Naming some past turkeys

Some turkey gobblers are so special they deserve to be named.

Naming some of the gobblers we hunt lends a certain auro to them. The names also can identify certain Toms, and help us to remember where they were taken or shot at and missed. This practice of naming gobblers seems more prevalent down South than here in Michigan, but I often try to hang some kind of moniker to special birds.

What makes some of these gobblers so special? Many reasons come to mind, but difficulty in hunting them is a primary reason. Names become more common when more than one person knows the location of a particular bird.

Tonight's blog names some special birds I've hunted in Michigan. Countless can make a certain gobbler special.

The Ghost Gobbler

A special bird is the one I called the Ghost Gobbler. As one might expect from it's name, this bird lived for at least four years, and he was an odd bird. I hunted him for three years, and the reason I knew it was him was because he always seemed to show up unexpectedly and alone.

One of his traits was I saw him only once with another bird. He always seemed to travel alone, and he was never vocal. I watched him for two days from a distance of a quarter-mile, and saw him breed one hen. It's the only time I ever saw him with another bird. He actually seemed to avoid other gobblers.

He often roosted some distance from other birds. Once, I was working a different gobbler that eventually came to my shotgun along with two hens. I heard a rustle in the spring leaves behind me, and rather than turn and look, I concentrated on the incoming gobbler. The bird appeared at 20 yard, went into a full strut, and I shot him. Then I wheeled around, not to shoot but to see what was behind me, and it was the solitary heavy-weoght gobbler with a 12-inch beard.

He didn't gobble, and one day I set up in several different locations, trying to get in front of him without being seen or heard. I saw the bird three times that day, and although I did get in front of him, invariably he would go elsewhere. Three seasons passed, and I saw the same lone bird each year, but he never came to the call. He seems to have disappeared last year, and this is the only gobbler I've seen that would breed a hen and vanish. I never heard him utter a sound, and only once was he observed with a hen, and he was breeding her. He was the largest gobbler in 10 square miles, and I never heard of anyone ever taking that bird. He truly was a ghost gobbler.

The High Ridge Gobbler

This bird was one of a large group of turkeys that hung close to a ridge overlooking one of Michigan's major trout streams. Me and another guy hiked in to a spot well before daybreak, and sat and waited quietly. As the tweetie birds began chirping and a crow passed overhead, one gobbler on that ridge gobbled. That single gobble triggered gobbles from a half-dozen other nearby Toms. By the time the last one answered, the first bird double-gobbled, and each bird in turn would double-gobble.

The sound worked up and down the ridge like thunder from a summer storm, and then a solitary gobble came from across the river, and all six longbeards on our side had to answer. The ground=shaking roar of the birds was a wild cacophony of turkey talk that sent shivers up and down my spine. Then, we heard the sounds of heavy bodies breaking tree branches as the six birds flew down 100 yards away.

"Sit there," he whispered softly, pointing to a tall and wide stump. I'll get over behind yonder tree to call. The birds will walk right past you for an easy shot."

That didn't happen. The birds circled around, down the ridge and out of sight, and came up the hill at 75 yards. They spread out, and the biggest bird headed for where my buddy lay, belly on the ground, sweet-talking the birds. They circled around, keeping my ground-hugging friend between me and then. There was no chance for a safe shot.

They kept coming, and the biggest gobbler was double-gobbling, spitting and drumming, and I sat back to watch the show. That bird walked up to my prone partner, stood right between his legs, and gobbled lustily in his ear. I kid you not: my buddy seemed to instantly levitate about two feet off the ground, which spooked all the gobblers. I laughed so hard I was crying, and once the birds had disappeared, he asked: "Why didn't you shoot?"

I was laughing too hard. One more step, and that gobbler would have been standing on his butt. He didn't think it was funny but it was worth not shooting just to watch him jump.

The Cemetery Gobbler

This bird always roosted just behind a very old family cemetary right next to state. Tombstones were crumbling, names were faded, and it appeared to be a homesteader's plot far back from any road. I'd glassed the area from afar, and it was surrounded by state land.

I hunted that bird at dawn, but he seemed to favored an open field some distance away to strut for any nearby hens. This bird was cagey, and one day he would choose a strut zone in one location, and the next day he'd be in another part of the field. There was no pattern to where he would meet the hen at mid-morning.

It was the last day of my season, and I decided to sleep in. That afternoon, I hiked into the area near the cemetary, and since I knew which tree he roosted in, I moved to a spot he always seemed to pass before flying up to roost. It would put me into the right area at the right time, well before sundown.

There would be no calling this day. I was in place for two hours when I saw him moving slowly through the woods to his fly-up point. He walked past me at 20 yards, I checked my time, and I was fine with plenty of legal shooting time left. The bird stopped at 35 yards, and looked around. I put the crosshairs of my Bushnell scope on his head-neck area, clicked off the safety, and whispered "Hey!" His head went up like a periscope, and it was an easy shot. That Michigan gobbler weighed 20 pounds.

There are many other turkey tales about birds I've named, and more will have to wait for another time. Hopefully, these will whet your appetite for the upcoming spring turkey season. Remember this turkey-hunting advice: shoot once, shoot straight and don't miss.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors