Turkey season crept up on me fast this year, or rather, I saw it coming, but was just too busy to really put a lot of energy into preparing for it. I intended to follow the exact same play that had worked last year- to hike deep into the mountains to find some birds that were unlikely to have been pressured during youth season.
Things were going smoothly enough by sunrise, although I wasn’t hearing any gobbles, I was set up where we been on birds and I was sure they were in the area. I waited for shooting light and then for about an hour before getting antsy because the birds weren’t gobbling. I decided to continue farther in, calling and creeping around corners and over rises where I might spot birds before they’d spot me.
As I came over just one such rise, low and behold there was a strutting tom and his buddy maybe 80 yards away. I immediately dropped back, set up my hen and jake decoys and slid off to the side of the trail before starting to call. “Surely they will gobble now,” I thought, and that was where my failure began.
In an uncomfortable and hastily setup position, I was immediately questioning whether I had spooked them when they didn’t respond to my calls. I called again a few more times, but heard nothing, and then, in an act of sheer impatient foolishness, decided I absolutely must know if I spooked them, and began to creep forward. I stood and approached the rise, keeping to the side of the path. As soon as I crested the hill, the turkeys that were heading silently towards me spotted me and spooked. Had I waited just two minutes they would almost certainly have been in range of my original position. I botched it.
Luckily, I had taken off the following Monday in anticipation of hunting again by myself or with my brother. Last year we had gone together on opening day and gotten a bird, but I had to go back on Monday to get one myself. I followed the exact same schedule and plan. This time there was no competition, there was less rain, and I went straight to where I had found the birds two days prior.
By shooting light I was hearing sporadic gobbles and clucks moving across the woods in the distance behind me. Eventually they seemed to slowly be working my way. Occasionally they would gobble in response to my calls, but it wasn’t entirely clear that they were hearing me and responding, so much as coincidentally gobbling after I had called. Though I had been setup comfortably this time, I again felt the need to creep forward to get into a better position to see them before they could possibly see me- to get in range of the spot where they would enter my line of sight.
I got into position and continued calling, by this point one of the toms was replying consistently. Over the course of maybe ten minutes I called him the last 50 or so yards into range. I knew he was coming. Between gobbles I could hear him drumming. He was getting closer and closer, and then all of a sudden through the fuzzy edge of the brush I could see the “S” shape of his head and neck moving steadily towards the opening. As the turkey cleared the edge of the brush I was shooting him. At 30 yards it felt like a sure shot, and he flopped right over.
Though I still had been a little more aggressive than I needed to be, I was able to get the job done on the second try. I was happy with the bird, and equally happy with my ability to to hike the 12+ miles each day that it took to get out there and back. I was also fairly satisfied with my overall mountain experience for the spring; I heard some gobbles, called in and shot a tom, flushed some grouse and heard them drumming… and found my first Pennsylvania bear tracks. Not a bad end to the ’25-’26 hunting season, it has me excited for ’26-’27.
