The second day of my Alabama trip, a thunderstorm ruined the fly-down hunt. No matter. We waited until the skies cleared up and then hit the woods.
I slipped down a logging road and crept into a food plot, hoping to sit out the afternoon. But as I looked for a setup, a hen yelped about 100 yards away. A thunderous gobble followed. Show time.
The gobbler was in a timbered creek bottom near an old logging road. I eased about 50 yards down the path, set up and yelped. The bird hammered back immediately. So did the hen, which was probably 110 yards from me and 80 steps from the gobbler.
For the next five minutes, I listened to the longbeard gobble, spit and drum just 75 yards away. Sometimes, he seemed closer. However, he was obviously just strutting in circles, hoping that a hen would come to him.
Sadly, that’s what happened. Acting like she’d had enough, the mouthy hen yelped hard and moved toward the tom. His next gobble indicated he was moving toward her. Soon, they headed up the ridge together, and he tossed me three going-away courtesy gobbles along the way.
I was sunk. A hen had done me in. What could happen next?
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