The Sportsman's Corner

Last fall, my autumn turkey season did not begin until Monday afternoon of the first week – the only week in WMA 4A. It rained cats and dogs on Saturday and continued through Monday morning. As an old retired guy who despises hunting in the rain, I sat it out until the rain ended.

On Monday afternoon, I took a short hike to a knob where I had found some turkey scratching near a grapevine tangle before the season. I sat and called till nearly dark; but if any turkeys were nearby, they did not answer me.

On Tuesday, I made a long-hike hunt through some local state game lands. I saw a little turkey scratching and stopped to call periodically, but once again any birds nearby ignored me.

On Wednesday morning I hiked to a nice open oak grove where I had encountered turkeys in the past. Not that morning. So, I went home, had a sandwich, and then ventured back to the grapevine tangle where I had set up Monday afternoon.

I was pretty tired from hiking and decided to sit and call all afternoon. I had called only a couple of times when a big turkey appeared about 50 yards below me. When he disappeared behind a little bank, I leaned forward to see if I could determine where he was headed – hoping he was headed my way. Instead, I noticed another big bird off to my right, considerably closer. I already had my 12-gauge propped on my knees. I slowly swiveled so that I could cover the turkey with my sights. My internal "range finder" estimated the bird at about 35 yards.

At about the time I had figured the distance, the big gobbler cocked his head sideways. Any experienced turkey hunter recognizes this as a turkey's way of zeroing in on something suspicious and that he had better act quickly.

I snapped off the safety, aligned my shotgun's sights on the turkey, and fired. In previous seasons, I have often missed downhill shots at turkeys at this range – but not on that warm, sunny afternoon. The big tom crashed to the leaves and rolled underneath a log. As quickly as a then 68-year-old could, I hustled to the downed gobbler to make sure he did not make a miraculous recovery.

The turkey turned out to be the biggest autumn turkey of my 50-year turkey-hunting career. He weighed 19 pounds and sported two beards: one 9 inches, the other 3.

I doubt that I can hope for an "instant replay" this fall.