Gobbler on the Horizon

When it comes to hunting, I am more of a “do it yourselfer.” I love the preparation that goes into each hunt - the e-scouting, boots on the ground, trekking through the woods, miles behind the wheel looking for those spots that catch your eye. 2024 was my second year going all in on hunting turkeys.

I had just shot my first bird of the year and I was itching for more. Who doesn’t itch for more when it comes to turkey hunting? The first time you hear turkeys gobble off the roost, you want it again & again; addicting as nicotine, just much more rewarding. The excitement from harvesting turkeys on familiar ground never wears off, but I wanted a new experience. Sometimes the soul needs new woods to wander and new echoes to chase. I had my fair share of success, but I knew there was so much more to learn, especially from someone who was a master of the craft. I knew just the guy to call.

As soon as I had talked to Jake, I knew I wanted to go on a hunt with him. Jake embodies what hunting is all about. He has a passion for hunting and a definitive knack for chasing turkeys. I arrived early in the evening and I was ready to rock and roll. There was not much light left in the day but we wanted to go out and give it a shot. We gathered our gear and took off in Jake’s truck.

The first night of hunting, we got close. A couple of nice toms strutted into view, but it was getting late. Darkness started to creep in. After about twenty minutes of sneaking into position, we decided to back out.

The first field we pulled into at dawn the next morning, Jake stepped out and sounded off a locater owl hoot. A couple faint gobbles echoed from down over the hill—we knew it was game time. There’s nothing like that thrill… the first gobble of the morning.

Head-to-toe in camo, we hunkered down against some trees on the edge of the field. A couple decoys stood in the tall grass ahead of us, meant to distract any turkeys that may distinguish a human silhouette. Jake ran a few call sequences, and soon we started hearing soft clucking behind us.

Not long after, I caught movement down over the hill, just a flicker at first. I motioned to Jake. Then we heard it: two toms gobbling back at us, close now. Moments later, I whispered to Jake that one was coming in.

Then I saw it.

The unmistakable silhouette of a fanned-out tom, strutting on the horizon. His fan glowed golden in the morning sun. The mountains behind him looked like something out of a painting. This was God’s country.

My heart pounded. The tom locked onto the decoy and kept strutting in, completely unaware of the fate that awaited him. As I steadied my gun, he stepped right inline with my bead.

Game over.

That morning will stick with me, not just because of the shot, but because of everything around it. The stillness of the woods waking up, the sound of gobbles cutting through the mountain air, sharing the moment with a friend who’s taught me more than a few things. Hunting, to me, is more than the harvest—it’s being present in God’s creation, lessons being passed on from one hunter to another, and building memories that outlast any set of spurs or beard on the wall.