The story begins on opening day of turkey season. This gobbler had set up residence next to a public road. So I was intent on putting him in my freezer before the local piddling army decided to help. Visible turkeys are always a temptation to these less than honest individuals and this bird would often strut within shotgun range of a public road.

On opening morning, he was happily strutting for 30 or more hens. I had no illusions of my ability to call him off that many hens. Instead my hope was that I could make enough hens mad and they would try to run me off. This would bring the gobbler in shotgun range.

I took the roundabout route and came in from the back of the field. A terraced hill allowed a sneak to within 100 yards. The turkey lounger was placed on the ground and a long sit was expected. Imagine my surprise when on the first yelps a hen got fired up and he started gobbling. He had a deep gobble that seemed to echo inside your head. As much as hearing it, you felt it. The gobble bounced around in my head like a bouncing rubber ball.

The hen stepped right over the hill, took one look at the slumped over man in a turkey chair and went the other way. With things going downhill quickly, I belly crawled to the edge of the terrace. There stood the turkey I will call Loudmouth. He stretched his neck to the sky, looking for whatever had his hens moving the other way. Judging the distance as 40 yards, I set the bead on his neck and shot. All hell erupted with 30+ turkeys taking flight. Quail have nothing on a whole flock of turkeys all going at once. Surprisingly, Loudmouth went with them.

Stepped it off and the 40 yards was an honest 65. I had contracted a huge case of Big Eye. In all honesty, that was the last I expected to see of Mr. Loudmouth.

The next day Loudmouth and his contingent of hens were back in the same field. Other turkeys held my attention for the next few days. The next weekend, my listening spot was close and I could hear him making his announcement to the world that he was alive and well. Again other gobblers seemed easier and my attention was diverted.

For the next week, every time I listened in that area, Loudmouth was gobbling. He stayed roosted in the same place and I kept getting reports of him strutting in that area. What I had noticed was that other birds would gobble until Loudmouth sounded off. Then they would hush in deference to his spectacular noisemaking ability. So I decided Loudmouth’s reign of terror needed to end. A plan was formulated to dethrone the king.

From previous encounters, I knew that calling him away from his hens wasn’t going to work. He had one weakness. Loudmouth loved to pitch to a small knob and strut until his hens joined him. Getting to the knob was impossible but I thought I could get within 70 yards.

The next morning was foggy with a light mist. A gentle breeze stirred the woods. I call it morning but when I started, it was pitch black. I know these grounds from 50 years of running every inch of this pasture. So I was able to negotiate to where I would set up without a light and without breaking my neck. A decoy was considered necessary and I set it out. The hen decoy was positioned so if Loudmouth made a move in her direction, it put him under my gun. There was a faint tinge of light in the East when I sat down.

I would love to describe the glorious sunrise but that would be pure fabrication. The mist stopped but it was a day when you could swear the sun would never rise. Things got lighter in the East and at some point it was daylight. Hard to say how it even happened because I don’t think I even saw the sun on that day.

The first turkey sounds were a few tree yelps from Loudmouth’s hens. Well at least I would get to see Loudmouth lead them into the field. Then the hens started whining. They put on quite a chorus until Loudmouth announced his presence with the first crow sounds. He gobbled as usual to every sound the world made. His subjects responded with silence as he was intent on singing his solo. This serenade lasted for 15 minutes and I decided I better get in the game. A single cluck was all the noise I made. Any further noise and he would have me pinned to the tree. From his roost tree he couldn’t see into the privet where I was hiding but he made sure that I knew he was in the area and looking for love.

Two hens pitched 20 yards in front of me and my agony of defeat by hens became a delight of possibilities. Loudmouth was now in rare form and the next thing I heard was the none too graceful flop,flop, flop of wings. Loudmouth was now standing 70 yards away looking at the knob, He postured into full strut and headed to the knob. The hens, being good subjects, started to follow. I took a risk and let loose another cluck. The hens turned and looked and Loudmouth strutted a foot towards me and then turned his back to me and headed for the knob. The hens turned around and headed his way.

The game was fun while we were playing but it was looking like this game was over. Out of the blue the familiar flop, flop, flop was repeated and a jake lands on the other side of the hens. Loudmouth took one look at the jester and his mood completely changed. Those were his hens and no lowly jake was going to be allowed to look at them. The hens were still and the jake was coming to my decoy looking for the source of the clucks. Loudmouth came out of strut in his hurry to end the attentions of this unwanted suitor.

One last cluck came when Loudmouth got within 30 yards. As before, his neck stretched to the sky in an attempt to see the hen. This time the load of 6’s found its target and Loudmouth flopped down the hill. The mist and dew left him soaked. He was a shadow of his strutting magnificence. It was with a great deal of pride that I threw him over my shoulder and toted him out.

The next weekend I hunted the same area. The morning was greeted with silence. Without Loudmouth’s lusty singing, the sunrise seemed empty. The subordinate gobblers haven’t learned that the king is dead. It occurred to me that I really miss that bird. The chess matches we have played are no more. In this game we play for keeps. The wild card jester brought about his demise. I cannot wait for the next Loudmouth to take his place but this one will always be etched into my memory.

Nicely done sir

Great story!

Man that was awesome and very well written.

Nice! Congrats on a great hunt. Great read

Awesome story ...hopefully you have tried your hand at outdoor writing, seem pretty good at it to me

But are you sure it was the same gobbler? I’m kidding I’m kidding 😀
Congrats!

Nice read. I had a case of the ole Big Eye this year too.

Good story. Thanks for sharing and congrats for bagging Loudmouth....

Congrats and great story.

Great story

Good story!

Well written. Congrats on dethroning the king.

Thanks for all the kind words. It was the same turkey. I picked out several old #6's with lots of scar tissue around them. Besides, this isn't a very good story unless you are fooling with the same bird. Most of my death matches ended up with the gobbler strutting off into the woods. Nice to get lucky every so often!!!!

I like it. Super!

Dr. B