Photo by Mark & Sue Werner

Many if not most Virginia spring gobbler hunters relish going afield on new grounds, so when a few days before the season was to begin last April 10, I received an invitation to hunt an unpressured Botetourt County farm on opening day, I eagerly accepted. A quick scouting trip to the property revealed that the farm was overrun with gobbling birds. Indeed, one mature tom was so hot that he actually approached my position, even though the only noises that had come from me were some crow calls and the sounds of footsteps on dry leaves. Obviously, I selected that longbeard to concentrate on for the opener.

Well before sunrise on April 10, I was on the same hardwood ridge where I had located the gobbler a few days before. And as I had expected, he quickly came to my position after I had emitted a few yelps. I heard the old boy drumming before I saw him, his fan appearing above the crest of the ridge. A minute or so later, the tom, at a distance of 12 yards, poked the top of his head above the lip and peered about. For long seconds or minutes (who really knows how much time elapses in a situation such as this), the tom scanned the forest. Finally, I decided to squeeze the trigger on my 12 gauge -- after all, even though I prefer a head and neck shot, a head shot was available and the bird was so close. How could I miss? Of course, I did. Later, from the landowner, I learned that the bird was casting his gobbles down the mountainside the next morning.

After I missed that gobbler, I decided to seek out one of the other longbeards. At 9:35 a.m., I called in another one; this bird pulled the same "head over the crest, I will go no farther gambit." This time I waited for a better shot . . . which never came. Thirty-five minutes later, I called in yet another gobbler, but that longbeard hung up at 45 yards. Finally, at 11:50, another tom sounded off, but I had to leave that raucous bird because turkey hunting must cease at noon. Four gobblers called in, and no trip to a check station for me.

The next week I hunted Monday through Wednesday, sitting in driving rain every morning and hearing mostly the sounds of silence. The following week, I hunted every morning except one before school on a succession of Western Virginia farms and never heard a gobble. Obviously, I needed a change of venue for the third week of the season.

I called a Botetourt County beef cattle grower, an individual who maintains very tight control over who hunts her property, and asked if I could try her place on Wednesday. She gave me permission to do so, and on that morning I went straight to a ridge where I had heard a tom during the pre-season. So straight did I go that I bumped the bird off the roost. Later that same morning, I called the landowner and pleaded for permission to go to her land on Thursday. She kindly assented.

The next morning, the gobbler sounded off from the same ridge, but this time I was well down the point instead of crowding the roosting area. Then the duel began. The longbeard marched down the mountain -- and well away from my position -- and began strutting in a linear field. I resisted the urge to move on him, instead issuing a few soft yelps about every fifth time he gobbled. At 6:40 a.m., the gobbler moved onto my ridge, but the only shot I had was of his fan and once again, the top of a tom's head. Seeing no hen, the bird left, and I was left to ponder my incompetence.