by Brian Lovett, editor
One mid-May morning in Wisconsin, I fired up a distant gobbler and moved to the tip of a wooded point to work him. Within seconds, I glimpsed him trotting over the rise, apparently coming to my calling. It was perfect.
Or so it seemed. Instead of waltzing in and graciously accepting a load of No. 6s to the head, the bird descended into the deepest hollow in central Wisconsin and then stood 100 yards away -- straight downhill -- and gobbled for a half-hour.
What the heck? The longbeard had charged toward my yelping, sat still for 30 minutes and then high-tailed it out of town. I didn't get it.
The decision was plain enough. I could follow the go-away turkey or stay at my setup for a while, hoping the bird might return to investigate the hot hen he'd heard.
What would you have done?
A) Follow the go-away turkey
B) Sit still and hope the gobbler returns
Lovett's Decision: B
I went with option B and stuck around. After 40 minutes of sitting and calling, I'd had enough and was ready to leave. That's when I saw a turkey in the distance. It was a hen, and she was walking right at me. Within seconds, she had passed a few feet from my tree, clucking the entire way.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed two strutters dogging the hen. I had to twist my body far to the right, but I managed to get on the trailing bird just as he was about to top the ridge. The shot punctuated a great but odd hunt.


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