Alabama Turkey Season: Frustration and Utter Delight

By DAVID RAINER 

Like most turkey seasons in Alabama, it was an exhilarating, successful spring for some hunters and downright aggravating for others.

Some hunters reveled in their luck at calling nice gobblers within range, while others moaned and groaned about the gobblers being henned up all season and not gobbling. Of course, toms don’t have to gobble when the tree they’re roosted in is surrounded by hens.

Corky Pugh, director of the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources’ Wildlife and Freshwater Fisheries Division, says he’s heard it all before.

“Listening to folks around the state, you always get mixed reports because turkeys are temperamental,” Pugh said. “All in all, it was a good season. It was an unusual year, if nothing else because of the after-effects of the recent drought. Some parts of the state, especially south Alabama, they still had mast all over the place. Turkeys were still eating acorns and beech mast instead of bugging in open areas where they normally are at this time of year.

“And you hear about gobblers still being henned up. You hear that every year. Sometimes, it’s a matter of folks thinking back to when we didn’t have the abundance of turkeys we have now. This is just my personal opinion but I don’t think it’s as hard for a gobbler to find a hen as it used to be. If he’s got a half-dozen hens with him, he’s not going to gobble much.”

Pugh said he’s also heard from experienced hunters who are concerned about seeing groups of gobblers late in the season.

“I attribute that to an abundance of gobblers,” he said. “The question I ask is, ‘Is that really a problem?’ It’s related to numbers. We have good enough populations that you’ll find long-bearded turkeys grouped up. There’s probably an old, hook-spurred turkey out there keeping them shut up. It hasn’t always been that way. It’s like my friend Tom Kelly says in his comparisons of back in the ‘40s versus now. Turkeys were scarce or non-existent back then. If you heard one gobble you didn’t want anyone else to know about it. Nowadays, we’re pretty spoiled because we’re got an abundance of turkeys.”

However, that doesn’t mean the turkeys are going to cooperate.

“I’m convinced the Good Lord put turkeys on this earth to teach us humility,” Pugh laughed.

For me, the 2008 spring season was a season of frustration punctuated by one morning of utter delight.

Having mostly hunted the hill turkeys in Choctaw County, I spent most mornings chasing apparitions. The turkeys would gobble just enough to tease us into climbing down into a deep hole or up a steep ridge only to shut completely up once we reached the area.

Then one morning Henry Billiot and I were rounding a ridge in the vehicle when we ran up on a big gobbler in the road, beating a hasty retreat in front of us. After running down the road a while, the gobbler veered off into the woods.

I suggested to Billiot that we travel down the road until we were out of sight, pull over and tell turkey stories for 15 minutes or so to let the gobbler settle down. We then went to a spot where we knew the turkey could hear us, but not close enough to spook him again.

We set up on the edge of the ridge the road was on, opposite a higher ridge with a fairly deep hollow in between. We yelped a couple of times and heard no response. Then we did a little yelping and cutting and heard a gobble on the opposite ridge. We repeated and this time two gobblers answered.

Only seconds later, one of those gobblers sailed all the way across the hollow and landed about 50 yards away, albeit out of sight. That gobbler then proceeded to walk up the road behind us and didn’t like it one bit when he didn’t see a hen. He started doing a little inquisitive purr. But he didn’t spook.

Meanwhile, his long-bearded buddy started walking down the other ridge and I spied him about 75 yards away. I eased the gun in his direction as he stopped every few steps to look for the faux hen. He stopped about 45 yards away and craned his neck again. I thought seriously about a shot at that point, but when I looked down the barrel I wasn’t happy with the alignment and decided to wait until he stepped to the other side of the tree before making the shot.

Bad decision.

Unknown to me at the time, the gobbler suddenly decided he needed to catch up with his buddy again. He ducked his head and started a quick walk down the hillside. I’m waiting for him to stop and take another peek when all of a sudden he drops down into the drain and disappears.

Stunned, I turned and looked at the puzzled Billiot.

“Why didn’t you shoot?” he asked. “I kept waiting for the blast.”

“I wanted him to get a little closer and I kept waiting for him to stick his head up,” I answered. “I can’t believe I just let that turkey walk off.”

“Me, either,” Billiot replied.

Pugh said I applied one of his 10 rules of turkey hunting. In fact, it’s Rule No. 9.

“If in doubt, don’t,” Pugh said. “If you’re not sure about the shot – don’t. If you’re not sure whether to call – don’t. If you’re not sure about making a move on a turkey – don’t. Ninety percent of the errors are because we did something stupid.”

Afraid that hunt was going to haunt me for a long time unless I changed my luck, I decided a change of location was in order. I contacted William Malone of Camden and asked him if there were any dumb turkeys left in the Alabama River bottom in Wilcox County. His answer was there might be one or two and to head over for a morning hunt before he had to get to work.

As the sky started to glow in the east the next morning, the gobblers seemed to be a little lazy about getting out of bed. Finally, a turkey cranked up across the river and the gobblers on our side followed his lead.

“I think I know where that gobbler is,” Malone said of the bird closest to us. “I think that’s the bird a guy missed on a charity hunt we had.”

Malone’s main assets in this endeavor was his extensive knowledge of this family land and his H.S. Strut slate that sounds just like a hen turkey. We weaved our way through the woods until it opened up into a beautiful bottom about 50 or so yards wide. We eased down by a big pine and got ready to do a little calling. Of course, one of the first things I did was turn on the Thermacell to keep the mosquitoes at bay.

We started with a little soft calling. Nothing.

After a decent interval, we increased the volume. Not a peep.

“I guess we’ll try some aggressive calling,” I whispered to Malone, who replied: “Might as well.”

After some loud yelps and cutting, we were in the same situation. The turkey hadn’t acknowledged anything we’d done.

We sat there for a while in the turkey silence until I asked Malone, “You think we ought to try to find a gobbling turkey?”

Again, he said: “Might as well.”

I reached down to turn off my Thermacell to let it cool down a little before sticking it in my vest, when all of a sudden the turkey let out a leaf-shaking gobble only 75 yards away, thankfully just out of sight.

Malone scrambled to get his slate and striker back out as I scanned the woods for any sign of movement.

It soon became obvious that this bird was extra cautious and was going to take his sweet time getting to us. Finally, I spotted movement and let Malone know I could see the bird.

“I’m not going to call any more,” Malone said. “I’m just going to let him come on in.”

The gobbler eased along the edge of the bottom and then disappeared behind a little thick spot.

“You might want to do a little clucking and purring to make sure he doesn’t walk off,” I whispered.

As soon as Malone started clucking and purring on the slate, the gobbler reappeared from behind the thick stuff, hopped up on a log and peered across the bottom. Figuring he was still about 50 yards away, I followed Pugh’s Rule No. 9. The bird finally dropped down off the log and started to walk, still skirting the bottom.

When he walked behind a large tree, he started a nervous cluck. My heart jumped higher in my throat. “Oh no, I’m about to let another turkey give me the slip,” I thought.

Fortunately, Malone started clucking back and the gobbler walked from behind the tree. “When he gets to the opening I’m shooting,” I whispered.

A few more steps and BOOM!

The gobbler dropped like a rock, but I still haven’t shed myself of the habit of sprinting to the downed bird. Both of us popped up from our pine and raced across the bottom. With a loop of vine hanging in my way, I hurdled it like a youngster and we ended up arriving at the bird at the same time.

A high-five and a couple of handshakes later, Malone said, “You finally got that monkey off your back, but we were a few seconds from spooking this turkey.”

Indeed, indeed!

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