In Time…

by Barry F. Yancosek, Pennsylvania Native

Slowly the gobbler continued up the faint grass trail, cautiously stepping his way towards the decoys.  The extended standoff with our arsenal of calls was over and the Tom was finally committed.  I watched Joshua clench his shotgun a little tighter and on my cue he slowly moved his gun to the left.

Another spring gobbler season was upon me, and this time it’s the one I’ve been waiting my whole adult life for.  My oldest son Joshua, 9 years old, was sitting beside me watching my every move.

It was still well before fly-down and the gobbles were picking up in two different locations, the closest being just down the valley from us on a neighboring farm.  This was the first time we were on this farm so I wasn’t sure what to expect since I only received permission to hunt the day before and had no time to scout.  It was Kentucky’s youth season, and we were ready as can be to match skills with our adversary.

I slipped into the field and set the decoys among the dew-covered grass.  I looked back and saw Joshua darkly nestled into the trees.  The joy of experiencing this with him was overwhelming, and soon filled my mind with past hunts with my Dad especially my first gobbler hunt when I was 12 years old.

Growing up and hunting the Alleghany Mountains of Pennsylvania is completely different than stalking the open fields in central Kentucky.  We only had permission to hunt the 200 acre farm we were on, so running and gunning wasn’t an option.  We were going to make a stand right there along side the gently sloping field, and wait it out.

The gobbles quickened, and soon we heard beating wings and fly-down cackles below us.  The gobbles were fainter and sounded farther into the valley.  I stepped up the pace of calling and was rewarded every time with a reassuring gobble.  I tried to explain to Joshua the picture in my mind of the bird lighting into the valley and then picking his way back up the long ridge towards us.  I stated why the gobbles sounded farther and more “hollow”, “the bird is now on the ground and starting his way to us.”

We could tell he was getting closer and we were getting more excited by the minute.  We caught movement to our right and a hen broke into the field heading to the decoys.  At one point, she was only 20 feet from the end of Joshua’s gun, walking among her new foam friends.

Another gobble brought our eyes back left, and the black silhouette of a strutting gobbler was 300 yards below us in the field as if magically appearing.  He gobbled non-stop wanting his new-found harem to come to him.  I purred one time with a soft yelp, and the hen started cutting.  She cut non-stop for 5 minutes among the decoys.  The gobbler never moved.  I didn’t dare call any more as I was afraid the hen would pick us out and the game would be over.  So, we waited until she started towards the strutting gobbler.  When she was 80 yards from us, I stated cutting and brought out all our calls.  She answered right back but continued to meet the urging gobbler.  He wouldn’t move.

I tried some contentment calls hoping to change his mind, but nothing was bringing him closer to the waiting shotgun.  The standoff was getting old, and I was beginning to wonder what else we could do when I remembered a past hunt similar to this one.  Do nothing.  Just wait.  The gobbler was hearing our calls, and he could see the decoys.  It was time to stop calling and just watch.  We couldn’t move without being seen, so to stop calling seemed like our best option.

After what seemed an eternity of silence, the gobbler dropped out of strut and moved a little closer.  We stayed silent.  The sun was rising behind the gobbler highlighting the different bands of feathers in his tail.  His head was like a light bulb in the dark as he continued towards us strutting each step.  The hen was following right behind him.

200 yards, 100 yards, constant gobbles.  I started praying the stars would align and the gobbler would “step” in front of Joshua’s gun.  When he was 100 yards, out I noticed a broken branch that I didn’t think much about during our long pre-dawn wait.  The branch was now just off the end of his barrel and obstructing his view.  “No!  How could I miss that big branch?”

The gobbler was only 50 yards and closing with each measured step.  I was whispering into Joshua’s ear trying to keep him calm while wishing my Dad was there whispering into mine.

On cue Joshua took off the safety, and when the gobbler was 30 yards away, I whispered for him to shoot.  He whispered back the branch was blocking his shot.  His grip tightened as he slowly moved his gun to the left.  “Take him, take him” I whispered.  Unfortunately the gobbler saw us move.  Alarm putting, he quickly retreated as Joshua feigned left the shotgun roared.

“Did I get him?” Joshua asked.  I swallowed hard as I watched the birds fly into the valley.  “No son you shot over him” I replied.  My stomach hit my throat, and I couldn’t find the words.  I looked down into the disappointed eyes and could feel his misery.  We’ve all been there and experienced that same sick feeling that haunts us for days.

I explained to him that the bird saw me move and started his quick retreat before he was ready to shoot.  It wasn’t his fault it was mine.  The branch, which I should have paid more attention to, was now sticking out like a mallard among geese.  I felt like jumping on it but decided being calm was a better choice.

I tried to state, maybe even plead, in how successful the hunt was and how unlikely it was that we got the bird to cover all that ground leading a hen.  We sat down and talked about what we did right and what we did wrong with plenty of each to discuss.  However, no amount of “talking” could take away the disappointment of a first time hunter missing a gobbler the first time hunting.  I assured Joshua that we will take the lessons learned from this hunt into the next hunt and it gives us a bigger tool bag to use when chasing the gobblers next time.

We just sat there and watched the sun break over the trees.  Not a cloud in the sky, and the cool morning air was refreshing.  My mind drifted back to that hunt with my Dad where that gobbler wouldn’t come in either.  Eventually he did, and I missed him point blank at 30 yards.  I remembered that feeling of frustration so I relayed the same message to Joshua that my Dad did to me, “It’s OK to miss, that’s part of it.  In time son, in time…”