CHAPTER XIII

CALLING UP THE LOVELORN GOBBLER

There is a wide difference between the old gobbler and the young gobbler, and the tactics to be employed in hunting them are quite different. At two years old he can be distinguished by his beard, which is then about five inches in length, the tip having a burned appearance; his spurs are about five eighths of an inch long, are not pointed, while the average weight of the bird is about sixteen to eighteen pounds. At three years this burned appearance disappears and the beard is seven or eight inches long, straight, black, and glossy, the spurs being an inch or more and pointed. The bird may now be considered full grown, and weighs from nineteen to twenty-two pounds. Henceforth there is no way I know of to tell his age. He continues to grow for several years, taking on fat as he gets older, while the beard will attain to a length of twelve to thirteen inches, when it wears off at the tip on account of dragging on the ground while the bird feeds. But the beard does not indicate the size of the turkey, as some very small gobblers have extremely long ones. The largest turkey I ever saw had an eight-inch beard and weighed twenty-four pounds even though quite lean; he would have weighed thirty-one or thirty-three pounds if he had been fat, and he may have been twenty years old, for he was known to have inhabited one locality for more than fifteen years.

You must first ascertain where the gobblers are to be found, and then be on the ground before there is the least sign of daybreak to select a place where you can sit hidden and in comfort. If satisfied that gobblers are in the vicinity, wait until dawn approaches, and if then you do not hear them, hoot like the barred owl. If there is an old gobbler within hearing, nine times out of ten he will gobble when the owl hoots; but if you get no response, "owl" again, or give a low cluck; the old gobbler may be on his roost within sight of you. If still no response, cluck louder, and repeat at intervals, adding a few short, spirited yelps; if you fail, move quickly a half or quarter mile away and call loudly with a cluck and yelp or two. Proceed in this manner until you have traversed the range of your proposed hunt. In this way I have encountered several old gobblers in a morning's tramp, while there was not one within hearing of the point first selected.

If turkeys have begun gobbling at dawn, you must choose a place to call from. My choice is in front of a tree a little larger than one's body, facing the turkey. If possible have your back to a thicket with open ground in front, or you may prefer to get behind a log or stump, or in a fallen treetop. Do not make a blind, for the obstruction will hide the game which is as apt to approach from one direction as another; generally the unexpected way. If you sit out in an open place by a tree, and stick up two or three short bushes in front, he will never see you until near enough for you to shoot.

If the old gobbler is in the tree before you take your position, do not approach nearer than one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards of him; he may possibly see you or he may fly behind you, or alight at your side when you call, and run away before you can shoot. This may look like a small matter to consider, but you will find it amounts to much in dealing with old gobblers, as I have learned from experience. I have had them fly right over my head, so close that I could have touched them with my gun barrel, or alight at my side and run away in a twinkling. One flew so near my brother once as to flip his hat brim with its wing. The most remarkable instance I ever knew occurred to a Mr. Daughty in Alabama. He was calling a turkey that was gobbling in a tall pine, and finding the call would not bring him down, Mr. Daughty took off his old brown felt hat and gave it a flop or two over his knees. Before he had time to think the gobbler was upon him, and he had to drop his gun and ward it off with his hands. He told me the gobbler had stretched out his feet to alight on his head and frightened him so he never thought of his gun, and was so dazed that the gobbler was gone before he recovered his wits. I once called one down, and as he stretched his legs to alight, he saw me, and with a loud "_put-put_," checked his flight and shot up like a rocket.

A gobbler will invariably alight within fifty to seventy-five yards of the roosting tree, according to the height they are perched from the ground; therefore one hundred and fifty yards is sufficiently near if your purpose is to call; but if you intend to stalk and shoot him in the tree, you will do best if you show no part of your body; and especially keep the gun barrel out of sight. Many hunters will hide themselves but expose their gun, which is a great mistake, as the bird will surely see the glint of light on the barrel.

It is best, in my opinion, not to call while the gobblers are in the trees, for the reason that the gobbler is expecting the hen to come to him; and it will often happen that as long as you call, so long will he remain in the tree and gobble and strut. I have had gobblers sit on their roost until 9 o'clock and gobble because I kept yelping.

Having got into position, wait until your nerves are cool. The turkey hunter must have time. Give a low, soothing cluck, then listen carefully, as the turkey may gobble the instant he hears the cluck; perhaps two may answer, but we will confine our attention to one. If a two-year-old bird, he will gobble before he thinks; but we will not allow you such an easy job as a two-year-old. Suppose the gobbler is three years or over--he will straighten up his long neck and listen some moments. He is not sure it was a genuine cluck, but he thinks it was, and duly drops his broad wings, partly spreads his tail, and listens; then, "_Vut-v-r-r-o-o-o-m-m-i_" comes the booming strut, and "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," if he dares this it is to elicit a call or cluck from you to make sure he is not deceived. Now call, "_Cluck, cluck, keow, keow, keow_," at once he answers "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_" two or three times in a breath so loud and shrill that it rings out like thunder in the quiet of the forest. Now give a low quaver, "_Keow, keow, keow_," just audible to him, yet low, then stop right there. He will yell out in a fierce and prolonged rattle that will make the squirrels quit their feeding and spring to the trunk of the tree, and arouse the herons from the margin of the rivers and swamp ponds. Then comes the heavy booming strut, and if he gobbles again, be quiet and let him talk to his heart's content. Unless you yelp or cluck at this time, he becomes more and more nervous and restless, and even dances on the limb. Keep quiet; he will now give a few lusty gobbles, and then there is a short pause. Look out now. There is a rustle in the tree, a flip, flip, and you see his big dark form leave the tree and sail to the ground, giving his broad wings a flop or two to ease up the impetus, and as he strikes the earth a cloud of leaves arise in a circle to settle around him. The royal bird straightens up his matchless form, and while his fine hazel eyes scan the surroundings, you gaze with admiration at his symmetry and beauty. More likely than not he has alighted to one side; if so, beware! Probably, too, if the woods are not very open, you will not see him on the ground and must judge as to his movements.

If there be but one gobbler, wait a few minutes after he is down, as he is listening and watching; then make a few yelps softly, but rapidly, and a cluck or two. He will gobble and strut vehemently. Be sure your cluck is a perfect assembly cluck, or he may take it as an alarm "_put_." Your cluck, if made at all, should have a reassuring accent, or better not attempt it, depending on the yelp or quaver. The cluck and "_put_" are so nearly similar in sound to the ear that they are difficult to distinguish; but one is a call note and the other is an alarm, hence it were better to omit both rather than disturb the confidence of the bird you are calling. While the two notes are impossible to describe in words, they can readily be produced by an expert caller with a good instrument. Give the gobbler two or three quick little yelps, "_Keow, keow, kee, kee_," in a kind of an interrogatory tone; this is sure to make him gobble and strut, or probably to strut only. I prefer that he strut, although the gobble is more exhilarating to one's ear, but does not signify as much. The strut is the better sign every time; it shows he has leisure and passion.

Your "_Cluck, keow, ku-ku_," brings forth at once "_Gil-obble-obble-obble. Cluck-v-r r-o-o-o-mi._" Hush, hear that? "_Cut-o-r-r-r_," "_Cut, cut keow, keow, keow_." What is it? Is some one else calling? No; the sound is too perfect. Hark! how he gobbles and struts with renewed vigor, for it is the siren note of the real hen who has gone to him. You might as well now keep quiet for fifteen or twenty minutes, for he will not answer as long as he is with a hen. As soon as she is out of sight, however, he will listen to you. Here, reader, is the most important lesson to be learned and the most valuable in all turkey lore--patience.

Fifteen minutes is usually ample time with the lusty turkey. You keep up the call and tease at proper intervals until sufficient zeal is restored, which can be determined by the vigor of his gobble; then do not call any more, no matter what he does. Keep still and watch his manoeuvres, and presently he will begin to gobble and strut with great stress, gyrate, and swerve from side to side, right to left, his big tail, doing everything to fetch the new hen whose voice he hears; but you must not break the spell by any false move. All at once he stops and everything is still again. Maybe another hen has come to his court, maybe not. But do not yelp or cluck; he may be coming to you, for he knows precisely where you are, and if he is not caressing another hen he is surely approaching you. This may take fully an hour, sometimes six.

"_Cluck, put, put_," there stands a young gobbler within twenty paces to the left: he has approached from the rear. Make no motion. He has not identified you. "_Put, put._" Keep still. "_Put, o-r-r-r-r._" He begins to step high, turning to one side, then to the other. "_C-r-r-r-r._" He pulls out the tip of one wing and places it on the other. Note that. He is going to walk away. "_Put, c-r-r-r-r._" He is gone; but let him go, and good riddance, for he has created a distrust in the old gobbler's mind that will take some time to remove. You are now compelled to change your place and call again. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" Gracious! he is off to the right and fifty yards nearer. If there is sufficient cover, make a detour of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards and get ahead of him; then sit down, give a yelp or two, and end with a cluck. That will reassure him at once, and he will most surely gobble in reply; if so, you sit still. Have your rifle in readiness so that no move be made when he comes into view. Very likely you have waited some time since he gobbled last, and apparently he has quit all strutting. There is another ominous pause, but you are ready for him and on the sharp lookout. You are sorely vexed, but your good judgment keeps you alert while the other hunters have long since gone home.

"_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" Sh-e-e-e-e. There he is within thirty paces to the right at a half strut. What a bird! See his noble bearing, the bronzed coat, the glint in the keen eye. You can't move now, for he sees you, but he has not made you out. Be still and let him pass behind that big oak, then turn quickly before he comes into view again. Ah! that low green bush has obscured him; he has passed out of sight and does not reappear. Your nerves begin to run like the wheels of a clock with the balance off. Your disappointment is inconsolable. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," nearly one hundred yards on his way. This is discouraging, but the educated turkey hunter never gives up so long as a gobbler will argue with him.

Get up at once and make a rapid detour, taking in two hundred yards; get ahead of him again and on his line of march. Then sit down and call as soon as possible to attract his attention. This done your chances are as good as ever. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble._" You have estimated well. The gobbler is one hundred yards back yet, which gives you a breathing spell. He begins to rehearse the old rôle of gobbling and strutting, but with greater force, as he has had a long rest. Now give another call and cluck to see where he is; no response, and you are becoming as restless as a raccoon robbing a yellow-jacket's nest, and crazy for just one more call; but I advise not; have patience, and wait. Another call would only cause delay if not other harm. He is the one now to get nervous, for that hen may escape. A crow gives a sudden caw in a neighboring tree, and, "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," says the turkey, now only seventy-five yards away. But you are silent. Again comes a long pause, and you think he has detected you and gone. A red tail hawk darts screaming through the timber, and, "_Gil-obble-obble-obble cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-m-i_," goes your bird thirty yards nearer; then all is silent again. He has made a strenuous effort to draw your call, but you are deaf. Another long pause and you are in a tremor all over. He has quit making any noise, and the stillness is painful for, save a solitary red bird trilling his carol in yon elm, and a gray squirrel nibbling the buds on that slender maple, all is still. Two chameleons are racing on the log behind which you are crouching, and, springing suddenly to the dry leaves, they startle you with the clattering they make, so highly strung are your nerves; but you dare not move.

Why this insufferable silence? The gobbler is coming, but when will he appear? Your rifle is in position, cocked, your eye running along the glistening barrel, but that is all of you which is allowed to move. A distant dead tree falls with a heavy thud that shakes the earth. "_Gil-obble-obble-obble_," breaks upon your ear and sends a thrill through your nerves, and the timid squirrel wiggling and scampering to his hole in a hollow gum. The sound comes from the oblique left. Your eyes turn slowly that way. Ah! there he stands, half erect, half concealed in the brush. You see the white top of his head, the crimson wattles of his arched neck, the long beard and the glint of his eye, for he is only forty paces away; but do not fire, as the least twig may deflect the ball. He has not made you out, although in plain view, nor will he, unless you make a sudden move.

You have carefully brought the rifle to bear on him. He is meditative and somewhat listless; but note that tail going up: he is going to strut, and that will bring him into an open space. "_Cluck v-r-r-r-o-o-o-m-i._" There! he is broadside on. See that crease that runs along his neck ending near the butt of the wing? Drop your bead on the butt of the wing opposite where that crease ends. That will kill him every time, as behind lies his heart; while if you aim for the centre of the body the bullet will go through the viscera, making a mess of it, and while a fatal wound, he may get away and be lost to you, for it will not always knock him down. If he stands quartering, aim at the centre of the breast next to you. It will at once be fatal. If the back is presented, which is not once in a hundred times, draw upon the centre of it. Unless turkeys are very plentiful, and you care little about losing a good chance, don't shoot at his head with a rifle.