Flintlock Heartbreak
Probably the best turkey hunting experience I've ever had resulted in ole Tom walking away to gobble another day. It happened during the spring of 2017. There was historic flooding in the Midwest that April and the excess water was partly the cause of my debacle.
I was hunting on our family farm in northern Shannon County, Missouri - a fine representation of Ozarks topography. Steep hills and deep hollers with hardwood forest all around. It was about 8:00 am and I was standing one the east side of our upper hay field trying to figure out what to do next. I had heard a few birds at daybreak but they shut up after flying down and I couldn't get anyone fired up enough to play with. I was about to walk back to my truck for a water break when I heard a tom gobble at the far south end of our middle field. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew exactly where he was. In the southeast corner of that field there is a little place that is surrounded by woods on three sides. Turkeys just love to do turkey things there and I knew he was there strutting his stuff for whoever was watching.
So I hiked the few hundred yards to my truck to hydrate and plan a course of action. Tom was still gobbling and I was pretty sure I could sneak down the east side of the field through the woods to get close enough to set up on him. That plan was changed about 20 yards from the truck when I encountered rice paddy conditions on that side of the field. Not wanting to swim to the bird, I decided to, instead, sneak all the way across to the west side of the field and then crawl out through some brush that sticks out on that side to within a hundred yards of my quarry.
I was able to crab walk the 200 yards across the field and stay low enough to not be seen but when I got to the brush over there I commenced to belly crawl the final 50 yards to my destination. It wasn't quite as wet on that side of the field but plenty enough so that when I got to the end of my cover, I was soaked through and Sweet Rachael, my 62 smoothbore, was covered in mud.
Of course, by the time I finally got to where I was going, the longbeard was gone but I knew he hadn't went far. On the east side of the field there is a tree covered hill that leads up to our neighbor's hay field. I knew he was up there trying to impress the ladies so I put some decoys out in our field and humped up under a cedar tree about 20 yards from them. My plan was to call him back down that hill and put an end to his day.
I finally got everything set up the way I wanted and starting calling. I had taken extra time to dry off Sweet Rachael the best I could. I had wiped the frizzen pan clean, picked the vent hole, and poured new powder in the pan. It would either go off or it wouldn't.
After my first series of calls, the bird answered but he wasn't that enthusiastic about it. I waited 20 minutes, called again, and this time I was answered, not by him, but by a tom so far away he might as well have phoned it in. All the way on the west side of the field, about 300 yards, is Barren Fork Creek, and across that creek is a ridge that is steep as a horse's face and right on top that ridge was that turkey. I nodded to him and said, "Yeah, I hear you." and didn't think much about it.
I continued to call in hopes of firing up the tom close to me but he had shut down. Meanwhile, that ridge top bird was going crazy so I started messing with him, more out of boredom than anything else. However, after about 30 minutes, I realized that, hey, that bird is getting closer. He had come off the ridge and was now close to the creek. I figured the odds of me calling him across that creek were slim to none but he was the only game in town so I kept calling to him.
After another 15 minutes or so of me and him going back and forth, I finally saw his blue head sticking up above the grass on the far side of the field. I couldn't believe it! I had called him a hundred yards and across a creek! The wind was picking up now so it was hard for him to course me so I started smacking my box call as hard as I could to get his attention.
Wouldn't you know it, he started walking the wrong way. Tom had walked probably 75 yards along the road on that side of the field before he finally figured out that his soon-to-be girlfriend was on the other side of the field. After another excruciating 10 minutes, he started crossing the field towards me. He wouldn't be able to see my decoys until he was about 50 yards out so I just kept calling and he kept answering. The whole time I'm thinking that I'm probably the greatest turkey caller that has ever lived to get this longbeard to come as far as he had. It's a wonder I didn't throw my arm out of socket what with all the back patting I was doing.
He went down in a little dip in the field and when he got on my side of it, he saw the decoys. Now he goes into full strut and starts doing that slow turkey shuffle towards my setup. It seemed like it took 3 hours for him to get within range but it couldn't have been more than 5 minutes. He showed off for my ladies a bit and then, suddenly, had that look on his face that something wasn't right. I knew he was fixing to bolt so as soon as he gave me a shot, I was taking it.
I had a bead on his neck the whole time he was strutting and as soon as he dropped out of strut and turned to run, I pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, only half of what I wanted to happen actually happened. The powder in the pan went "POOF!" but the barrel did not respond with the "BOOM!" it should have. The bird is still standing out there, looking around, and I am frantically trying to find my priming flask and dump more powder in the pan. I finally succeed at this task but now I am so rattled that I could not have hit that tom if he was 10 feet tall. My second trigger pull makes the gun go off but I did not touch a feather on that bird. He ran across the field the way he had come and I sat there dumbfounded about what had just transpired.
At first, I was just plain mad! I had worked so hard to get that gobbler within range only to be let down by my equipment. I couldn't believe it! And then, after another couple of minutes, I settled down and realized that I was looking at this all wrong. No one forced me to hunt with a primitive firearm. I have a perfectly good Benelli Nova in my gun cabinet that I could have used. No, I had made the choice to make things a bit more challenging and suffered the consequences of that choice. And besides, right up until my gun didn't go off, I had experienced the best turkey hunt of my life. If anything, that tidbit just made the story I was going to tell just that much better. Regardless of whether there was a dead turkey at the end of it, I still had accomplished an amazing feat.
Darren