i actually feel bad for you that you have never experienced a boss gobbler playing cat and mouse with you at close range. strutting, gobbling, challenging you to kill him! i can tell you my friend there is no feeling in the world like being up on a mountain 5am listing to the owls hoot which sets off a boss gobbler and gives away his location. you close with in 150 yards if possible maybe stop at 200 as not to bump him. find a nice, huge oak tree, set at the base with your back to that tree that is so much older then you its not funny. settle in, take out your thermos, watch and listen to the world come alive. as first light peaks over the ridge old Tom Foolery begins to sound off in all his glory. you smile knowing your about to lock wits with such a majestic, incredible and worthy adversary. he sounds off again, now double and triple gobbling! you realize there are know hens roosted close Lord O Mighty it might be my day let the game begin! you check your prime, pick the flash hole wipe your flint clean. finally he hits the ground and gives the first gobble off roost. you wait, make him anxious like he is all alone, let him gobble again. now you give just a couple very light yelps.... GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE hear hears you. you shut it down know, gun on knee, adjust yourself where you think he will approach, silent as can be. 10 minutes go by you begin to wonder did he see me???? did i do something wrong??? did i.....GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE just over the knoll it about blows your hat off and the hair on your neck raises! you can hear him walking now...spitting.....drumming....THERE HE IS at 60 yards full strut dragging his wing tips head changing from blue to bright white like a light bulb. you can see his eyes searching his head bobs as he takes a few steps and goes back in to full strut. a crow calls and he lets rip with a thunderous gobble at 30 yards!!!!! you have positioned yourself well by a small dip, he goes out of sight on the other side, you pull back the flint heart pounding out of your chest so bad you can barley keep control. at 15 yards you see his bright white head crest the small knoll. your ready and give a quick, soft help and he stops dead brakes strut and pops his head up for a look.....BOOOM the woods if full of white smoke your legs are so cramped you can barely get up but even though you can't see him through the could of smoke you can hear the tell tale sign of "the flop" and you know this mountain monarch has sang his last song. when this feeling ceases to flow through my blood my time on Earth no doubt has come to an end.....
