My expectations for the rainy, May morning were rather low, since the turkeys in that area seemed sluggish on rainy days. Although a novice turkey hunter, I had been around the block enough to know that a clear morning produced better results than an overcast, drizzly day. Nevertheless, I was hunched up against a maple tree, the 12-gauge straddling my lap and my gaze resting on the dim outlines of my decoy spread. I would hope for the best, despite the gloomy outlook.
To my great surprise, a gobble rang through the damp woods, shaking my senses back to reality and engaging my mind in the unexpected situation that I now faced. I sat up and listened intently, hoping that the gobbler I believed I had heard would sound again. Mere seconds later, another gobble shook the woods, followed by another in the same area. Then another, this time in a different location. My excitement began to stir, as the outlook was steadily growing brighter.
Slipping my hand over the turkey call, I continued to listen, hoping that I would again hear the gobblers. It wasn’t long before several more gobbles had echoed through the woods, indicating that my chances of success were good. Clucking softly with the call, I again listened, this time harder than ever. My success rested on the gobblers’ interest in my calls. I knew that, if they did not immediately answer, I would be facing a bit of a dilemma.
Fortunately for me, I never had to face such a problem. Just a little after I had stopped clucking with the call, both gobblers near me let out their respective calls. I estimated that they were 200 to 250 yards away – certainly in a place that I was confident would be to my advantage. After calling again, with the answer again shortly after, I set down my call and began the waiting game.
After fly-down, all the gobblers shut up. Anxiety set in, and, after what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, I called again, eager to hear the turkeys respond. My hopes again fell, as not one gobbler replied to my calls.
But after a few minutes of pessimistic waiting, I spotted a hen entering the field of which I was set up just outside. Pacing back and forth, it began to yelp incessantly, immediately eliciting gobbles from all around. Although my pride in my turkey calling skills took a blow in response to the unfolding situation, I quickly understood that the hen was playing into my hand. It was a live decoy, parading around in the field I overlooked. If anything was going to bring a tom into range, it was her.
Ten minutes passed before I spotted two toms walking into the field and heading in the hen’s direction. I knew I had to grab their attention at that moment. Quickly clucking a few times with the call, I prepared for the toms to advance toward my decoy setup. I wasn’t disappointed.
As they steadily began to close the distance, my excitement began to build. Here two toms were, walking straight at my decoys on an uncooperative-weather day. However, my excitement was short-lived.
Since there were two, I felt that I couldn’t move the gun without spooking one (which, I presumed, would scare the other away). I had hoped that an opportunity to move the gun would come when the turkey’s head slipped behind a tree; but there were two turkeys. When one’s head was behind a tree, the other’s was in plain sight. I felt stuck. Because I understood that a turkey’s eyesight was exceptional, I was aware that movement should be kept to a minimum to avoid spooking the birds. However, what I didn’t understand was that there comes to a time when a hunter must run the risk of spooking the birds to get a shot.
Suddenly, when the turkeys reached my decoys and inspected them more closely, they turned on a dime and began to trot away. I shouldered the gun and searched for a shot, but none presented itself, and the toms disappeared back into the woods from whence they had come. Disappointedly, I slowly lowered the gun. My mind began to replay the hunt, and I gradually began to see my error. Had I raised the gun, the results could have been much different.
I still kick myself about that very hunt, knowing full well that I could have dropped a tom had I only been more proactive in securing a shot opportunity. Unfortunately, I have committed the same error in other realms of hunting, and have witnessed it occurring in other situations. Too often, hunters either err on one side or the other – being hasty or hesitant. Granted, each situation is different, and, as a result, the decisions made should reflect that. However, the lesson still is applicable, wherever you find yourself. If you are hesitant, as I was, you are running the risk of ruining your opportunity to be successful. So, take heed that you avoid the problem of being hesitant, as well as hasty. Take the opportunity.