Monday......May 4, 1997…. Foggy, Light drizzle
Woke up a little late, so I decided to hunt where I had heard other gobblers screaming their heads off on the opening day, and give those Sat. jakes a break. As daylight approached, the only gobbling I could distinguish was coming from those jakes. Well, maybe they aren't jakes, so it's better than nothing is, so off I took. I watched an intruder walk by me in the predawn, only to realize later that I should have ran him off. As I arrived to where the birds were gobbling, I set up in a brush pile near a road that they have used so many days in the past. Here to find out that the intruder beat me to the punch and managed to call so much that he not only chased off every hen in the area, but also managed to single handedly shut up every gobbler in the area. He just wouldn't stop calling, and if he would have those birds would have walked right past him. Well, I knew I had to get away from Mr. Loudmouth if I was going to have any chance in scoring today. As I circled away from him, It seemed as though he was following me, I couldn't shake him, worst of all, he was dressed in blaze orange. I decided to just leave, but as I gave out my signatory last series of calls, a gobble rang out from right where I just walked through. Well, I hustled back there, set out a decoy, and gave out a short series of cutts followed by some yelping. This was met with an immediate gobble, and then I immediately hit him again sounding more and more aggressive each time. He couldn't contain himself, one gobble then another then another. I knew he was hot, and he couldn't be more than eighty yards away. Just then he gobbled again, closer, and closer, there he is at 50 yards. I couldn't tell if he was a longbeard because it was just a flash of him. The way his gobble sounded could only be from a longbeard. As I toned down the calling, he began to get closer and closer. Just then I heard it again, Mr. Bigmouth must have heard me working this gobbler and began yelping his head off. I have never heard a guy yelp this much in my life. I knew that if he just shut up, the gobbler would be within my sights in a matter of minutes. I was hankered down on my 835, decoy out, safety off, awaiting the presence of the star guest. All things came to a halt as this jackass screwed up my whole morning. I never heard from that bird again. Well, tomorrow is another day.

Tuesday … May 5,1998 … Foggy
Because of having to work night shift at the Greater Pittsburgh Airport, I have been forced into having to adjust my hunting locations. A lot has been going off of word of mouth and help from friends. After talking to Deergrunt, who just so happens to be working on I79, South of Pittsburgh, he told me about a flock of birds located just south of South Point. Well, as I arrived at about 7:00am, I did all I could to roust a gobble. At about 8:00am I did manage to hear one gobbler, but he was very unreceptive, therefor leading to the end of the day's hunt.

Wednesday … May 6, 1998 … Very Foggy
I managed to get off work a little early today, early enough to plan my days hunting adventure. I watched the weather channel last night prior to going to work, and it seems as though we were going to have a break in this ever so persistent rain we've had to contend with this year so far. It has rained for about a week straight here and since I've noticed a window of opportunity (Partly Cloudy with Heavy Fog), I knew I just had to get out this morning. As work progressed, I knew that if I pushed hard enough we would be able to get out early enough for me to hunt. At 4:00am all operations stopped, and I hustled to our job trailer, changed into my finest Spring Gobbler Tuxedo, of which I brought out an old set of camo's for good luck, and headed to the woods just north of Pittsburgh on Route 28. As I arrived to the secluded farm, I knew right away that because of the thick fog vision would definitely be a problem. As I began my long haul through the thickened woods, I couldn't help but feel differently about today's hunt. It was almost as though I knew I was going to score with a big longbeard today. It was almost a feeling of complete and utter calmness was among me. As I walked into the field I had hoped the gobblers would pitch down into, I couldn't help but recollect all the hours of scouting I had done prior to the beginning of the season. I had begun my scouting almost 2 months ago, attempting to figure out the routines of these weary gobblers. It had only been a week prior that I had filmed 4 longbeards at 15 yards just prior to them entering this field. The time had come to set out my decoys, 2 hens and a Jake. I had placed them in such a location that if the birds went high on the hillside field they would be able to spot them, and if they went low, they would be walking right into shotgun range, which is the ideal setup. As the fog began to separate from the darkness giving away to the sweet sounds of spring, there was an unusual calmness in the air. No gobbling sounded from the patch of woods to my direct front. This is the same place that once sheltered more than 7 gobblers throughout last season and into this spring, yet no gobblers bellowed from the treelimbs. Just then a lone hen gave out her 1st early morning greeting of the day. I knew that if there were gobblers with her, I would have to first lure her into my setup, but since I've hunted these birds numerous times in the past, it has always seemed quite clear that these hens accept or condone the presence of bad mouth hens in their domain. They would rather turn and go the other way than have an intruder entering their neck of the woods telling them what and how to do it. I would have to befriend these hens to win their trust. As she began to yelp, I began to imitate her, but not intimidate her. After 15 minutes of friendly chatting, she decided it was time to investigate her newfound friend. As she announced her presence with a fly down cackle, multiple gobblers fired up from 100 yards away. I thought "There has to be at least 4 birds in those woods, and surely if she stays, they'll come." She seemed a little uneasy at first, but as we exchanged small talk she became more and more comfortable with hanging out with my decoys. We(Old mother hen and I) began to slowly but surely convince another hen that she needed to join the party in the field, and as we did the gobblers began to fire up more and more. Once the missing hen entered the field via air transport, the male turkeys erupted just over the hill approximately 40 yards away directly to my front left. I eased the safety of my Mossberg 835 onto the fire position and leaned into the stock of the gun trying to remain motionless because I was not alone in this field and I knew that one small jerk may send these hens/gobblers alarm putting away. Just then I could see the boss strutting less than 25 yards away in front of me, and he wasn't alone. He was being led into the field by not one, not two, three, but four mature birds. I tried to stay calm, but it was hard with so many trophies in front of me. As they slowly made their entrance into the field, one of the hens, now 10 feet to my right, began to become a little nervous. She began to nervously putt as if something was out of place. I knew what was out of place, it was me. She was looking at me and putting, louder and louder. Just then I began to focus my attention solely on the gobblers, and the more she putted, the more nervous they began. They weren't running, but they were definitely beginning to move back into the woods from which they came. I wasn't about to take a chance of letting these longbeards get away. I picked out the boss of the group, and placed the bead just below his wattles, then squeezed. BANG, roared the 835 as if to say to the gobblers that he who laughs last, laughs loudest. As I slowly raised from within my scrunched up position, I could see that the boss was piled up at 18 yards, with no visible signs of life. His reign of terror was finally over, and it was time to pass the torch onto one of his ever so noble adversaries. As I collected him up I couldn't help but notice a few of the distinguishing characteristics…..1-1/8" spurs (sharp as a tack), 11" rope (As thick as any elderly Italian ladies mustache), and a fan which tells a tale that his reign of terror hasn't been an easy one. Multiple broken tail feathers tells a tale that being the lord of the manor isn't always that easy, there is always some who is willing to hit you when your back is turned, and take you for all your worth. As I hauled my 19lb trophy(No doubt skinny as a rail from keeping everyone in line, and trying to mate everything that moves), I couldn't help but think who was going to take over the valley of the giants, just then I heard a distinctive bellow from the area where I had just dethroned the master, and it was obvious there is always someone who is willing to take your place once your gone. I'm sure he'll find out that something's aren't always what they're cracked up to be. I'm just looking forward to see if he is as good an adversary as the last "Warrior of the Woods" has been through years. Only time will tell, but for now, this monarch will look great hanging on the wall in our living room.

I'm sure as my years increase, so will the tale leading to his demise.

Friday … May 29, 1998 … Clear and Sunny
Skid (my older brother) has been having a little difficulty deciding whether he wants to be single or not. I try not to mingle, but the more I know, the more I don't want her around. I've tried to contact him this week multiple times, only to find out he's been staying at his old house from time to time. I've been suspicious the whole time, but only last night was it confirmed. Skid called last night to see if I wanted to go hunting with him this morning, and I said I would only if he met me at our apartment so he could check out my turkey that Deergrunt and I just finished mounting yesterday. (pictured above) awesome, but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. As we snuk (is that a word?) into the woods, I had a weird feeling come over me, and I had told Kim (my wife)last night that I felt unusually confident for the upcoming morning's hunt. As daybreak broke, song birds began bellowing throughout the darkness, but no gobbles, and this is where I had called a longbeard in for skid a week ago and he didn't shoot. I heard through the grapevine that there were a few other people in this particular stretch of woods earlier this week, no doubt using everything except the kitchen sink to lure in one of these fine monarchs. It soon became apparent that there wasn't going to be much gobbling this morning, and if we wanted to hear some I was going to have to crank up the calling, so I did. About my fifth series of hard cutting, using 2 diapham calls in my mouth (one laying in my cheek while I used the other one.....this give the sense of two hens being in the area as opposed to one), we were hit with a hard double gobble from across the hillside. I knew that these gobblers had been using these open woods to strut in, so we decided to stay put in the general area, but move a little closer to the gobbling bird. This would put us about 40 yards away when we first saw him because of the steep drop off in front of us. My next series of calls produced a gobble about eighty yards to our front left. I told skid to get his gun up because this bird is coming hard. Whether he flew or ran, it didn't matter, because he covered about 300 yards in about 2 minutes. As I slowed down my calling to make it sound as though we were losing interest, and play sort of hard to get, I spotted the gobbler 35 yards out in front of us slowly moving through the tall ferns. I whispered to skid, "Skid, left". Well, he didn't know whether I meant far left, short left, or what, but he did know left ,and at this point that is all that mattered. I, being the camerman/guide, at this point began to slowly zoom in, making sure that I wouldn't flinch at the moment of truth. Well, he had seen something he didn't like and began to get a little nervous, so I whispered again, "Take him". It didn't take long for Skid's brand new 835 to roar through the woods as if to say, not today, no way, this is my day and no one can take it from me, not even you old man. His bird dropped like a wet stone in the water. With the "Camo Cameras" rolling, skid made the short sprint throught the woods, and over a barbed wire fence to collect his trophy. 17 lbs, 9 1/2" beard, 3/4" spurs a fine gobbler by any means.

After a short recap on film, we saluted the gods for not only allowing us to take part of this day, but for the things he has given us, and continues to give. Ah, yes, yet another successful turkey season comes to an end.