With the recent rain and humidity, it seemed as though the leaves were melting.  Drops of water were falling all around us, and the wetness in the air made it feel as though we were hunting in the Everglades, rather than in Southern Michigan.  I’m sure, if I would have tried, I could have taken my hunting knife out of my pack, and easily sliced a hole through the air.  But since it was the last opportunity my wife would have to bag her first turkey, we were not going to be deterred.  We settled into the blind about 5:15am, and waited for what the morning would bring.

It didn’t take long before we heard the first gobble pierce the morning silence.  Of course, this bird, and all the other gobblers we heard this morning, would be at a distance.  We were still pumped, though, because during my wife’s last hunt, we didn’t even hear one gobble – not one gobble.

As the sun broke through the morning dampness, we finally had a little action.  Jeff’s call caused a bird that was roosted nearby to break from its roost, and head to the ground.  I was pumped to see the bird land within 30yds of the blind, but after further inspection, we had to let the hen move on through the woodlot.  We couldn’t believe it – considering we had already killed three toms from this location – that this hen was roosted by herself.  But she was.  And there was nothing we could do about that.

For the next hour or so, we tried to stay positive.  But knowing the history of this spot, none of us were feeling very confident about being able to persuade a tom to leave the hens we were sure he was already with, and head in to our setup.

With that we decided to patrol the edge of the property, calling sporadically as we went.  But with nothing answering our calls, we decided to grab some breakfast, and head to one last spot before giving up for the morning.  All of us had prior engagements we had to get to, but we wanted to give it one last try before calling it a day.

As we drove down the road that runs parallel to the property, I noticed feathers sticking up above a slight mound in the field.  I grabbed Jeff’s coat, and wondered why he wasn’t stopping.  I knew if we drove on any further, because these birds were so close to the road, we would spook them and send them into the next field we couldn’t hunt.

We backed up slowly, turned around, and headed to the entrance of the property.  With guns loaded, and gear at the ready, we snuck through the small woodlot to hopefully intercept the birds as they walked into the property.  Experience had told us that, since these two gobblers already had hens with them, we would have a much better chance of setting up where we thought they would go, rather than trying to call one of the gobblers away from his hens.

But sometimes the best laid plans…..

We got into the back corner of the property undetected, sat down against the best trees could find in the area – and right in the middle of wettest part of the property (I was soaked through my clothes) – and waited.

We tried calling.  We tried being quiet.  And while the birds did make their way to within about 50yds of us, finally, as turkeys do sometimes, they turned around and began to feed through the corn field away from us.  We made one last ditch effort to cut them off in another part of the woodlot, but as we arrived at the new location, and peered out into the corn field, we noticed, in the words of the Da Yoopers, that “There they was, gone!”

And, with that, went my wife’s turkey season for the year.  We tried, and we failed, but he had a hell of a time trying.  And listening to my wife gobbling back to Jeff’s slate call will be something that will stay with me forever.

Next hear, Hun, I promise, we’ll get you that bird.

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