This past Sunday was maybe our last hunt as getting ready for Uruguay and Argentina is creeping up and I have birds to mount and work to do. But, boy what a great finish!
We had hunted hard in South Alabama for two days before our last morning yesterday. We had a bird all but killed Friday, but like any turkey hunt, things aren't always a sure thing. Que cera'!
After an almost mile walk on a very humid morning in the largest tract of land that I have ever hunted we arrived in a knee deep food plot that dropped off into a creek bottom and some nice hardwoods. Well, guess where the first gobble came from? Wasn't where we thought it would be coming from. A pine barren to our left that had been burned was the path we took going toward the distant and only gobble well past first light. These birds were hitting the ground well past sunrise for some reason and it gave us time to close the distance to within 100-150 yards. We ran out of real estate as we hit thick brush seperating us from the flat the bird was on and had to sit down as it was broad daylight. Glassing the distant trees I finally saw a limb move, then a tail, then a head as he gobbled again. Some 100 plus yards out he figited, strutted and gobbled as the sun rose. Stephen was unable to see all this as he was to my right and slightly ahead as we had planned. He thought the bird was already on the ground as the Longbeard answered his yelps to the pouint of cutting him off and we knew he had us on his GPS. It wasn't till he pitched down that Stephen realized he had been in the tree well past sun-up. The bird hit the ground at 6:30 and we could soon hear him drum, Stephen could hear him earlier then me and for me to hear one drum he has to be close. Real close! Looking throught the tangle of scrub and vines we both sought any movement. The drumming was both felt and heard now as the ground seemed to vibrate. All us turkey hunters have hopefully been in this situation and you know the feeling. A small brush covered rise in front of us gave way to a flat to Stephen's right as I watched him bear down on his stock with just a few imperceivable movements of the muzzle that let me know he was tracking him. I then saw a head step over the hump and drop down in the flat for my first glimpse of the bird. I almost felt the trigger pull as Stephen shot him at about 15 yards. Thirteen minutes from flydown to flopping was all it took. They say the Kentucky Derby is the most exciting two minutes in sports, but those that say that haven't turkey hunted much I suspect. I was just as happy with Stephen killing the longbeard as if I had myself. Come to think of it, part of me had!
This sure made the six hour drive a lot more pleasant.
