The morning had broke clear and cold in central Texas. I made my way across the little woodlot just as the sun was rising in the east, the orange glow of sunrise, gently illuminated the wood lot, as the sunlight struck the tops of the the many oak, elms, and other trees the fall colors were beautiful. Brilliant, reds, oranges and yellows of the hardwood lot basked in the morning sunlight.
I made my way across the top of a ridge and I spied a flock of fifteen to twenty turkeys feeding in an open meadow between the fork of Little White Rock creek to the west and a thick forest of cedar to the east. I moved as quietly as I could manage in the dry forest floor. Dry leaves rustled with every step and thousands of acorns were strewn across the forest. I tried in vain to avoid the forest debris in an effort to move as quietly as I could across the woodlot.
The turkeys either saw or heard me making my way across the ridge to a spot near the convergence of two deer trails, and moved into a small strip of woods near the meadow.
I settled under an overhanging oak tree and watched anxiously for a deer to appear. The loud calls of sandhill cranes caught my attention and I strained to locate the flock in the beautiful blue winter sky, after a short while I was able to make out a large V formation of sandhill cranes high in the sky above me. I listened to the woodlot come alive as daylight slowly spread across the meadow. Cardinals flittered about from tree to tree nearby - their bright red plumage contrasted sharply with the deep green foliage of the live oak tree they were casting about in.
Across the meadow high in a bare pecan tree, a movement caught my attention. I strained to make out what had caught my eyes and after a short while. I was able to make out the shapes of a pair of squirrels moving from one tree to another making their way above the high limestone banks of Little White Rock creek. Bobwhites called from the deep native grasses along the north side of the meadow. A turkey yelped and gobbled from deep in the woodlot occasionally.
The cold wind had made me restless and I decided to move up the woodlot and across the dry pond, and the creek to try to ambush a deer moving from another meadow, across another ridge and along Little White Rock creek to where I had seen lots of sign, rubs and a few deer beds.
As I topped the rim of the dry pond, I spied a gobbler in the meadow near the tree line. I brought up my rifle, cocking it in the same motion and sighted down the long barrel of my rifle. I put the silver front sight in the rear notch and aimed at the base of the gobblers neck. I squeezed the trigger and felt the trigger break. Ignition of the prime and main charge felt instantaneous, and the loud boom of the stout charge of FFg echoed through the wood lot. As the smoke cleared, I saw a puff of feathers floating on the breeze. Evidently, my aim had been true and the .480 RB found it's mark and the gobbler dropped in it's tracks.
As the echo of the report of my rifle subsided, I was surprised to see an unseen gobbler appear from behind a blown down tree, investigating the still gobbler. I quickly poured another 120 gr charge down the barrel, got a patch out of my bag, lubed it with saliva, thumb started another .480 ball into the muzzle cut the excess material and rammed the ball home.
Being a lad well acquainted with the woods and well practiced with my rifle, all these moves were second nature to me and took less time to accomplish the feat than to describe the actions here.
I looked up as I primed the rifle and found much to my surprise, the second gobbler was still standing near the first fallen gobbler. I brought the rifle up again, and placed the silver front sight squarely in my rear sight notch and aimed for the gobblers head. I squeezed the trigger again, the trigger broke before I anticipated it and the hard push of the gun coming back into my shoulder assured me that the ball was on it's way to the target.
I saw the gobbler flopping around before the smoke cleared and the report of the gun shot was still echoeing through the wood lot. I quickly reloaded again, but the rest of the turkeys had moved off.
I walked up to examine the turkeys, both were nice, mature rio grande gobblers with about 7 inch beards. I estimated the range to be fifty to sixty yards from where I had been shooting.
Dan'l
P.S. I called a buddy and took pictures while I waited for him to arrive. We took more pictures and dressed the turkeys. My aim had been true and both balls hit exactly where I was aiming. After we dressed the birds, we went to the meadow and with me standing where I had been shooting from. My buddy used his rangefinder and found out I had shot the first turkey at sixty three yards and the second fell at sixty five yards.
