Well, there I was again.
It was Thursday morning, and things had just blown up. The previous Thursday, an unseen hunter had fired at — and killed, I assume — a gobbler I'd try to work off the roost. This past Thursday, my early-morning hunt had exploded in different fashion, with no roost-gobbling.
So, like a week earlier, I left and went to my little ridge-top spot. And like the week before, a turkey gobbled on its own as I listened from the hill. Unbelievably, it was perhaps 100 to 150 yards from where the previous week's turkey had been.
I slipped into the timber and eased down a finger ridge, knowing I wouldn't get too far in the open woods. The bird was in a wide flat, where he could see fairly far. After gaining about 100 steps on him, I sat down and began calling.
Within seconds, an unseen hen over a small terrain rise joined me, and we went back and forth for five minutes. The gobbler loved it, responding to both of us and moving a bit closer. Finally, the hen shut up and walked off, and I toned my calling down quite a bit.
The periods of silence — again, just as with the previous week — seemed to prompt the gobbler into coming closer. After about 20 minutes, I finally caught a glimpse of him moving from right to left at about 90 yards. The next time he gobbled, he was farther left, so I yelped at him to let him know where the hen was.
After that, he began a slow, steady approach. Soon, he stood strutting at 40 steps. When he cleared some brush and raised his head, I fired, ending a great hunt.
Man, I love Thursday mornings at the ridge-top spot. You're probably asking why I didn't just start both mornings there. I guess I'm a little slow sometimes, but I eventually get around to it.