It might have been, one way or another.

think of it as confessional Preacher, it will be good for you...

troy

My wife and I hunted a bird for a couple of years in Jefferson Co, maybe ten minutes from the house. Quickly named him Arsehole, it aptly fit him. He'd answer you calling to him...and go the other way. Never roosted in the same tree/trees two nights in a row, never went the same way two days in a row.

One morning Mel and I slipped in to a bow blind I had made in the dark, a stab in the dark so to speak, on the slim chance that he was close by. As it got light a couple of hens started the morning conversation and he gobbled maybe 75 yards away with us between him and the hens. I damn sure wasn't going to yelp at him.

He's gobbling good when Mel tells me her gun ain't loaded. WTH? ARRRGGGHHRGGGG! And she's shooting a Montefeltro 3" 12 ga. You can't load them quietly. I stew a second and then tell her to quietly pull the bolt back and wait till he gobbles again. Of course ya know he's in that silence-before-fly down mode now.

Hens are getting close and out of desperation I cackle at him and Mel drops the bolt just as he gobbles. I hold my breath till he gobbles again, on the ground and closer. I see him coming, headed to the small log deck we are set up on. He walks by at ten yards and enters the open deck. I tell Mel to kill him. She gets the gun on him and I realize she is hyper-venelating to beat all. Gun is waving all over the place. I tell her to take a deep breath. Dosen't help. I finally punch her shoulder and TELL her to take a deep breath.

I just KNOW we're going to spook the bird but the blind did it's job. She finally settles down and kills him. Seems like he was 16 er so pounds, with very sharp 1 1/4" spurs....

troy

All right, but you only get the short version.

I was calling to a turkey about 30 minutes before sunset; he was coming in on a rope, drumming all the way; gun aimed toward the turkey, waiting on him to take one more step to get from behind a tree, and all of a sudden he flew up and lit on a limb just above my head.

Sitting there until dark and coming back the next morning wasn't an option; there wasn't a twig between us and he was already stretching his neck all over the place looking at me and trying to figure out where his hen was. It was either shoot him or watch him spook and fly off.

My inner angels were having a heated debate with my inner demons to determine the ethical course of action, when suddenly the gun went off and the turkey came crashing down. As somebody noted earlier, they make a lot of racket falling out of a tree.

I knew it.

I am sure you thought about it alot longer than I did.

Wait..

You guys are killing me with these stories.

On Apr 14, 2003 (day before my oldest was born) I was hunting a small track in north Bibb on which I had gotten on a group of birds a couple of times that were using a steep ridge and the Cahaba River as front and back barriers for roosting. Very early before daybreak that morn, I decided to head towards a strutting spot that I had watched them in a few times already that season. It was cool, and it had rained that weekend and the leaves were wet and fog was rolling off the river making for a quiet/concealed setup. I sat there in the very still for several minutes before the first owl hooted which was immediately answered by (at least) 2 birds less than 100yds away. Just before daybreak, hens began dive bombing all around so I knew the setup was good and it was just a matter of time before the toms hit the ground. The hens actually provided all the calling necessary…I never made a sound that morning. I was able to make one of the gobblers out in a tree and just about daybreak, he pitched and landed about 30yds directly down the barrel and immediately went into strut. A minute or so later, another hen flew down and was cackling as she passed through the woods causing the tom to come out of strut and the rest was history…or not?

Unbeknown to me was that the 2nd gobbler had also landed just behind the 1st but in my moment of concentration, I had not noticed. After the shot, I slowly collected my things while watching the first turkey flop, put everything back into place, buttoned up and proceeded towards the bounty. When I reached him, he was just on the ledge of a very steep, sheer rocky drop into the river. As I peered over the edge thanking God for the morning, His creation, the turkey, etc., I noticed another turkey about 100 yds downhill flopping and gently rolling towards the river. In an instant, I put 2 and 2 together and realized I killed (or at least shot) 2 birds and that the 2nd one was 'getting away'. I began immediately making my way precariously down the rock embankment towards the river. About half way to him, I realized I couldn’t see him anymore and then realized he had made it to the swollen river. I finally make it to the river’s edge and begin running down the bank trying to catch up to him. The whole time I‘m taking the vest off, trying to get out of shirts, etc. because I was going to retrieve this turkey even if it required a dip in the Cahaba. As fate would have it, I caught up to him, was able to get my boots off and wallet out and retrieved him after a short swim in a murky, swollen, cold a$$ river. Needless to say, I had clothes and gear strewn for about 100yds but managed 2 long beards from a single shot along with some cool memories.

This is not a kill story, but another cold water story, and one that might be a candidate for "this happened to me" in Outdoor Life.

Last spring on opening day in NC my two oldest sons were float hunting a large creek with a 10' jonboat. I was hunting up in VA with my brother, and about 10a.m. I called my son's cell phone to check on how their hunt was going. To my surprise, my wife answered his cell phone, at the house. After I recovered from the confusion, she related to me that they'd been home for about 30 minutes and both the boys were in the bed asleep.

Now, since they had nearly a two hour drive to get home from where they were supposed to be hunting, my 2nd grade math skills told me that they sure weren't in the woods very long that morning. So, I asked her to tell them to call me when they go out of bed to give me a hunt report.

Around noon, I got the call, and this was the report I received.

As luck would have it, as they were floating downstream at gobbling time, they had a turkey gobbling, upstream. So, they paddled upstream towards the bird against the current to about where he was, and beached the boat, only to have him shutup before they could get a good line on him. But not all was lost, because as this was unfolding, another bird, back downsteam of course, was getting really loud.

So, they took off on foot towards the gobbling bird. As they got down there to where he was gobbling, they were pained to find out that he was on the other side of the creek. And it was at that moment they remembered why they had brought the boat in the first place. Now, the creek was running high and muddy with all the recent rain we'd had. It was about 20 yds across in that section with steep banks.

The bird was really tearing it up, and the younger son wanted to try to call him across the cold creek. But his older brother wanted to take the fight to the bird. Since the boat was several hundred yards back upstream, it made much more sense to just swim across to the turkey and get on his side of the creek, rather than go way back up there and paddle way back down, or futiley try to make him fly across. Heck, by the time they did all that, the bird would surely be shut up or long gone. Right?

Amid the protests and warnings of his younger brother, he threw caution and good sense to the wind, slid down the bank, gun, boots, vest and all, and proceeded to attempt the crossing. After about two steps, he was in over his head and immediately realized that trying to swim a raging creek while holding his Benelli over his head in one hand, and with two knee-high Lacrosse rubber boots filled with water on his feet, was not such a bright idea.

At the third time going under, he swallowed his pride and started screaming for help. Luckily the younger son had life-guard experience, and had already taken off his vest and put down his gun in case it went badly for his older brother. So, as the screaming commenced he was already pulling off his boots. In a split second he had jumped into the current, and was swimming over to his older brother just as his Benelli was disappearing under the muddy water along with it's owner.

Thanks to younger brother, older brother eventually found himself back on dry land, and breathing good air, though still on the opposite side of the creek from the gobbling turkey.

The last time they heard the bird gobble, he was a lot farther away. And neither one of them was too anxious to bother with him, or any other bird, anymore that day.

I'm guessing the gun was gone.

I was wondering about the benelli too.
I had a friend fell out of his boat while putting cedars out for crappie. It was 15 degrees. He managed to get back in his boat but when he got to the dock his coveralls were frozen solid.

Preacher, I hunted the Jean Watts place just north of Camden, owned by Ralph and Olivia Martin. Named for David Gastons uncle who drowned in a pond there.

Ennyway, I was scouting one afternoon to carry Miss Olivias son the next morning hunting. Hadn't seem/heard anything for a while. I had a bad head cold all season and it was just starting to clear up, allowing me to use a mouth call. I was sitting on the bank of an old road just calling away, dang near non stop.

I hit a break in calling to hear foot steps right behind me. A nice gobbler walked to within ten yards behind me and pitched up maybe 20 yards in front of me. We had much the same conversation ya'll did. I finally decided not to shoot because I now knew EXACTLY where a bird was to hunt in the morning.

Course you already know we didn't kill that bird . I think it's some kind of jinx to know exactly where a bird is....

troy

Actually, he never let go of the gun. He said he was about to let it go but his brother grabbed him just in time...

Great, Im sure he learned something that day.

At least I ain't crazy enough to ever swim for one, but the thought has certainly crossed my mind before. I have waded creeks and busted my rear end on several occasions; cracked the stock on my shotgun on one of them. Glad the boys were ok, Hal!

I hope the statute of limitations has run out on all these illegal kills. Mine might have been in a tree, but at least he was legal.

Troy, you are just more of a sportsman than me. I was raised up in hard times and just never could bear to let anything get away. I came by it honestly - both of my grandfathers went into the water after fish that were getting away, and never thought anything about it.

heck, Preacher I might of made a different decision if I wasn't carrying the landowners son the next morning....

I have shot two out of a tree over the years. Both were cripples that flew off and were found in a tree. One went maybe fifty yards and lit, badly hit. The other flew at least 400 yards across a bean field and lit in a small woodlot. Took a while to find him, finally heard the blood drops hitting the leaves under him.

troy

My dad and I discovered the joy of turkey hunting late in life, but at the same time. When he would kill a turkey, he would completely unload his gun on it; especially if it was still flopping. Anyway, I always gave him a hard time about ruining the breast meat and he always defended himself by never letting one get away.

Unfortunately, I wasn't with him on this hunt, but it's worth sharing anyway. He and a friend, Mr. Martin, decided to split up one morning and try hunting on their own, but not too far apart. Shortly into the hunt Mr. Martin hears my dad shoot followed by a lot screaming and loud commotion. Certain that my dad has shot himself, Mr. Martin takes off running towards his location. Relieved, he finds that my dad hasn't shot himself. Instead, my dad is cussing and rolling around on the ground trying to get away from a huge gobbler that is trying equally hard to get away from him. It turns out that my dad took my advice (the only time to my knowledge) and decided to run out to the turkey and put his foot on the birds head. But somehow, the gobblers head rolled when he stomped it and my dad blew his knee out falling on the turkey. Ohhhhh how I wish I had been there.

One of my favorite video moments is of the next bird we killed together. I called up a turkey for him. As always, he shot it as soon as he could see the head (which makes for a crappy turkey video). Anyway, I just sat and kept recording after the shot as he made his way to the bird. Somewhere along the way he picked up a 5' long cedar fence post and spent the next 5 minutes beating the hell out of the turkey. He said he might start unloading on them again, but he'd never step on another one's head.

So far there has only been one instance where I wish I had a nitro or TSS. I had a demon of a bird I had been after for 3 years at 70 yards strutting on a limb one morning. Well, you know what would have happened.

One time a took a good friend of mine turkey hunting that had never killed one. He was fresh off of a rotator cuff surgery on his right shoulder too. We went to his leases outside of Eufaula that was loaded with birds. We set up and I called one in text book perfect. We when he shot the turkey went flopping one direction and my friend went flopping and hollering in the other direction. Seems the gun kicked perfectly on his fresh surgery repaired shoulder

A buddy and myself chased two gobblers all morning over his Coffee Co lease one day. Well about lunch time they finally quit gobbling and we had given up. As we rounded a bend in the road there they were. One gobbler ran off and one flew up into a tree right over our heads. I looked at my friend and said "well technically that's not a roost", click.....boom.

I went to school with Ralph Jr when he was at Catherine Academy and knew his family well.