards or so to give a single series of lost turkey yelps. Note: Be prepared for instant action anytime you use a turkey call while moving through the timber.

Most of the hens will have returned to their nests and most of the hunters will have returned home by 10:30 a.m.

It’s not unusual for previously silent gobblers to start gobbling shortly thereafter in an attempt to attract one more hen. Now’s the time for a turkey hunter to showcase his calling skills.

After I hear a mid-morning gobbler, I stay put until he’s gobbled at least three times. This let me determine whether he’s remaining in one spot or moving. If he’s stationary and if the cover allows I like to work myself into position approximately 100 yards from the bird. If he’s moving I’ll at least double the distance between myself and my quarry.

I never carry fewer than three calls (usually one box call and two slates) when I’m turkey hunting. When I set up to work a gobbler, all three calls will be within easy reach. The turkey’s response to each call tells me which one he likes best at that particular time and place.

I likewise let the turkey’s reactions guide me in whether to call loudly or softly and whether to call often or seldom. (My personal philosophy is to call no more often than is necessary to keep the gobbler’s attention, but not all pro turkey hunters agree.)

I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you that crawling or otherwise sneaking up on a gobbler can be dangerous, and so can using decoys or a turkey call. Carefully and thoroughly assess the potential danger before employing any of the techniques I’ve described. If you aren’t confident the situation is safe, pass it up. That’s what I do, and I’ve managed to kill 101 turkeys since I started hunting them in 1978. And by the way, none of them would have been worth losing my eyesight for, let alone my life.