The blind sits on an outside corner of woods at the intersection of three fields of corn, soybeans, and newly planted CRP. It is a natural turkey crossing area, and I have had great luck there in past years. When nothing else is happening elsewhere it is a great place to set up and just wait. There was also a halfway decent chance that those roosted birds from up behind the cabin would eventually make their way down to the fields.
The morning was crisp, calm, and bright. A perfect day to be in the woods. But after the initial gobbles from surrounding woods and the birds had flown down for the morning I didn't hear another sound. Not even a hen appeared in any of the fields that I could see. The early morning hours drifted by without a hint of a turkey in the area.
Finally, about 9 am I broke out some nuts for a snack and opened a book to pass some time. I hadn't even finished the forward of the book when I looked out to see a turkey crossing the corn field 300 yards out. Binoculars told me it was a mature tom!
He continued on down and into the CRP field. I cut loose with what I thought was sexy turkey talk. He never so much as broke stride or looked my direction. This guy was on a mission, and before I knew it, he was up and over a small rise and out of sight. Dang! I know I'm not the best caller in the world, but usually I can at least get a glance!
Not more than a few minutes later, right from the rise the tom had disappeared behind, a turkey came over the top headed my way. And he was coming on a dead run! I don't know if it was the same bird that suddenly had a change of heart, or another bird that had heard my calls, but this one was closing fast!
I scrambled to get my chair folded out of the way, windows of the blind adjusted, and an arrow knocked. At forty yards he put on the brakes and puffed into a half strut.
I had an alert hen decoy at about ten yards, and a breeding hen with a DSD jake behind her at seven. The tom worked his way steadily in while sizing up the competition from my jake. When he reached eight yards I drew, picked my spot, and the string slipped away.
At the shot the tom hobbled away on one good leg with the arrow hanging by the fletches from the opposite side. He made his way down to a little patch of brush and trees between the fields and held up there. Obviously not dead, but not feeling very well either. The good news was that I could keep eyes on him and he couldn't leave that little thicket without me seeing him go.
I know all too well what happens when a marginally hit bird is pushed too soon, so I just bidded my time watching and waiting. I wanted to give him as much time as I could.
To make a long story short, I eventually worked my way up to the mortally wounded bird, missed with a follow up arrow, and after a short foot chase ended up taking him down with a Clay Matthews style sack. He was finally mine!
Topic: Grizzly Instinct Meets Mr. Tom (Read 750 times)
