by Brian Lovett, editorAs Day 3 of our Texas trip dawned, I found myself on familiar ground with
I’d joined Ken Beesley of Bad Boy Buggies at the spot where I’d shot my
second Rio the previous day. If the turkeys would oblige and do the same
thing — fly down and immediately head for a small field near a pond — we’d
be waiting for them.
Roost gobbling was sporadic, but one gobbler seemed to fire up a bit after
he hit the ground. After two or three sequences of soft yelping and cutting,
a bird hammered back directly in front of us. He was coming.
Within seconds, I saw several dark shapes and two huge fans slip out of the
live oaks and trot directly toward Beesley. Two hens popped into the opening
and stopped, seemingly aware that something wasn’t right. Three or four
white heads periscoped behind them, and Beesley’s gun barked.
Minutes later, we were standing over Beesley’s second Rio Grande. This bird
wasn’t quite as impressive as his first gobbler — the one with 2-inch spurs
— but it still sported 13/8-inch hooks.
That afternoon, two more hunters filled their final tags before we snapped
photos and relived stories from the week. The next morning, we’d pack our
gear and head for home, with memories of the Lone Star state fresh in our