Photo by Bruce Ingram.

The gobbler must have weighed 30 pounds and after trying to sling it over my shoulder and failing, I decided that if I wanted to make it back to my vehicle without totally exhausting myself, I was going to have to carry the bird like a baby in my arms.

That’s how that Friday morning ended last April 20, and I should tell you how that day and the first week of Virginia’s spring gobbler season began. After having killed two birds back in the fall, I only possessed one precious tag for our spring season and felt confident that I would quickly punch it. But on the opening Saturday, a steady rain pounded the Botetourt County cattle farm where I hunted, and I never heard a gobble, although I did witness two very wet hens parade by.

Monday through Wednesday mornings saw cold and windy conditions. Two of those mornings were totally wasted as I foolishly pursued a field gobbler that had outwitted me three days the previous season. After Wednesday’s misbegotten outing, I called Stanley Long of Fincastle to ask how he and his son, Buddy, were doing, and we agreed to go together to a Botetourt County spread.

While discussing the layout of the locale well before dawn on Thursday, Stanley let loose with a barred owl call, and five different gobblers sounded off. Stanley and Buddy took off after one of the toms, and the elder Long pointed me in the direction of where two of the other toms were located. For the next 90 minutes, the duo periodically sounded off and then they stopped.

I next looped around their last known position, sneaked to the edge of a field and peered outward. As I had feared, the old boys had entered the field and were strutting some 175 yards from my position. For the next 30 minutes, I called to the twosome, but they only moved some 25 yards closer and that bit of realignment was more a result of their feeding along a creek than being interested in my calls. At 8:10, I gave up and left for Lord Botetourt High School where I teach.

The next morning, the Longs and I were again at the same listening post, and once more, the same quintet responded to Stanley’s owl imitations. But this time, I ignored where the roosted birds were gobbling and actually sprinted away from them and toward where the creek meandered through the field.

Upon my arrival in the pre-dawn murk, I could tell that my options were limited. Two points, where Virginia pines grow in great profusion, extend out into the field, but they both lie some 60 yards away from where the toms strutted on Thursday. What’s more, both points have scarce cover at their ends, which would make me have to set up even farther away from the creek.

Finally, I decided to set up in a little patch of trees that grow right on the small stream. The area was too open to offer me solid concealment, but again the options were restricted. I placed a hen decoy in front of me; the deke, with luck, would serve to direct prying eyes away from my position. Meanwhile, the two longbeards had continued to make their presence known and dawn had now broken. I then emitted several hen yelps, and predictably the toms let loose with a paroxysm of gobbling for the next 15 minutes while I remained quiet. After two more yelps and with the toms now on the ground, I decided to go silent for the duration -- as did the longbeards.