My first gobbler with a trumpet happened this way, two seasons ago. Birds were gobbling great on the roost opening week, but hitting the ground and going quiet. Fifth day I ended up, unknowingly, in the same hemlocks the birds were roosted in. They had been quiet the evening before.
It was overcast that morning, and daybreak came late. I heard one bird way off in the distance, and waited about five minutes, not certain which direction to head. I grabbed my owl hooter to try and get that bird to rip one more time, and as the hooter touched my lips, a gobbler sounded off right above me. I hit the ground, pulled on my mask, and this bird just starting gobbling like crazy.
Getting a decent yelp out of that trumpet was the hardest thing I've ever done. A few soft clucks, few soft yelps, and the bird roared right back, still in the tree. Next thing I know here comes another long beard from behind heading straight to the gobbler ripping in the hemlocks in front of me.
He walked by at 8 steps, and dropped the hammer.
My heart was pounding so loud and hard, it was an awesome experience.
"So much of this business of hunting turkeys, you stupid it up right at the last.
You do everything right for an hour and a half, and then you sit down here
and there's nothing you can do about it, you made a mistake."
Tom Kelly, [i]Turkey Tales