OK, you asked for it. WARNING: It's long, but should be read in entirety to get the full effect. This happened in 2007:
OK, I've named one.
This is the same bird that dad & I watched strut and gobble his heart out at the crest of a ridge while the hen he was struck on paid him no attention at the base of the hill.
This is the same bird that I took my blind in to �said� base of hill so that my daughter and I could give him a try, only to have had him roost RIGHT OVER THE BLIND and finally fly off of the ridge 30 minutes after daylight with two hens and never making a peep.
This is the same bird that my dad & I got on two weeks ago that we waited in excess of THREE HOURS (5:45-8:55) between gobbles before he finally answered me, strutted in and then I proceeded to do the Nitro-miss.
This is the same bird that I hunted a couple of other times, but he wasn't in the mood to play, so I let him rest while I went elsewhere. Dad heard him on Tuesday, so we tried him again this morning.
Thank goodness there are only three days left. If me or dad doesn't kill him, he will be all I think about 'til next year. Shoot, if we DO kill him he'll be all I think about.
OK, if you've read this far, might as well keep going to see what happened today.
He is roosted on a ridge right where a smaller ridge "T"s. Below the smaller ridge is how we approach. We have killed numerous birds on this ridge over the years, and we had what "should" have been a perfect setup.
Well, as you have deducted, that didn't work. He answered clucks/purrs, but ended up going down the left edge of the ridge we were on. Following a hen, I guess/hope.
He gobbled from the side of the hill where we had seen him in the first paragraph, and then went silent.
We finally came down from the ridge, and I could hear him near the corn field that was about 300 yards away. The logging road went right to the field. As we got closer, I couldn't tell if he was in the field or on the logging road near it. So, we had two options. Option 1, get close and try to call him up the road. Option 2, ambush him.
I was tired of messing with him, so #2 looked awfully good. We were about 70 yards from a curve that the road takes right before entering the field, and of course, he hadn't gobbled in a bit. I had my gun up, just in case he stepped into the road. I had just taken a step, when I see his head peek around the curve. I tried to get dad to freeze, but he didn't hear me. The bird froze for a couple of seconds, then actually took a step closer, before wheeling around and heading into the field.
I threw in the towel, while dad eased to the field just in case he might still be in it. he wasn't. I walked the 80 yards to where I was parked, and waited on dad. What do you think happened next?
IF you said, he gobbled from back up on the ridge, you ARE THE WINNER. So, I did what any other gobble-addicted junkie would do, and we took back off after him. He ended up right above where he had roosted !
Dad stayed back in case he tried to pull the slip AGAIN, and I got tight. He wasn't as responsive to the clucks/purrs as he had been FOUR HOURS EARLIER, but I was determined to play hard to get. That plan didn't work, because I got that tickle in my throat, and was having a very hard time suppressing the cough. So I decided to hit him hard, and started cutting. He LOVED it. Double and tripled gobbled (I have that on tape).
After several back&forths, he came back down and was level with me, maybe 70-80 yards out. I was right where the ridges "T"d, and expected him to walk the log road. I would have him at 30 yds if he did as I thought.
As you know, he didn't. I honestly believe he was about to walk into the opening when "HIS" little angel reminded him that the last time he responded to that type of calling, he was shot at. He never appeared, and soon stopped responding. It was 10:00, and I was mentally beaten.
So, I have three mornings and possibly two evenings to try to take him out of this world. However it turns out, Monday won't get here fast enough for each of us !
NEXT DAY
Gang, I have heard of hunts like this, but was always leery as to the validity of such claims.
I will to the utmost of my ability portray the events in the exact way that I remember them occurring. If you find it hard to believe, trust me, you are not alone, because I don't know that I fully believe it, yet.
If you have read my prior posts about this bird, then you know what I am facing. I won't rehash them.
I decided to sit on the side of the ridge that he has been descending and just ambush him if he took the same route. He was gobbling on the roost from the same spot as yesterday. Once on the ground, I heard him a time or two, and it sounded as if he were getting closer. Then there was silence for a period of time, and I scanned up the ridge (to my right) and down (left) awaiting an appearance. I have not made a call.
He gobbles at my 2:00 position about 70 yds out, and I'm not sure if he's on my side of the ridge or just over the top. After a while of not seeing him, and his continued gobbling, I clucked ever so softly with my mouth call. Expecting a hearty gobble, I was insulted when I did not get one. He proceeded to gobble at everything else, though. I scratched the leaves and called softly a little more, but received no response.
Finally, he wandered off a bit, but still gobbling. He was answering another bird that had fired up in the distance. One I had not heard this year.
Since we had received a shower yesterday evening, I decided to try to slip up on him. Those who have met me know that isn't easily done. I finally got to the top and peered over, but he wasn't there. He must have busted me !
I heard the bird in the distance, and decided to admit defeat by Nemesis, and head for him. However, I wanted to get a better bearing on him to see which way of approach would be best. He didn't gobble again!
So, I eased down the ridge a little and decided to sit and wait for either him or Nemesis to fire back up.
You guessed it, Nemesis started gobbling back up toward where he had roosted (and where he & I had a dandy cutting & gobbling duel yesterday).
However, I didn't know what else to do. He had heard everything I had, and I was clueless. He kept gobbling, so I decided to walk the logging road, see how close I could get, and then decide a course of action.
I went about 50 yards, and he gobbled again. "Hmm, that sounded closer!"
I shook it off as my going closer to him. After 20 more steps, he hammered from just over a rise and around a bend in the road. He was walking down the logging road that I was walking up.
I dropped on my seat to the left of the road, and had about a 6" tree that I was leaning around. I was still exposed. Soon, I saw his head bobbing down the road. When he stepped behind a tree, I got positioned for the shot. He finally stepped out and I fired at about 30-35 yards. He started flopping and I hastily approached. However, he was flopping pretty good, and then I saw that head up. I shot again on the run and proceeded to cut the distance between us. I got about 5 steps from him, and he back-flipped and started running up the road away from me.
I started running again and proceeded to take another shot without fazing him. Then I realize that I'm out of shells !
I remember I have one shell left in the bottom of my pouch. I retrieve it, all the while still trotting down the road. The turkey is now 20 yards right of the road, and is just walking at a decent pace, but dazed. I get the shell in the gun, and get off a good shot at about 25-30 yards. I missed him with my last shell!
I'm shell-less, so I lay my gun and undo my game belt and drop them in the road. I follow the turkey, who is still walking along (he has a broken wing, and is rattled pretty good) for another 20-30 yards. I am about 30 yards behind him. He climbs into a downed tree top. I stay back and can see him as he lays his head down, but then it pops back up. I am pleading with him to please die right there.
Doesn't happen. He had just called a timeout, but had failed to inform me. He takes off running straight down the rocky ridge to my right. I chase. I'm about 30 yards behind him as we both get toward the bottom of this ridge as quickly as we possibly can.
I get about 40 yards from the wet-weather creek bed, and both of my feet slide out from under me. I slide into a log that is across my path. I stop and scan the bottom for the bird. It's a little thick down there, and I have no idea where he is. I scan the opposing ridge looking for him. If he goes up it, I'm done.
He doesn't, but I don't know where he is. There is no movement, no leaves rustling, nothing! I ease my way down and look up and down the rocky creek bed. He's not there. I looked around some logs, etc. to no avail.
I go back up a little to see if I can see his path to follow as he came down the hill. I can't. I was really about to have an emotional breakdown, but was able to hold it together.
"He HAS to be here!"
I walked down the creek, and crossed to the other side. There is no water in it. I come back up the other side scanning my side to see if I had missed something. I then see something about 10 steps from me in the bottom of the creek-bed, under a log that is across the creek, but there is a gap a couple feet above the creek bottom. It's about 8" of his neck and head ! The rest of him is buried up in some leaves, etc.
"Now what are you going to do, big boy", I said silently to each of us.
I finally grabbed a rock (good size, took both hands to control it) and was going to mash his brains out. Didn't happen!
I got to within a step of the log. He's just on the other side of it. When I raised that rock above my head, he bolted. I came down with the rock and hit him in the back. It slowed him down a little. I took two steps and dove head first onto the back of the bird in the bottom of the creek bed. I have ahold of both wings, and with my weight, he's pinned.
Well, I have him, but as you know, he ain't dead. Finally I roll him over, find his neck, and do the deed. Trust me, I did not let go until I knew that he was finished.
I rolled over, breathing heavily, and just laid there to regain my composure. I thanked God for allowing my quest for this bird to finally be over.
I truly wish I could have made a clean shot on him and not had to put him through the trauma he faced in his final minutes.
Nemesis is now my #1 season-wrecker!
Nothing to brag about as far as stats, but I'm not a stats-man anyway. 17 lbs, 9.75" beard, spurs are almost an inch, but they are blunt on the tips. Must be from running those rocky ridges.
!
