I can tell you without any doubt that the most excited I have ever been about the bagging of a gobbler was not because of one I shot, but because of one I called in for another hunter to shoot.
Mat Schartiger and I were out after them. I like hunting with Mat because he can hear gobbles that don’t reach my ears. That was the case this morning.
Mat set up against the base of a tree about 25 yards in front of me. I did the calling and he was to do the shooting. It was early in the season, so not many leaves were out and we could see a substantial distance.
Pretty soon, the gobbler that Mat could hear appeared about 90 or so yards out. He wasn’t gobbling any more, but he was coming, doing some of those little half-struts, shaking his wings and looking for the hen that was coming out of my Roger Latham box call.
When he got within range, Mat dropped the bird cleanly and I let out a war whoop hollering something like “hoooo, doggie.”
I know that isn’t a traditional war whoop, but it was what I came up with on the spur of the moment.
Each new spring gobbler season is a blank canvas waiting to be painted with crazy stories and vivid memories.